What makes the horror genre so unique is that it doesn’t have any rules, but it has one goal: to scare us.  And the weirdest thing I find about horror is that so many people enjoy being scared, and, well, some of us have watched some pretty rotten things all in the name of a cheap thrill (my reasoning for watching A Serbian Film).  Lately the trend in horror is to be in the world where our heroes on the screen are put through some very “real” situations and it kind of poses the question: how far is too far? 

Steven Soderbergh has had a one-of-a-kind career. And if the director is to be believed, that filmmaking career comes to a close with Side Effects. (At least theatrically speaking; his Liberace biopic, Behind the Candelabra, is scheduled to air on HBO later this year.) Soderbergh may have best exemplified the idea of making “One for Me, One for Them.” (Even if the director firmly disagrees with this notion.) The theory dictates his “One for Them” flicks usually had the word Ocean’s in the title and helped fund his micro-budgeted, “One for Me” experimental films.

You don’t usually get too many legendary (and wildly polarizing) filmmakers coming off the biggest hit of their careers — unadjusted for inflation, of course — at age 77. Yet that’s exactly where Woody Allen found himself with To Rome with Love, his pleasant, witty, not-at-all-groundbreaking follow-up to Midnight in Paris. The writer-director originally named this film The Bop Decameron before changing it to Nero Fiddled. I’m guessing somebody (smartly) figured the suddenly buzzworthy director’s next film should have a less esoteric title; and if there was a way to incorporate a European city into the name, even better.

"All this has happened before and will all happen again. But this time it happened in London. It happened on a quiet street in Bloomsbury. That corner house is the house of the Darling family, and Peter Pan chose this particular house because these were people who believed in him..."

In 1953 with a little help from some Walt Disney magic, generations of children, and adults, of course, would learn to believe in the boy who never grew up

Can a scumbag also be considered a hero? Lance Armstrong fans probably mull that question each time a new, unsavory revelation about the now-disgraced cyclist comes to light. The issue was addressed in 1992’s Hero, which starred Dustin Hoffman as a low-life who saves a group of passengers on a crashed airplane. Flight also takes to the not-so-friendly skies to examine whether it’s possible to reconcile a lifetime of destructive behavior with an extraordinary act of valor.

“It’s time for Animaniacs. And we’re zany to the max. So just sit back and relax, you’ll laugh ‘til you collapse. We’re Animaniacs!”

I am a 30-year-old man, and I didn’t need any help remembering the lyrics to the Animaniacs theme song. (Yikes! That sounds like a confession I should be making at my next Man-Child Anonymous meeting.) Similar to the influential work of Tex Avery and Chuck Jones, Animaniacs served as the first exposure many children in the ‘90s had to classical music and literary masterpieces.

The Love Section is not a very grabbing title if you ask me, but to each his own I suppose. The new film is the latest product coming out of One Village Entertainment; the film does have some things going for it: an absolutely gorgeous leading lady (hubba hubba), a unique pairing of leads, and a very funny supporting character. However, the plot is not swimming in uncharted waters. Ali (Lawrence B. Adisa, Grindin) is a 32-year-old real estate agent and a ladies’ man, bouncing from woman to woman with very little desire for a permanent commitment.

I had a nice little chat with Paul Andrew Williams. It was our most long-distance interview yet. He was in Jolly Ole' England and was nice enough to stay up late to talk to me about his latest film Cherry Tree Lane. We've got a review forthcoming. This is a most interesting and quite intimate look at a home invasion. Bang it here to listen in on our chat Paul Andrew Williams

“I’ve changed a lot. I’m not the same woman.”

Early on in Luis Buñuel’s surrealist gem, a mild-mannered older gentleman named Mathieu douses a beautiful, battered woman with a bucket of water as she desperately attempts to board the train he’s riding. His fellow passengers are stunned, but also understandably intrigued. What possible sequence of events could’ve led Mathieu to this cold and cartoonish gesture? It’s an irresistible hook, and Mathieu proceeds to regale the other travelers —

“This is a corpse infected with the plague. It is uncaring, unfeeling.”

When it comes to the overwhelming majority of zombie fiction, it’s all about brains. (Or rather, BRAAAINS!!!) It’s what the undead hunger for, and a well-placed headshot is usually the only way to kill them (again). And that doesn’t even cover the popular device of using the walking dead as an allegory for an increasingly mindless society. Warm Bodies stands out because it’s more concerned with an entirely different bodily organ.