As the X-Men series enters its final chapter, it reminds me a little of the series finale for a long-running serial drama on primetime network television. Main characters have to be buried and memorialized at tired funerals, unalterable twists put to a plot never to be picked up again, and a volley of answers laid into the patchwork of secrets and questions the previous episodes presented. But as in all series finales, there are too many answers that must be handled with directorial TLC and not enough time to fit them all in. So, often answers are plopped in front of us or sloppily dealt with, leaving the taste of Matrix Revolutions in our mouths. But this isn’t the main fault line cracking up The Last Stand; the X-Men just aren’t as fun as they used to be. 

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Isn’t this documentary craze great? Ever since Fahrenheit 9/11 and March of the Penguins blew the doors wide open and proved the marketability of documentaries, the wealth of wide release docs has increased tenfold. And no longer do you have to carry around a bottle of Prozac to the theatre with you, bracing for a tear-inducing, earth shattering reality check. Documentaries can now be light and bubbly summer distractions, offering up a nice alternative to the plastic-wrap sheen of romantic comedies or the eardrum-piercing action flicks. It’s what I like to call “Documentary Lite”: scrumptious bites of reality that you can chew on with amusement and delight. Wordplay is the most recent of these, bouncing around the life of New York Times Crossword editor Will Shortz and his trusty Puzzle-Head fans competing in the 28^th annual National Crossword Competition.

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Waist Deep has been billed as a modern day Bonnie and Clyde set in “da’ hood.” But Tyrese Gibson is no Warren Beatty and Meagan Good is definitely no substitution for Faye Dunaway. The films are nothing alike, and the only reference made to the 1967 classic is made by the asinine, poseur in the gas station struggling to get Meagan Good’s autograph. In truth, Waist Deep has more licks of similarity to Wayne Kramer’s Running Scared than Bonnie and Clyde. But Running Scared knew it was kitschy and vulgar; Waist Deep hasn’t a clue. It dives headlong into a psychotically unbelievable gang tale and forgets its own obligation to silliness. So not only is Waist Deep woefully solemn, but it’s also woefully hard to sit through.

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V for Vendetta is a swift and smugly entertaining portrait of revolution. Albeit, this is a Wachowski Brothers revolution, meaning there must be wildly theatric heroes and crisply tailored CGI stunts all set comfortably in an oppressive Totalitarian society. But this is more than The Matrix with a Victorian flare. V for Vendetta offers up a convincing vision of the near-future paired with an operatic comic book tale of love, mystery, and a Guy-Fawkes-masked rebellion.

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Writer/Director Paul Greengrass has slid all his chips to the center of the table with United 93. Put simply, his career’s on the line. This being his second big-budget American film (the first was The Bourne Supremacy), Greengrass still has something to prove. He approaches United 93 with realism and understatement in mind, attempting to shed away the layers of Hollywood glitz that would, if not carefully calibrated, exploit the victims’ stories. His audience is touchy and indignant, still seething from the tragedy and the downward spiral of our Presidency ever since. If United 93 were to fall, it would fall hard, quickly becoming one of the most spat-upon films in recent history. But it’s instead a success, and across the board the other critics and I are harmonizing in praise.  

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Underworld: Evolution is a waste of creative potential; a swarthy letdown of picture. The whole series needs to take two steps back, realize what they’ve wasted and, with the inevitable third film, slice and bite their way down a new direction. It has all the right puzzle pieces, but lacks a clue as to where to place them. So, like its predecessor, co-writer/director Len Wiseman throws these metaphoric puzzle pieces about, and lets them fall into an awkward, nonsensical form. What we’re given is a test of our patience; a humorless, stomping march through grudgingly forced territory. Instead of fixing what was broken with the first Underworld, Wiseman lazily lets the flaws stand, flaunting their arrogant blemish throughout this unnecessary sequel.

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