10,000 B.C.

Review by Peter T. Chattaway
t would be flattering a movie like 10,000 B.C. to suggest it has anything in common with Mel Gibson's Apocalypto, but, well, it does. Both movies concern men from primitive hunter-gatherer tribes who are captured and enslaved by warriors from an oppressive urban society, and both movies feature ominous prophecies and key sequences set at pyramid-like temples. But where Apocalypto is deeply informed by its director's obsessions with the nature of religion, family, masculinity, violence, and so on, 10,000 B.C. feels like a lame, generic pastiche of ancient heroic tales.

You can get a sense of how derivative and half-baked this movie is from watching one of the early trailers, which boldly proclaimed: "Before everything we know, lies a legend never told." It certainly sounds like the sort of thing you're supposed to say in trailers for movies of this sort. But, as an online acquaintance of mine pointed out, the moment you think about that sentence, it ceases to make any sense. For one thing, how can something be a "legend" if it has "never" been told?

Steven Strait as D'Leh

As with the trailer, so with the film, which piles on various elements that will look and sound familiar to anyone who has read an ancient myth, listened to an interview with the late Joseph Campbell, or watched a Ray Harryhausen film. The problem is not that the film has prophecies, or heroic journeys, or people and animals staring meaningfully into each other's eyes, or clairvoyant mystics who can see what's going on from hundreds of miles away. The problem is that these and other elements are cobbled together in a way that doesn't seem to follow any sort of internal logic.

And it's not just the story that is cobbled together. The world of this film is populated by cultures and animals that seem "historical" enough but almost certainly never occupied the same geographic space at the same time. To cite just one example, the sabre-toothed tiger, or smilodon, lived in North and South America and is believed to have gone extinct around 10,000 B.C., if not earlier, so the fact that such creatures form a significant part of this film does not stretch credulity too much—but the film also features entire tribes of people who are distinctly African in appearance. So on which continent, exactly, is this movie supposed to be taking place?

Camilla Belle as Evolet

The tribe at the heart of this movie is played by actors from a wide range of ethnic backgrounds—kind of like how The Nativity Story featured Iranians, Irishmen, New Zealanders and Guatemalans as first-century Jews, all of whom spoke English in a sort of fake-foreign accent. The "hero" of this film is D'Leh (Sky High's Steven Strait), a woolly-mammoth hunter who has grown up under a cloud of shame ever since his father mysteriously left the tribe for seemingly cowardly reasons. D'Leh is smitten with Evolet (Camilla Belle), a pretty girl with blue eyes—unusual even to these characters, apparently—who has lived with D'Leh's tribe ever since her own people were wiped out by "four-legged demons," i.e., men on horseback.

One day, however, those horsemen return and carry her off, along with many of D'Leh's tribesmen, and so it is up to D'Leh to try to rescue them, with help from his mentor and surrogate father figure Tic'Tic (Maori actor Cliff Curtis). Meanwhile, the tribe's mystical matriarch, who simply goes by the name Old Mother (Jamaican actress Mona Hammond), stays home and "watches" everything that happens to them from afar, because she has the magic ability to see stuff like that in her mind. This results in unintentional humor, as the film keeps interrupting the action and cutting to close-ups of Old Mother's boggled eyes, hundreds of miles away.

It's a sabre-toothed-tiger-eat -sabre-toothed-tiger world out there

At nearly every step of the journey, the film falls back on tired clichés, and in such a lazy way that the filmmakers themselves seem to be tired of them. Lots of movies—such as the recent Rambo sequel—have included a scene in which the hero arrives and rescues the girl just as she is about to be raped, but most movies try to generate at least a little tension, to convince you that anything could have happened and the hero arrived not a moment too soon. But in 10,000 B.C., the bad guy just sort of arbitrarily walks up to the girl and puts his hand on her mouth because, well, it's time for the hero to show up, and the bad guy has to be doing something. Instead of thinking about what a relief it is that the hero got there in time, you think about what a coincidence it is that the villain decided to act at that moment.

The film lacks anything resembling a satisfying payoff in other areas, too. There is a strong hint that the figure who lives within the temple and claims to be a god—he is called "the Almighty"—might have come from Atlantis. But when this god-figure finally faces D'Leh and his people, the confrontation is resolved all too quickly, and underwhelmingly, and the hints about his past are ignored entirely.

Well, we can certainly say this film had a mammoth budget

Beyond the plot, the film is disappointing on technical and artistic grounds, too. The computer-generated mammoths are a sight to behold, but the sabre-toothed cat seems fake; and when D'Leh and his allies start a mammoth stampede on the temple's construction site, the film relies too much on sweeping aerial images that, instead of impressing us, detach us from the action on the ground. (Peter Jackson used computer-generated aerial shots to give us a sense of the scale of the battles being fought in Middle-Earth, but he didn't skimp on the live-action stuff.)

The film is directed by Roland Emmerich from a script he wrote with Harald Kloser—a composer with a couple decades' experience who has never dabbled before in any other aspect of filmmaking apart from the soundtrack—and at times it brings to mind bits of Emmerich's earlier films, from the sand-strewn settings of Stargate to the laughably anachronistic dialogue of The Patriot. The disappointing thing about 10,000 B.C. is not that an Emmerich film is cheesy, or that a film set in prehistoric times is so obviously unhistorical; that much is to be expected, and possibly even enjoyed. It is that a film promising spectacle and action fails to deliver all that much of either, and ends up being so dull it can't even be enjoyed for its camp value.

The Kingdom

Review by Russ Breimeier

The filmmakers and ad campaigns would love for you to believe that The Kingdom is a timely, action-packed political thriller—The Bourne Ultimatum crossed with Syriana. Unfortunately, the politics are somewhat incidental to the story, and there are but two action scenes to speak of. Still, you could do much worse than this as far as timely action-dramas go.

This fictional story, inspired by the 1996 Khobar Towers terrorist attack, begins with an incident that feels lifted straight from the headlines. It's a bright summer day as American oil company employees and their families enjoy a neighborhood picnic and baseball game at their home compound in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A picturesque, almost suburban setting, until the unthinkable happens: terrorists infiltrate the compound with an SUV and machine guns, mowing down innocents left and right. Later, a bomb explodes in the aftermath, killing hundreds and wounding hundreds more.

How should America respond? Higher-ups like Attorney General Gideon Young (Danny Huston) want to handle the delicate situation with diplomacy, respecting the wishes of the Saudi Prince to let Arabia take charge. The FBI is far less passive, especially when one of its own is killed in the blast. After some covert negotiations, a special evidence response team is assembled, led by Special Agent Ronald Fleury (Jamie Foxx), with permission to investigate Riyadh for five days and root out the terrorist threat while the trail is still hot.

Jamie Foxx as FBI team leader Ronald Fleury

Of course it's never simple when culture clashes are involved, especially in the world's powder keg. The team is initially hampered by protocol, allowed only to observe with a Saudi police escort, and restricted to makeshift accommodations in a gymnasium. But the investigation eventually expands, while Fleury finds a kindred spirit in Colonel Faris Al Ghazi (Ashraf Barhom of Paradise Now)—two men committed to bringing evil to justice and making the world a little safer for their families.

This is the fourth film for director Peter Beg (Friday Night Lights), who again brings kinetic action to his visual style. The camera work has a slightly washed out and shaky hand-held feel—similar to but not quite as refined as Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Ultimatum, United 93). The idea is to create a documentary feel, placing viewers in the middle of the action.

The Kingdom is not the special ops intrigue that you would expect from, say, a movie based on a Tom Clancy novel. It's less about political intrigue and military action than it is a crime drama procedural—essentially a buddy cop film that just happens to be set in Saudi Arabia. The film often resembles Michael Mann's work (Heat, Miami Vice), and indeed, he's one of the producers.

Jennifer Garner as forensics examiner Janet Mayes

A crime drama in Arabia is fine, but considering the talent involved, we'd hope for better than buddy cop film clichés. Fleury and Al Ghazi are the classic odd couple cop pairing, struggling over their cultural differences at first but learning mutual respect, especially after the classic stakeout conversation in the car ("So, why did you become a cop?"). Though timely and meaningful, the relationship between American and Arab enforcers feels no different than those shared by black and white (Lethal Weapon), Russian and American (Red Heat), or human and alien (Alien Nation).

It doesn't help that the characters are action movie archetypes so thinly developed that they would border on parody in most movies. But with two Oscar winners, two Golden Globe winners, and an Emmy winner in the roles, they bring enough acting experience to their parts to make them instantly recognizable.

Foxx is the best as the go-getter leader—the type that's hot headed enough to bend the rules, yet sensitive enough to give a sweet little monologue about his precious little boy's birth. Jennifer Garner is part Sydney Bristow (Alias ), part Clarice Starling (The Silence of the Lambs) as tough-but-emotional forensics expert Janet Mayes. Chris Cooper is explosives expert Grant Sykes, the likeably gruff veteran. And Jason Bateman is … well, they say he's the intelligence analyst, but all we really see is whiny comedic relief. There's also the bureaucrat holding the team back, but instead of the angry police chief ("You're off the force!"), we have diplomat Damon Schmidt (Jeremy Piven) and the slimy Attorney General.

Jason Bateman as FBI intelligence analyst Adam Leavitt

The movie sputters when the team has their hands tied (figuratively), but comes alive once they're granted free reign to do their job. However, the reason they're granted permission is so sudden, it feels like a cheat—the same kind you'd find in a cheesy buddy cop film. Plus it makes the Arabs seem downright incompetent when it comes to things like autopsies and investigating a crime scene. Yet for all the team's special analytical skills, they ultimately seem to stumble across the culprits rather than work magic through intricate crime solving.

That's not to say The Kingdom doesn't have its moments. Other than the tragic opening sequence, the other primary action scene is a fast and furious 20-minute finale—impressive and intense, especially in light of terrorist atrocities committed to Nick Berg and Daniel Pearl. But there's also something cathartic about ditching all the moralizing and hand wringing, and instead watching the good guys take action against the bad guys. The Kingdom has reportedly tested strongly with both American and international audiences, including Muslims. The struggle between good and evil transcends cultural boundaries.

Moreover, this film's greatest strength is the way it touches on everyday life in Arabia. Relations between Arabs and Americans became strained when it was revealed most of the 9/11 plane hijackers were from Arabia; the Saudi government was quick to condemn the terrorist activity. Obviously, not all Arabs and Muslims are terrorists intent on jihad and killing Americans, yet some still people believe the opposite to be true—just as some Muslims believe all Americans and Christians are their enemy. The Kingdom makes great effort to show that the Arabic people are as diverse as we are: that some are extreme in their use of violence, while others are just as zealous in stamping out violence from their midst. The everyday Arab is depicted as kind-hearted, deeply religious, with strong love for their families and friends.

Fleury finds a kindred spirit in Saudi Colonel Al Ghazi (Ashraf Barhom)

If only The Kingdom kept its focus without trying to be all things. The opening credits offer a crash course history of Saudi Arabia (found also at the movie's official site). Though interesting, it's almost completely unnecessary to the movie that follows. We learn that oil is the country's most precious resource, and that terrorism has been on the rise over the last thirty years—do tell!

Once the team arrives in Arabia, despite their knowledge of the region and the handshake agreement that got them there, it's as if the members are surprised that they're not welcomed with open arms or granted full access. Mayes seems to have the strongest handle on Middle East culture, yet she's somewhat incredulous when required to throw a robe over her tight T-shirt when the Prince visits their investigation. You can't help but wonder if these four are the best qualified for the mission—or if they're involved because it's personal.

The movie tries to have it both ways with the violence too. Most of the film has us rooting for retribution and justice, but later—through one of the most chilling final lines of dialogue in movie history—The Kingdom would have us reconsider the whole movie and ask whether our FBI heroes are right in their actions. Moralizing is fine, but not after leading us along. You can't relish the action one minute and get audiences cheering, only to shame them for it moments later.

All of which makes The Kingdom sometimes fun, sometimes powerful, but ultimately flawed. It promises action, but only delivers a little, decrying it while delighting in it. And it promises thoughtful perspectives on the Middle East climate, but really doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know. At least one point comes through loud and clear: a kingdom divided cannot stand.

Mad Money

Review by Camerin Courtney

What do you do when your spouse is downsized, placing your upper-middle-class lifestyle and your very home in jeopardy? Some people might get depressed, get a job, or get a new paradigm along with the new tax bracket. But if you're Bridget Cardigan (Diane Keaton), you decide to rob the Federal Reserve Bank.

This isn't her initial plan, mind you. She does try to find a job, discovering the hard way that her long-ago degree in comparative lit and her non-existent typing skills make her qualified for just about nothing. When she discovers that the janitor job at the Federal Reserve Bank in nearby Kansas City comes with benefits, Bridget begrudgingly dons a jumpsuit and some rubber gloves and dives in to save the family medical coverage—inexplicably leaving her unemployed and perfectly capable husband Don (Ted Danson) at home all day to hang out on the couch.

Diane Keaton as Bridget Cardigan

When Bridget spies the bags of worn-out bucks being destroyed each day, she begins to devise a plan. (It seems her employment agency counselor underestimated Bridget's educational background. Apparently her degree in comparative lit—or perhaps all those years of watching Law & Order—honed her skills at planning a high-stakes heist.) Of course, Bridget can't pull off the scam single-handedly, so she sets out to find some accomplices. Through her keen observation skills and a few carefully devised tests (like seeing if a coworker would pocket or report a wayward bill), Bridget sets her sights on Nina (Queen Latifah), a conscientious single mom whose job involves feeding the retired bills into the shredder, and Jackie (Katie Holmes), a flighty walking dance party, who transports the bins of retired bills.

After some arm-twisting, both women decide to sign on—and the three begin ironing out their roles and picking the all-important go-signal while hanging out at the local pool hall and constantly congregating in the women's restroom at work. (Because this trio in those locations isn't at all suspicious-looking.) They have unlikely successes, obligatory glitches, and sporadic conversations about how long to keep stealing the money and whether or not taking retired bills is actually stealing.

Queen Latifah as Nina Brewster

Occasionally the flow of plotting the pilfering is interrupted by police interrogation room interviews with Nina, Jackie, or one of their lay-about significant others. Obviously this is the future, they've all been caught and are spilling the beans on how and why they stole the money. This device creates the only real bit of suspense in the film, since we all know likable movie crooks never wind up in jail—at least not to stay.

Perhaps likable is a bit of a strong word here. Keaton is her usual cute mom-type with a dash of comic neurosis. It's a little bit like watching Carol Brady plot to knock over Sam's Butcher Shop. However, I don't believe for a minute that she's cleaning any of the toilets at the Federal Reserve—or that she's a woman in debt trying to save her family. Her highlights remain perfect, her jumpsuit pristine, and she keeps touching her face with her rubber-gloved hands. If those things had actually been wrapped around a toilet brush, there's no way she'd put them anywhere near her perfectly made-up face.

Katie Holmes as Jackie Truman

Queen Latifah brings a bit more believability to Nina, but then I've often marveled at her ability to save mediocre dialog or plot from being laughable. I actually buy her Nina, and the movie benefits from the needed conscience her character provides—though I do get annoyed at the way her seven-year run of celibacy is handled. Her partners in crime are aghast at her ability to go without, pushing her on an adoring security guard before she implodes. This is such a tired side-plot (and seriously, people, it won't kill you).

Holmes' Jackie is just embarrassing. To be fair, Holmes isn't given much to work with—her character's main personality trait is the fact that she's constantly grooving to her headphones, even while doing mundane tasks at work. Still, she comes off as a silly caricature—especially next to more seasoned actresses like Keaton and Latifah.

The three women must keep their job totally hush hush. Duh

There's a hint of a running commentary throughout the film about greed and money and how both affect us. Bridget tells us "crime is contagious." Jackie's lazy lout of a husband asserts that "wanting is the root of all needing stuff." Another character voice-overs that there's "something about stuff on display, the way they lay it out" in various stores that prompts greed and materialism. In the end, the characters display a startling lack of morality, offering little if any justification for their illegal deeds (and they don't even give us a fun ride while they perform them). It's difficult to believe that normal folk like these would find it so easy to rob the government.

But then, it's difficult to believe a lot of what's in Mad Money. A middle-aged housewife who spots the one loophole in the Federal Reserve security system? Diane Keaton as a janitor? But this isn't the kind of film you watch for believability. This is a fluff film you rent on a rainy day when you want some cute, mindless entertainment. If that's all you're looking for, this is right on the money.

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

Review by Frederica Mathewes-Green
Miss Guinevere Pettigrew does have quite a day. It begins on a blustery London morning in 1939, as Miss Pettigrew awakens on a bench in a London train station. She had lost her job as a governess the day before, and no job prospects are in sight. She gets a meal in a soup-line but it is knocked out of her hands; she collides with a stranger, and her suitcase spills across the sidewalk. With nothing left to lose, Miss Pettigrew forms the bold plan of trying to pass herself off as the applicant sent by an employment agency to be social secretary to nightclub singer and social luminary Delysia LaFosse. (The film is based on a 1938 novel which was reissued in England in 2000, making the author, Winifred Watson, a minor celebrity at 94.)
[Amy Adams as Delysia LaFosse]
Amy Adams as Delysia LaFosse

But when Pettigrew arrives at the luxurious apartment, she finds Delysia distraught because Phil won't get out of bed. Pettigrew assures her that she has long experience with recalcitrant boys, and marches into the bedroom delivering a command to get up at once—then is surprised to find that Phil is in his twenties, and stark naked. Delysia is desperate to get Phil out of sight because her official lover, Nick, owner of the luxurious apartment as well as the nightclub where she sings, is on his way home. This farce-like situation demands from Miss Pettigrew dexterity, duplicity, and extremely quick thinking (when Nick confronts the two women with a cigar in an ashtray, Miss Pettigrew coolly lights it and starts puffing away). When the coast is finally clear, Delysia begs Miss Pettigrew to continue in the job. Miss Pettigrew agrees, but with some reservations; she notes that Delysia's life appears to be "fraught with moral complexity."

Miss Pettigrew is a wonderful character, and Frances McDormand is perfect in the part. If you can't place the name, you'll place the face: she was the pregnant police officer in Fargo (1996), who pursued a grisly murder case with good-natured, unflappable perseverance. (McDormand won an Oscar for that role, and has had 3 other Oscar nominations as well as winning dozens of other awards.) In portraying Miss Pettigrew she wisely avoids prissiness, disapproval, or a Poppins-like impenetrable shell. You could even say that she avoids comedy, though this is a film with an abundance of comic moments. The laugh lines belong to others; Miss Pettigrew just keeps going through the day doing what must be done, occasionally registering surprise but soldiering on, with winning resourcefulness and creativity. She is an utterly satisfying character, and she's portrayed by one of our best actresses.
[Frances McDormand as Guinevere Pettigrew]
Frances McDormand as Guinevere Pettigrew

So what's the down side? It's that Miss Pettigrew is the only character in the movie who has more than two dimensions. Amy Adams' Delysia is so silly and shallow that it's hard to care what happens to her, or why three lovers are fighting for her inch-deep heart. In contrast to McDormand's restraint, Adams skitters around, exclaiming "Jeepers!" and flapping pink silk sleeves trimmed with marabou. Amy Adams can be a better actress than this, so this fumble is due either the direction or to flaws in the part itself. The result is something like Who Framed Roger Rabbit?—Miss Pettigrew is a real person, and Delysia is a toon.

We could describe Delysia as a stereotype, but she doesn't even embody the stereotype satisfactorily. There's the kind of curvaceous movie blonde who's strong-willed and quick with a snappy comeback (Jean Harlow, Judy Holliday), and there's the kind who's wistful, childlike, and somehow innocent (Marilyn Monroe). Delysia is neither. She's a hearty all-American girl who's both stupid and crass. As Delysia and Miss Pettigrew pass a shop window they notice that the female mannequins are wearing red dresses and gas masks; a new war is brewing. Miss Pettigrew, old enough to remember the previous World War, comments, "That's frightening." Delysia agrees: "Yes. Capped sleeves."
[Lee Pace as Michael, the piano player in love with Delysia]
Lee Pace as Michael, the piano player in love with Delysia

Will Delysia remain true, in her fashion, to powerful, wealthy Nick? Or will she continue to dawdle with two-timing Phil, who might give her the lead in an important play? Or will she sail at dawn with Mike, the poor-but-honest piano player who truly loves her, and who wants to take her to a new life performing in New York? Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised? Miss Pettigrew, whom we've so come to savor, is reduced at one point to saying this line: "You have lost a man who loves you for what you are, rather than what you pretend to be."

There's plenty more, all following a general rule that the visuals are ravishing (pastries! hats! burnished-gold walls!) and the characters are boring. (An exception can be made for tiny, dark-haired, hard-edged Shirley Henderson as Edythe Dubarry, who, though tense and scheming, employs a voice like Alvin the Chipmunk). It's delightful that Miss Pettigrew finds love too, but this plot development arrives with so little support—we may love her, but he barely knows her—that it feels like we're in Toon Town again.

There's one recurring bit in Miss Pettigrew's story that's well used: she's hungry. Over and over during the chaotic day she almost gets a chance to eat something, then is foiled again. But there comes a moment when Delysia and Edythe are treating her to a spa makeover, and Miss Pettigrew is reclining in a white facial masque with cucumber slices over her eyes. When she's alone she lifts the cucumbers, glances left and right, and then slips them into her mouth. As she chews, she develops a radiant smile. It's a delicious moment, and I wish Miss Pettigrew had had more of them.

National Treasure: Book of Secrets

Review by Peter T. Chattaway

The men who drafted the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and various other documents back in the 18th century are often called the "founding fathers" of the United States of America. But it has also been argued that the United States did not really come into its own as a country until the 19th century, when it endured the horrors of the Civil War; it was this conflict, rather than the Revolution, which was dubbed "The Birth of a Nation" by legendary silent film director D.W. Griffith.

A similar view is expressed early on by Nicolas Cage's character, Benjamin Gates, in National Treasure: Book of Secrets, the sequel to the most successful movie Cage has ever made. And it makes sense that this budding series should leap from a story about George Washington and all his friends to a brand new mystery that takes the assassination of Abraham Lincoln as its starting point. Washington led thirteen colonies in breaking away from the British homeland, whereas Lincoln held on to those states that tried to break away from the resulting republic—and these films, in which our heroes are always breaking into places and stealing things but generally doing so for the good of the country, capture something of that fine balancing act between subverting authority and respecting it at the same time.

Nicolas Cage as Benjamin Gates

The motives of Benjamin Gates are not so pure this time, though. In the first film, he was a treasure hunter who was motivated as much by patriotism—the need to protect national relics—as by the need to prove that the crazy story handed down to him by his grandfather was true. This time, however, the outrageous things he does are primarily motivated by a desire to defend the honor of his great-great-grandfather—and while his quest does take him to bigger and better things, that initial impulse is not so easy to justify. A matter of national security, it isn't.

When last we saw Benjamin, he and his new girlfriend, National Archives executive Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger), had found the treasure of the Knights Templar and used it to buy a swanky new mansion. But as the second film begins, Benjamin and Abigail have had a falling out, and she has kicked him out of the house ("You can have the Boston Tea tables," says Benjamin as they divide the furniture), so now he lives again with his once-skeptical father Patrick (Jon Voight). When we first see them, Benjamin and Patrick are giving a lecture on the diary of Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth and the 18 pages that are mysteriously missing from it. But no sooner have they raised the subject, than a man named Mitch Wilkinson (Ed Harris) stands up and reveals that he has one of the missing pages in his hands—and it seems to implicate Benjamin's great-great-grandfather in the assassination.

Benjamin and Abigail (Diane Kruger) checking out another artifact

Benjamin refuses to believe that his ancestor had anything to do with the conspiracy against Lincoln, and so he sets out to prove the man's innocence. And this, in turn, requires him to visit Paris, sneak into Buckingham Palace, snoop around the Oval Office, and visit various other places in search of real-life artifacts that would be quite fascinating in their own right even if they weren't hiding secrets. And along the way, Benjamin again teams up not only with computer-whiz sidekick Riley Poole (Justin Bartha) and his estranged girlfriend Abigail, who can never resist a good mystery, but he also gets his mother, a British expert in Native American history named Emily Appleton (Helen Mirren), to help out—and since she left his father three decades earlier, that means there are two bickering, separated couples on this journey.

While the National Treasure films take enormous liberties with the facts, one of the delightful things about them is the way they pepper lots of true historical details into the script—so this review won't get into too many specifics. Let's just say you will probably want to spend some time with Wikipedia after watching this film, and you may never look at famous monuments and presidential furniture in quite the same way again. But just for the record, the John Wilkes Booth diary really does exist, and it really is missing 18 pages—just as Richard Nixon's infamous Watergate tape, which does not come up in this film, is missing 18 minutes. Coincidence?

Justin Bartha as the wisecracking Riley

Of course, to some people, there are no coincidences, and here is the one aspect of these films that gives me pause. We live in a time when many people believe in some pretty outrageous conspiracy theories, and films like these have fun with that mindset but may also reinforce it, in a way. The "Book of Secrets" alluded to in the movie's title turns out to be a scrapbook that is passed on from one president to another, and no one else is allowed to read it—and according to FBI agent Peter Sadusky (Harvey Keitel), this book contains information on the John F. Kennedy assassination and various other alleged conspiracies. In an age of increasingly vocal so-called 9/11 "truthers," is this an attitude that ought to be encouraged?

Taken purely as entertainment, however, National Treasure: Book of Secrets is a reasonably enjoyable flick. History-movie buffs may get a kick out of seeing so many actors who have played real-life leaders in one movie: Mirren, so recently praised for her performance as Elizabeth II in The Queen, is back as another Brit in a film where other characters—not hers, alas—infiltrate Buckingham Palace; Voight, who rose from his wheelchair as Franklin Delano Roosevelt in Pearl Harbor, has a scene in this film where he talks about FDR wanting to keep his wheelchair hidden; and Bruce Greenwood, who played Kennedy in Thirteen Days, is back as "The President."

Helen Mirren as Benjamin's mom, Emily Appleton

Animation buffs may also get a kick out of an action sequence inspired by the Oscar-winning short film Balance, and fans of The Abyss may get a kick out of seeing Ed Harris deal with flooding water once again. However, as the new film's villain, Harris brings a seriousness or intensity to the proceedings that makes this film a little heavier than its predecessor (which featured Sean Bean as the bad guy).

The new film also features a sequence in which Benjamin is busy looking where he shouldn't be looking for something he shouldn't be looking for, and Abigail—who, remember, has broken up with Benjamin romantically, even if she can't resist joining him on another treasure hunt—distracts another man by striking some seductive poses and ultimately kissing him. (And since Benjamin has seen her bring this man home after a date before, he does have reason to be jealous.)

While the new movie is rated PG, just like its predecessor, and while the relationship issues are ultimately resolved in a way that no one could complain about, elements like these make the sequel slightly edgier than the film that came before it. But compared to a lot of other action movies, this one is still pretty safe—the hero does not carry a gun, for one thing—and its imaginative use of the past is bound to stimulate interest in American history, and who can complain with that?

The Nanny Diaries

Review by Camerin Courtney

Annie Braddock (Scarlett Johansson) has a lot going for her. She's a brand-new college grad with a degree in business and anthropology. Though her dad is absent, her mom (Donna Murphy) is a nurse with huge dreams for the daughter who's getting the opportunities she never had. And Annie's got an interview with one of the top business firms in New York City.

But all it takes is one question on said interview to bring to a screeching halt the promising path of this New Jersey girl: Who is Annie Braddock? Sitting there in a high-powered office in a stiff, new business suit, Annie realizes she has no idea.

Scarlett Johansson as Annie Nicholas Art as Grayer

So she bolts from the interview and winds up on a Central Park bench next to a woman Annie's sure represents her future: a bag lady. Sitting there making anthropological observations about the various NYC women around her, Annie daringly saves a four-year-old boy from the path of a distracted biker. His mother is Mrs. X (Laura Linney), a Fifth Avenue Mom, one of the most pampered and polished breeds around. She mistakenly thinks Annie is a nanny and offers her an interview for the newly vacated post of rearing her son, Grayer (Nicholas Reese Art). When other Fifth Avenue Moms in the area overhear there's an unemployed nanny on the loose, they bombard Annie with their phone numbers. Suddenly the lost New Jersey girl is a hot commodity, so Annie decides to "duck out of life for a summer" and become a nanny for the X family.

While Grayer and Mrs. X were all sweetness and light at the first meeting in Central Park, their true colors come out once Annie becomes Nanny. Grayer pulls every precocious kid prank from stomping on her feet to locking her out of the house. Mrs. X has an unending list of rules for Grayer, from his high-soy, organic diet to his banishment from the germ-laden subway system. But a closer anthropological study shows that Grayer is a hellion because he's desperate for his parents' attention. And Mrs. X is a selfish snob who's desperate to recapture the eye of her womanizing, workaholic husband.

Laura Linney is perfectly cast as Mrs. X

But Annie has a few family issues of her own. Not wanting to disappoint her mom's high expectations, Annie lied and told her she got the prestigious business job and is now living a dream existence in the city. So on top of putting up with the X family's antics, Annie also has to keep up appearances for her mom—as well as deflect the advances of Harvard Hottie (Chris Evans), a handsome young heartthrob in the Xs' building. Since Annie's predecessor got fired for having a social life, Annie has to dodge his relentless pursuit.

The remainder of the movie focuses on Annie's dilemma—she's horrified by the heartless Xs, but also drawn to her young charge. How can she leave the boy she's come to love, especially when she's the one sane, loving person in his life?

The Nanny Diaries is based on the bestselling novel by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus, two former NYC nannies. While the book was biting and snarky, and presumably gave us an insider peek into the world upper-crust nannydom, the movie goes more for cute. Unfortunately it doesn't always succeed at cute, nor at biting. Think The Devil Wears Prada without the cattiness and couture, but with toddlers and French clowns.

Chris Evans is the neighborly Harvard Hottie

Scarlett Johansson seems a bit miscast as Annie Braddock. With her high cheekbones and supermodel mouth, it's hard to buy her as a gangly New Jersey girl trying to make good amongst the elite. She never quite seems to get her footing as the movie's lead. Her transition from love-hate relationship to nickname-calling buddies with Grayer is too quick, and their chemistry doesn't feel authentic. And we have no idea why Harvard Hottie keeps pursuing Annie when all we see her do is poke fun at his pedigree.

In contrast, Laura Linney is perfectly cast as Mrs. X. She does high society well, but saves her character from becoming simply a caricature. As she makes ridiculous demands of Annie, we see the denial and pain etched on her face. We simultaneously hate her and feel sorry for her. Paul Giamatti is almost unrecognizable as blond high-powered businessman Mr. X. He seems utterly detached from his family, which is almost hard to watch in some scenes. It's one thing to watch Meryl Streep torture 20-something fashionista-wannabes in The Devil Wears Prada, it's quite another to watch Giamatti shut the door on his four-year-old kid and later give away his puppy.

Both Annie and Mrs. X grow by the end of the movie. But we experience that more as a quick, voice-overed epilogue than as an active part of the flick. I wanted to channel my high school English teacher and tell the screen, "Show us, don't tell us." To that end, the part of the movie that tries to be a drama doesn't succeed. Overall, this diary has a few sweet and funny passages, but in the end it's simply not juicy or endearing enough to hold our interest.

The Other Boleyn Girl

Review by Camerin Courtney

At what price power? At what cost family loyalty? And how strong the bonds of sisterly love? These are the questions at the heart of the 16th century soap opera The Other Boleyn Girl, heavily based on the bestselling novel by Philippa Gregory and loosely based on the historical antics of Henry VIII and the Boleyn sisters.

"To get ahead in this world, you need more than fair looks and a kind heart," Sir Thomas Boleyn (Mark Rylance) tells his wife, Lady Elizabeth Boleyn (Kristin Scott Thomas), in an opening-scene walk through an idyllic English countryside. Sir Thomas—who "possesses" both these qualities in his fair-looking daughter Anne (Natalie Portman) and his kind-hearted daughter Mary (Scarlett Johansson)—is concerned with such matters as he's a man of humble means. He is not, however, a man of humble ambition.

Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson as Anne and Mary Boleyn

Which makes him ripe for the schemes of his brother-in-law, the Duke of Norfolk (David Morrissey). The Duke, a confidante of King Henry VIII (Eric Bana), has shrewdly noticed that the King will likely soon be looking for a mistress. His wife, Katherine, has been unable to produce him a male heir, a fact that's brought him great distress and put strain on the royal marriage. The power-hungry Duke realizes that whoever provides for the King's "needs" will be in a unique position of favor. So the Duke eyes his nieces Anne and Mary as so much currency and leverage.

Instead of being repulsed by the idea of pimping out his daughters, Sir Thomas sees this as the chance he's been waiting for. He's just married off the quieter, younger Mary to a respectable local man, choosing to save her better-looking older sister for a more ambitious and lucrative match. And even though the role is that of mistress instead of wife, you don't get any more lucrative than bedding with the King of England. Anne, a spirited, ambitious girl herself, agrees to the scheme.

But before Anne can entice the King, he's distracted by honest, good-hearted Mary. The family lays a heavy guilt trip on horrified Mary, stressing that the fate of the entire clan rests on this royal opportunity. Family loyalty wins out over newlywed fidelity, and Mary makes her way to the royal bedchamber. Once there, however, she finds surprising tenderness … and eventually love. This pairing thrills Mary's father and uncle, and incenses her sister Anne, who's soon exiled to France for her rebellious response.

Eric Bana as King Henry VIII

And this is only the first 30 minutes of intrigue, betrayal, manipulation, and heartbreak. There's another hour and a half of seduction, adultery, miscarriage, forbidden love, secret pregnancy, and false accusation. It's pretty much a train-wreck of amoral ambition. Jerry Springer would give his right arm for a crack at the power-thirsty Boleyns and lusty, egomaniacal Henry.

Though the characters are far from admirable, the acting is superb. Johansson gives a nuanced performance as the less-attractive sister (a role that requires some range for this young stunner); she makes unbelievable choices seem both believable and almost admirable. Portman deftly seethes with jealousy and ambition; she makes manipulation a beguiling and horrible art. Bana infuses King Henry VIII with appropriate levels of bravado, frustration, and unbridled passion; he makes a dictatorship look as fearsome and vulnerable as history's proven it to be.

The costumes are as rich as the monarchy, layers of velvet and brocade shouting of wealth and power. The few pastoral and seaside scenes are also rich in scope and detail. The overall effect is a visual feast for the eyes, a welcome treat as we keep wanting to look away from the moral descent of the Boleyns.

Jim Sturgess as George Boleyn

It's this moral descent that creates the main conundrum of the film. The story is simultaneously historical and horrifying. It's an intriguing study of 16th century power struggles and the shortcomings of a dictatorship, and also a grotesque look at unchecked ambition and passion. While it's good that the film shows the ugly consequences of these character qualities, rather than glorifying them as many movies do, do we really need to see the path to corruption, deceit, and incest illuminated so starkly to know these things are wrong? At what point are we simply marinating in the sin of our broken world (and feeling the need to shower off the filth when we're through)?

It is fascinating to watch the way England broke with Rome and the Catholic Church, stark evidence (as if it's really needed) of the grandiose things people will do in the pursuit of love—or, more realistically, lust. Such far-reaching consequences for such short-lived gratification.

And perhaps, besides lush visuals and laudable acting, that's what The Other Boleyn Girl offers us—a cautionary tale of what unchecked ambition and lust can do to a person, a family, a nation. That's if you can stomach the story that drives home this sobering lesson.

Over Her Dead Body

Review by Josh Hurst

As far as film genres go, the romantic comedy is one of the most formulaically rigid; the necessary ingredients are so specific, it can be difficult to put them together in fresh or inventive ways. So, many filmmakers attempt to bring new life to the rom-com skeleton by injecting it with all the tropes and trappings of a whole separate genre. Sometimes that means taking a rom-com and dressing it up in comic book clothes—like . More often, it means mingling the rom-com plot with some vaguely mystical plotlines that, at their best, elevate a standard love story into something a bit more otherworldly—as in Ghost and the more recent are two prime examples of the latter.

Paul Rudd as Henry

Add to that short list Over Her Dead Body, a film with a title indicative not only of its tilt toward supernaturalism, but also its general level of corniness. The basic skeleton of the story is nothing particularly new or exciting—a guy and a girl get together despite odds working against them, they fall in love, there is some miscommunication that leads to a painful break-up, and, in a last-ditch, make-it-or-break-it attempt to save the relationship, one party makes a broad, confessional speech to the other in hopes that honesty and true love will win the day. Looks like a rom-com, talks like a rom-com, smells like a rom-com. But there's a bit more to it than that: The story also involves ghosts, fortune tellers, communication with other worlds, and, in one scene, even an exorcism.

It's not a bad premise for a rom-com, really: A year ago, Henry (Paul Rudd) lost his fiancée, Kate (Eva Longoria Parker) on the day of their wedding, and now his sister Chloe (Lindsay Sloane) has dragged him to the home of a psychic, Ashley (Lake Bell). Chloe's hope is that Ashley will communicate with Kate's spirit and convince Henry that it's time for him to move on with his life. It turns out that Ashley isn't quite as gifted as she'd like to think she is, and so Chloe gives her Kate's old diary, hoping that Ashley can use the information therein to convince Henry that she really has heard from his dead fiancee's ghost.

Evan Longoria Parker as Kate

The plot thickens—or at least gets really hokey—when Kate's ghost really does return to the mortal realm and talks to Ashley, but not in order to help Henry—not in the way Chloe and Ashley had hoped, anyway. You see, by this time, Ashley and Henry have begun to fall in love with each other, but Kate is one heck of a jealous ghost, and she's convinced that she will not reach her eternal rest until she "protects" Henry from Ashley. And so she takes on the role of the saboteur, doing everything within her considerable power to humiliate and frustrate Ashley, hoping that she will eventually give up and leave Henry alone and miserable.

In more capable hands, it might have been a fun little flick, but writer/director Jeff Lowell (a sitcom writer making his directorial debut) and his cast don't seem to have a very good grasp on the material. Lowell takes a potentially funny idea and packs the movie with dumb, lowbrow attempts at humor that distract from the story and insult our intelligence. For example, while two characters carry on an important conversation, we see images in the background of two veterinary assistants trying to hoist a corpulent dog onto an exam table; a better director would have been confident enough to allow the scene to be funny on its own rather than cheapening it with something so broad. In a later scene, Kate deceives Ashley into running out of a shower and into a crowded gym, exposing herself to a group of men—an episode that seems more fitting for one of Lowell's sitcoms than a feature film.

Lake Bell as Ashley

The cast seems equally oblivious. Paul Rudd's deadpan delivery is perfect for his supporting roles in The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up, but here he seems like he's sleeping through the whole thing—or perhaps in need of some Pepto Bismol. Eva Longoria Parker is even worse; basically playing the same character she plays on Desperate Housewives, Parker is completely and utterly repulsive throughout the entire movie, neither funny nor likeable. Only rising star Lake Bell is fun to watch, managing to find some personality in her character despite the fact that, half the time, she's simply the brunt of some lowbrow gag (like the one mentioned above).

Christian moviegoers will also want to note one scene in which the film's vague, innocuous supernaturalism crosses over into making fun of religion. Ashley eventually becomes so frustrated with Kate's ghost that she recruits a local priest (William Morgan Sheppard) to perform an exorcism. When his tactic seems to make Kate disappear, he is as surprised as anyone, baffled by the fact that his reading of Scripture actually worked—and then, after he leaves, Kate reappears, scoffing at Ashley for actually believing in something so silly as religious "hocus pocus."

The film isn't a total wash; there are enough funny moments that, for those desperate for something amusing and romantic this Valentine's Day, Over Her Dead Body might do in a pinch. (A final scene, with Kate communicating through the voice of Henry's parrot, is rather humorous.) For the most part, though, the movie feels like a wasted opportunity—a promising idea that tries to breathe some new life into a formulaic genre, but mostly just muddles things up.