Note: The following article assumes that you’ve seen Looper and contains massive spoilers. “I don’t want to talk about time travel,” says Bruce Willis to Joseph Gordon-Levitt in Looper. “If we start talking about it, then we’re going to be here all day talking about it, making diagrams with straws!” He’s speaking to his younger self at the time, so you’d think the details of how and why would be more important. He’s right, though. When you stop to break it down, there are a few paradoxes and logic gaps in Looper to go around, but director Rian Johnson seems less concerned with making hard sci-fi sense than making a statement. Looper isn’t a time travel movie as much as it’s a morality play that uses time travel as a tool for social commentary.

Brian De Palma’s Passion, as alluded to in this review, teeters on a level of badness that, in turn, becomes camp. This female-vs.-female rivalry film with strong Sapphic overtones and a constant back and forth of ludicrous backstabbing can’t help but draw comparisons to Paul Verhoeven’s “epic,” Showgirls. Without revealing too many spoilers, below is a list of categories with which to pit the two films against each other in a brutal cat fight. Will the newcomer reach the near-impossible Razzie-winning, midnight screening heights of the Paul Verhoeven disaster? Let’s find out with these seven totally scientific, head-to-head category comparisons!

A week or so ago, our Christopher Campbell wrote a piece posing the burning question: What is the Meaning of The Master? The fact is, he isn’t the only one asking. Some have harshly compared writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson to the film’s “titular” cult leader, believing Anderson also has no clue what he’s trying to say. Campbell theorized, “Maybe the reality is that there is nothing there. And yet maybe that lack of meaning is in fact its meaning,” but then went on to discount that interpretation of the film’s point, along with others. What is Anderson trying to say about religion? Is he saying, as Campbell speculates, that it’s all meaningless? In simple reality, to the obvious disappoint of many, is that Anderson is attempting to do no such thing. Even as it attempts ephemeral whatdoesitallmean-ness, The Master can be broken down to one simple sentence: a beautiful, tragic friendship between someone who has no interest in answers and a man who knows he has none of them. It’s solely a story of two distinct men, Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) and Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Some could argue that’s too simplistic of a story for Paul Thomas Anderson, but Anderson has never been a “message” filmmaker. He’s always been a “relationship” filmmaker. The Master strives to be nothing more than another character study from Anderson told on a big, bold, beautiful canvas, not a hard-hitting critique of religion.

In 2009, I got a day job at a credit union because the credit card companies started rejected the cinquain poems I wrote them as payment for some reason. The site was in its salad days, but for all the keeping my head down I did from 9-5 (right next to Brian Salisbury, it should be noted), I’ll never forget what happened when a colleague found out late in the year that I wrote about movies. “I cannot wait for Tooth Fairy. The one with The Rock. I just love him!” she said, acting every bit as excited as if I were The Rock and had just agreed to sign her wrist so she could get it tattooed over. It wasn’t a long conversation, and my gut reaction made me feel like a snobbish prick. I couldn’t reciprocate the feeling even as I struggled to appreciate it, but her pure joy was a nice reminder that there are all kinds of movie fans out there and that movies have always belonged to them. In differing ways, neither Andrew O’Hehir at Salon or Devin Faraci at Bad Ass Digest seem to recognize that.

Judging purely from the 14 minutes available online, Muslim Innocence - the movie that sparked outrage in Libya and Egypt, leading to the death of US Ambassador Chris Stevens and three others – is the cinematic and ethical equivalent of toilet paper. It’s exactly the kind of mess a small minority worships these days. It’s myopic and angry, spewing forth from an ignorant source claiming as loudly as possible to be an expert. It wouldn’t be a shame if it had never been made, but it was, and that’s why it needs protection. The First Amendment isn’t for convenience, and it isn’t for stuff like Lilo and Stitch. It is designed specifically for speech that people get angry about. Because of the violent response to the film by a mob, and partially because it doesn’t have the natural protection of professionalism, there’s a deeply burning gut reaction to get rid of it. One critic even suggested we burn every copy (a comment that, appropriately, is also protected), but while it’s easy to understand that kind of immediate emotional response, it’s also necessary to take a deep breath before re-agreeing that art (no matter how awfully made and no matter the subject) deserves freedom.

This content series is in partnership with smartwater. smartwater, good taste travels well. Click here to learn more.     We still haven’t figured it out yet. You know, all of this. Existence. Why we’re here, what we’re meant for and whether that top ever stopped spinning. Good thing we have movies to help us wade through to find the answers. And to give us more questions. With so many films over the years attempting to deliver a life lesson or an insight into the fundamental secret to our humanity, this is just a brief history which hopefully ends in the ultimate meaning. After all, at least one movie must have gotten right. The first question is where to begin.

To Whom It May Concern: 532,000,000. If you’re drinking the last drops of stale champagne from last night after celebrating the second highest-grossing summer on record, that number should sober you up a bit. It’s the number of actual tickets sold from the first week in May to Labor Day, and it’s down 4% from last year – making it (if the number holds) the smallest amount of moviegoers coaxed into theaters since 1993. This isn’t a doomsday scenario or anything. It’s not an air raid siren; just a wake up call. Overall revenue dropped for the first time in 7 years, but even as you’re still making large amounts of money, take note that your audience is looking for something else. You might say that the Olympics were the villain, but they were offset by higher ticket prices that managed to hide a deep, bleeding cut. Sometime soon, there will be a saturation point for how high you can drive up individual ticket costs while audience numbers creep down and the blood shows. That’s pretty basic economics, but who knows. Maybe a growing economy will mean you never have to see larger numbers of customers chased away by absurdly high entry fees; perhaps they’ll stabilize alongside a population willing and able to spend a little bit more to see magic in a big, dark room. Regardless, you’ve got to change your products, and you’ve got to change the way you’re presenting them to us. You’ve got to know that there’s a

By now, you probably already know that Lebron James loves Space Jam so much that he wishes he could star in Space Jam 2. No big surprise there. Space Jam is awesome, and the concept of a sequel is absolutely terrific. Just think about the way you naturally responded to his statement. Did you smile? Did you high five a friend? Did you marvel at what an ingenious idea it is? Did you at the very least avoid throwing up in your mouth? Then you’re with 99.9% of the population because this is obviously a fantastic idea. Since you’re already on board, these following arguments are for the .01% that can’t immediately see what a great movie this would make.

Aretha Franklin does a grisly mean cover of The Band’s “The Weight” with Duane Allman on slide guitar. Hopefully you’ve heard it. It’s a soulful three minutes that takes the instantly high-making hippie jam and transforms it into a heavyweight punch delivered with a drizzle of honey. Beyond its intrinsic value, what makes it an excellent cover is that it doesn’t merely echo a popular song. Instead, it proves how malleable great music can be while putting the Franklin stamp on it. Franklin grabs it and makes it her own. By now, we fully accept cover songs. We even expect them. It’s a phenomenon that grew from the humble roots of “traditionals” – songs that were wholly communal, sung by all sorts of artists until the original writer seemed to disappear behind a fog of different versions.  At a certain point, more variety was favored and covers became a sort of clever way to share the language of music. A big-name band covering someone else’s work at once showed reverence to the original, proved it could be twisted into the performer’s wheelhouse, and exhibited a kind of unselfish knowledge to the audience. It said, “I’m a musician, but I’m a fan, too.” At this point, we look forward to covers not only from prominent musicians but from everyday fans wanting to share their enthusiasm and talent. Karmin scored over 71m views of their cover of Chris Brown’s “Look At Me Now,” and they’ve graduated from making cute versions of hip

“Asking a writer what he thinks of critics is like asking what a fire hydrant feels about dogs.” No one has portrayed that Ann Landers quote better (or more directly) than Mel Brooks in History of the World: Part 1 in the sketch where a caveman critic pisses all over a newly envisioned cave drawing. Not only is the relationship between creator and critic as old as man, it’s also always involved urination. On the most recent edition of the Scriptnotes podcast, screenwriters John August and Craig Mazin discuss the looming spectre that is The Critic – a terrifying boogeyman for some, a knock-kneed weakling to others, and a complete non-entity to more. “Well this isn’t going to endear me with many critics,” begins Mazin (who recently explained the depressing state of screenwriting as a career to Reject Radio listeners). “I don’t care. I do not care. I don’t write movies for critics; I write movies for audiences. My entire focus is on what the audience thinks of the film.” The thing is, that outlook does endear him to me. That may sound counter-intuitive coming from a critic, but it’s an excellent mindset to have as a creator. Here’s why.

Our shift toward a truly global community is wondrous. We can instantly connect with cultures on the other side of the planet, directly engaging in conversations that lead to greater understanding and better appreciation. We’re traveling more. We’re savoring experiences (and socially shareable photos) more than physical objects. We’re also importing art, including movies, from a vast array of different countries. These are all good things, but there are at least three ways in which navigating the new global community has made studio movies dumber. These are the Hollywood movies that an international audience craves, and in catering more and more to worldwide box office, there have been some negative implications. Movies aimed at maximizing global gains can be broader, can sacrifice logic for political safety and can even, counter-intuitively, keep non-white actors away from leading roles.

Spend a few minutes over at Hit Record – the art collaborative headed by Joseph Gordon-Levitt – and you find all sorts of things. Experimental electronica mixed with country music that acts as the inspiration for a short story. A photograph of an old house that becomes a short film. A writing prompt that evolves into a series of water color portraits. The skill level ranges from the kind of high school creative fiction magazine you’d cringe at to the truly magnificent, but no matter where people land on the craftsmanship scale, creativity is never in short supply. That’s why Hollywood remakes are so frustrating. Let’s unpack that a bit. At this point, film fans have worked through the mental question of remakes in a Five Stage of Grief sort of way that happens to end in Apathy. There’s no shortage of opinions out there – ranging from pure hatred to the optimism that a fresh take could lead new fans to an old favorite. There’s even the, gasp, raw hope of seeing movies remade over and over until the filmmakers get it right. In perhaps the best piece of counterintuitive writing, Annalee Newitz over at io9 hails remakes as the American version of folklore. At the very least, those of us writing about movie trends have moved beyond the knee-jerk frustration and are now rationalizing the here-to-stay existence of a fad that belies a complete lack of originality. Yet, at their core, Hollywood remakes represent a knock out combination

Guest Author Ed Travis served as Editor In Chief of the ActionFest 2012 blog. Part of the mission of ActionFest is to pay tribute to the unsung heroes of action cinema, the stunt men and women. Jack Gill is one of the most important names in action cinema stunt work. Without the daring work of the stunt coordinators who make action scenes pop, the entire Hollywood machine would break down. This is a fact which I had no trouble believing personally, but came face to face with in my work at ActionFest this past year. ActionFest founders Bill Banowsky, Tom Quinn (Radius TWC) and Aaron Norris use the festival both as an showcase for films and as a platform to connect fans to the real makers of action, the stunt community. It was through ActionFest that I came in contact with Jack Gill, a legendary stuntman and the primary activist who is fighting for the creation of an Academy Award for Stunt Coordinators. You read that right: there is currently no recognition of stunt work from the Oscars. But Gill won’t rest until that changes. You may be asking yourself why there isn’t already an award, or what exactly Gill has to do to ensure that one is created. Let’s unpack all of that and maybe you can offer him some support in his quest as well.

Do we define ourselves by the art we love? Why do we get so defensive when it’s attacked? To answer that, I invite critic Eric D. Snider (who recently received a death threat for his fake, negative review of The Dark Knight Rises) to ask if he can empathize with the kind of passion that leads someone to get angry with a stranger on the internet who disagrees. Download Episode #142

With Batman in the bag and Superman on the way, Warner Bros. is still in the kind of long-term trouble a superhero team understands all too well. Like a group of heroes blindsided by a syndicate of villains that pulled off a world domination ploy, Warners is scrambling to come up with a plan to challenge Marvel Studio’s $1.5 billion The Avengers world take-over. We all know what that plan is: assemble the Justice League movie. We also know the big question Warners is frantically facing right now is how they’re going to do that. The studio can balk at mimicking a competitor’s model all they want, but the way to get everyday non-comic reading people to really care about a Justice League movie is to roll out the individual hero projects first. Warner Brothers can’t assume people want a Justice League movie simply because everyone knows who Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman are, or that post-The Avengers there is a guaranteed appetite for superhero mega-mixes. For a team-up flick to have maximum impact – i.e. maximum box office returns – without sacrificing integrity or quality, Warners needs to build a demand. The only way to do that is construct a road paved with exciting, entertaining, excellent movies (give or take an Iron Man 2 or two) that compound anticipation and audience faith.

For a man who has 8 films under his belt as a director, it seems like Christopher Nolan has been in the movie world forever. His dominance of the 2000s was so thorough and immediate that it only seemed natural to include his name amongst the greats even with a relatively limited resume. Even so, whenever conversations of the director emerge, they seem to focus on his take on Batman, his exploration of magic and deception, the idea of memory loss and toying with narrative. The movie that’s notoriously missing is his sophomore feature, his first studio picture, Insomnia. The remake of the 1997 Norwegian film of the same name starred Al Pacino as a LA detective brought to the no-horse town of Nightmute, Alaska during a time of year when the sun never sets. Brought in to help with a brutal homicide, Detective Dormer finds himself mentally unraveling after a foggy accident, many sunny nights without sleep and an internal investigation back home that threatens to end his career. It’s a strong crime film with outstanding performances that doesn’t deserve to be forgotten about in the wake of Batman, Bale and breaking into dreams. Insomnia is a movie worth a second look.

Editor’s Note: This post will be “stuck” to the homepage all weekend long. After you get back from seeing The Dark Knight Rises, no matter when you see it, come back and share in the discussion. We’re anxious to hear what you think. The critics have had their say, and you allowed it. Hell, you even let me give it a big black eye and you remained civil in our comments section. For that, I applaud you, dear readers. You’ve proven once again that the best of the Internet’s denizens choose Film School Rejects. Now it’s time for you to answer the big question about The Dark Knight Rises. Director Christopher Nolan has returned to finish off his ‘Dark Knight Trilogy’ with one massive, totally destructive film that sees Batman (Christian Bale) square off with a villain whose strength is as much of mind as it is of body. Bane (Tom Hardy) isn’t his only worry though, as a tightly-clad cat-burglar named Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway) is also sticking thorns in the side of the Caped Crusader. What is a broken down billionaire vigilante to do? Go to war, that’s what. Now all we ask, as you pour out of your midnight screenings around the world, is that you bring your own warring words to our comments section. Jump on down there and tell us what you thought of Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises.

Over at Badass Digest, the astute Meredith Borders is raising an important question about unlikable lead characters and the impact they have on audiences liking the movie they’re in. After all, negating the use of unlikable characters is creatively limiting, but some movie fans simply don’t care for those movies which glorify the dastardly and dickish. In her well-intentioned pursuit, Borders brings up the crew from It’s Always Sunny, Walter White from Breaking Bad and the various man-children and woman-children that have hit theaters in the past few years. The problem is, in trying to defend unlikable characters, all the characters she mentions are perfectly likable. They’re just assholes. The difference is an important distinction – one that plays toward how an audience responds to storytelling at a raw level.

It was a kinder, simpler time back in January of 2010. Daybreakers and Youth in Revolt were both in theaters, New York City was asking people to eat less salt, and we were all about to find out the one-two punch that Sam Raimi was done with Spider-Man but Sony was not. It was the sort of news that reeked of corporate thinking – extending a franchise cash cow without the creative forces behind it; rebooting an unimaginably familiar character just five years after his last outing; and deciding to do all that on a dime. Optimism pointed to characters like James Bond getting new actors, but this was that rare time where a character introduced to us was being re-introduced to us, and the announcement was, admittedly, a bit surreal. It won’t be revolutionary, but there are two ways, two chances for that reboot to change the ways that movies are made. Marc Webb‘s The Amazing Spider-Man will have a lot of eyes on it these week, and a few of them will be watching it as an experiment instead of entertainment.

It’s December 2003, and Mel Gibson is standing in front of a rabid audience after premiering an unfinished version of The Passion of the Christ. This was the same guy who chuckled his way through Lethal Weapon. The same actor who got his start insinuating that a post-Apocalyptic baddie should saw his own limb off. Yes, he’d made prestigious award-grabs like Braveheart, but this was something different. Out of the darkness, someone asked where Gibson could go from here and, shielding his eyes symbolically from the spotlight, he said he couldn’t go back. He’d gotten the big house and the pool and the fame, but there was no way he could return to the types of movies he’d made before exploring the final hours of Joshua of Nazareth’s life. The movie was a plunge into the ocean, and the actor/director knew it. If anything, Funny People was Adam Sandler’s Passion, but it didn’t come with the same sort of obvious shift. It was a quieter change that – innocently as it seemed – served to undermine the career Sandler had. Whereas Gibson (as clinically insane as he is) seemed to grasp what he’d done, Sandler has remained in the dark to his career’s detriment. Bluntly put, Funny People and his choices afterward ruined Adam Sandler‘s career.