Emma Stone as crusading journalist Skeeter in "THE HELP", doting mother behind her.

Walking out of “The Help” left me with an odd grinding sensation inside my head, not unlike downing a lot of red Kool-Aid, or being in a particularly bland-smelling car for far too long. It’s afflicted with what I like to call “Blind-Side-syndrome”, which is to say, the unpleasant experience of an intimate African-American experience being filtered through a very distant, very white perspective.

“The Help” parades around for 150 minutes pretending to be what it’s furthest from — an authentic, meaningful story of an uphill racial battle. Some may find it inspiring. I find it more than a little sickening.

It’s a calculated showcase for talented people to show off how talented they are. “The Help” functions well as this. It’s an eclectic group of respected actresses, ranging from older black talent like Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer, to young white women like Bryce Dallas Howard, “Tree of Life”s Jessica Chastain, and one of the most charming young women on the Hollywood scene — Emma Stone.

All five of these women give director Tate Taylor’s script punch and dramatic momentum, Stone in particular serving as an appropriately perky, inquisitive lead. The poor quality of the film is not to be blamed on these women.In fact, it’s not to be blamed on the film on any sort of technical level.

Visually, it’s quite proficient, with the 1960s-era costumes and decor often times approaching “Mad Men”-level authenticity. I don’t take issue with the way in which “The Help” was made — I object to the purposes for which it was made.

Stone is Skeeter, a freshly-graduated college student who returns to her quaint Southern hometown to eek out a job at a local newspaper. While doing this, Skeeter notices the black housemaids so frequently employed by local households lack access to a basic function — they can’t use the bathrooms in their employers’ homes. This inspires Skeeter to draft up an expose on the hardships these maids, or, ‘the help’, have to face on a daily basis.

It’s a testament to “The Help”s lack of focus that it will spend time doting over the actions of Skeeter and her interviews, then jump between one of its near-endless subplots including, if not limited to” the racist, villainous housewife Hilly, the lovable if unintelligent Celia, Skeeter’s dying mother, Hilly’s dying mother, the maids Skeeter are interviewing named Aibileen and Minny, the potty training of a young girl Aibileen looks after, Skeeter’s book deal, Skeeter’s love interest, and an ongoing mystery as to why her childhood maid suddenly vanished. Yes, friends, this film is a dense one. But not dense as in actually complex, dense meaning disorganized and slipshod. Were it not based on a (highly, highly successful) novel, I’d assume it to be virtually improvised on the go.

“The Help” takes a vital issue, one still manifested widely throughout America today — intolerance — and sanitizes it for the easiest possible consumption, scrubbing out furiously any kind of thought-provoking, interesting ideas or themes. “The Help” should have felt like an bleeding, passionate project; an open letter recounting an abhorrent period in our nation’s history. Instead, it goes down like a gaudy, candy-colored flower bouquet. D

Katie Holmes begins to see her step-daughter's suspicions of their home in "DON'T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK".

The creatures of Troy Nixey’s feature-film debut “Don’t Be Afraid Of The Dark” can really be quite terrifying, but that’s not what makes this haunted-house remake particularly memorable. It’s the terrifying communication-breakdown that goes down in this flick that sticks with you. The protagonist is a chubby-cheek, teary-eyed little girl named Sally. Her casting was wise.

From frame one you feel instantly protective of her, an instinct that continues on for the duration of the film. She’s up against the things that go bump in the night in an old house her architect father Alex is staying in, while renovating it with his co-worker/lover Kim. Sally’s warnings of these creatures go unheeded. As the terror mounts in the household (and audience), a disconnect grows between father and daughter.

The premise is simple and the delivery unpretentious. But “Don’t Be Afraid Of The Dark” knows when to deploy strong set-pieces to heighten the tension — one scene in which Sally slowly crawls under her bed-sheets, searching for her intruder, will stop your heart. Director Nixey spaces these out from one another well — long enough to keep us wanting more, but consistently satisfied.

Returning to quality cinema for the first time since 2006′s “Thank You For Smoking”, Katie Holmes plays Kim, with Guy Pearce joining her as Alex. They have pretty standard, cookie-cutter “workaholic, skeptical dad” and “caring girlfriend” roles, pulling them off about as convincingly as any other movie you’d imagine. I particularly appreciated the directions Katie Holmes’ character took — instead of cold-shouldering Sally, she actively attempts to understand the child. A simple twist from formula, but a welcome one.

It’s Bailee Madison that carries the picture, and I’m amazed such a young, vulnerable girl could carry a film so built on tension and edge. Madison looks ready to burst into tears at any given moment, but never veers into whiny or annoying territory.

Guillermo del Toro, filmmaking genius and creature-feature enthusiastic, personally championed “Don’t Be Afraid Of The Dark” to the screen, with a co-writing and producing credit to boot. It’s a re-imagining of a ’73 TV movie that, he claims, was the inspiration for his long, impressive body of work. And although, with the strong female character and the creepy undertones, one can see traces of del Toro in this, it’s not nearly distinctive enough to be worthy of his moniker.

Thus far I’ve praised the film for its modest steps away from formula, but they are, indeed, merely modest ones. “Dark” isn’t so much its own entity as it is a fairly successful entry into a long-running, long-standing genre. That’s both the slight charm and equal frustration with this one. B

London project youths face off against alien invaders in "ATTACK THE BLOCK".

2011 has had a total glut of alien invasion cinema, worse yet, of totally inconsistent quality — from the inspired “Super 8″, to the solid “Paul”, to the truly inane — “Green Lantern”, “Battle: Los Angeles”, and enjoyable though it may be, the third “Transformers “. What all of these films have in common, however, is a massive budget. The U.K.-imported “Attack the Block” approaches this genre from an alternate perspective – it features virtually no known stars, has a comparatively shoe-string budget of $13 million, and is told from the perspective of a group of teenage hoodlums.

The film actually opens with these guys mugging a nurse by the name of Sam. Just as they’re making their getaway, however, something falls from the sky and attacks them — a creature that is, quite clearly, not of this world.

Their first immediate reaction? Kill it and bring it to the safest place in their London housing project — their weed room. But as more and more creatures descend into the area, it becomes quite clear that this teenage gang is gonna have to summon all the bravery and weaponry they can to defend the block.

“Attack the Block” is nearly inseparable from the internet hype built up around it — it’s played to sold-out crowds at nearly film festival it’s hit, has gotten rave reviews, and is produced by the film-community demigod and “Hot Fuzz” helmer Edgar Wright. It’s not every day the New Yorker is singing the praises of a profane alien-invasion flick.

But that deters from the fact that “Attack the Block” carries fairly modest ambitions; charmingly so, in fact. The majority of the film is set within the confines of the same apartment building, following the characters as they move from room to room, seeking cover from the chaos and planning their next move.

Director Joe Cornish’s script provides lots of banter for the characters to throw at one another, but it’s not banter for the sake of itself. It develops the characters’ personalities and relations with each other organically and humorously. (This said, a strong ear for south London accents is required to get what these kids are saying.)

With its efficient storytelling and stylized action, “Attack the Block” often evokes a kind of low-budget charm reminiscent of ’70s John Carpenter flicks. It’s directed with surprising confidence, especially given that this is Cornish’s first go-around as director.

But when “Attack the Block” really floored me was when it took a moment to slow things down and reflect on the social situation the characters face. “Attack the Block” doesn’t shy away from the fact that its protagonists, a group of lower-class, mostly black teens, are often regarded by society with a cautious hesitance.

The film’s best scene is where the gang leader Moses makes a speech, reasoning that the government sent the creatures down to take out blacks, because drugs and guns weren’t doing it fast enough. Is it irrational and false? Absolutely. But it unflinchingly captures the sort of social tension and unrest that lead to the recent riots in the film’s very location, London. You probably wouldn’t see a film going after issues like this made within the Hollywood system. And if a film can do that while providing breezy, energetic popcorn fun, I’m all for it. B

One of "Final Destination 5"s victims faces her fate on a collapsing bridge.

I gave up a while ago on trying to assess the moral implications of the continued success of ultra-bloody horror films, and what exactly their continued success says about us, their audience.

I mean, pause for a minute. Consider that, when buying tickets to, say, a “Saw” film, or what I’m reviewing, the fifth “Final Destination” installment, you are plopping down $10 to laugh at the demise of average, ordinary people, not unlike yourself. Doesn’t that send a chill down your spine just a bit? (I, of course, ignore that these supposed “ordinary” people are unconvincingly portrayed by mostly terrible young actors.)

But I am not here as moral crusader, I am here as film critic. And I’m here to tell you what I’m sure comes as a surprise to none — “Final Destination 5” is pretty damn awful. Mind you, it is the successor to a film among the least watchable of the last 10 years — 2009’s “The Final Destination”. Isn’t it funny how that works? Warner Bros. aren’t even trying to hide that they’re dipping their hand into your pocket. It’s the rough equivalent of a spouse proclaiming they’re forever done, packing their bags and leaving, then showing up in the kitchen the following night, demanding their steak.

Of course, this isn’t new to horror cinema — many franchises have proclaimed their end only to come around a few years later.

Just as people flock to “Saw” films for the elaborate traps and romantic comedies for the happy ending and attractive actors, people come to “Final Destination” films to see the ways in which average household objects can conspire to kill people that have supposedly “escaped” Death’s clutches in the past.

You see, every film in this franchise begins with the protagonist having a premonition of an upcoming disaster, telling his friends to leave with him, and saving them all from the disaster, which, incidentally comes true. But Death intended to take these people, and over the course of the movies, Death certainly does, in ways that, hypothetically, should have gotten progressively gorier as the franchise ticked on. (a common complaint with “The Final Destination” were the unimaginative fatalities)

“Final Destination 5” finds a guy saving his company from a sudden bridge collapse, the aftermath being that Death claims them one-by-one in, admittedly, very cleverly realized sequences. The young cast as a whole didn’t leave much of an impression on me. One particular actor (whose name I lack the effort to Google) seems to be attempting to channel “Top Gun”-era Tom Cruise, an effort that fails spectacularly.

Some of the film’s deaths involve laser-eye-surgery, an acupuncture-therapy session, a wrench to the face and (my personal favorite) a sabotaged gymnastic stunt. And the bridge collapse sequence in the beginning is surprisingly convincing.

The franchise’s skill has always been in the prolonged build-up and unexpected-payoff of the various death sequences, which is no different here. I concede that these are very well-done scenes. That said, had Steven Quale (who in the past has worked on films like “Avatar” and “Titanic”) given even a fifth of the attention paid to the gore over to the characters, there would be something to invest in.

Unfortunately, there isn’t, giving “Final Destination 5” a very observational feel. We’re watching these people die horrifically, but don’t particularly mind one way or the other. C-

(Note: The 3-D here is actually worth it, if the impalement of attractive young women popping off the screen is your sort of thing.)

Aziz Ansari and Jesse Eisenberg as the bewildered, bank-robbing best friends in "30 MINUTES OR LESS".

Very few directors have a distinctive style and technique developed by their first film. But when Ruben Fleischer arrived on the Hollywood scene in 2009 with the tautly-constructed, surprisingly clever “Zombieland”, it was clear that he was one such rarity.

In the new film “30 Minutes or Less”, Fleischer re-teams with that film’s star Jesse Eisenberg, whose profile has since been raised considerably with his Oscar-nominated turn in “The Social Network”. Fleischer brings back many winning qualities that “Zombieland” possessed — a raunchy, loose swagger coupled with a taut running time (both films run under 85 minutes).

But the unique thing about Fleischer — he genuinely is interested in developing characters for us to identify with, root for and in some cases, root against. Here, he has two sets of best friends — one considered “good”, one considered “bad”, but both given equal attention in the film and equal measure of development by the actors.

The “good” guys are Jesse Eisenberg and Aziz Ansari as Nick and Chet. Nick is a stoner pizza-boy and Chet is becoming a successful teacher; the disconnect between the duo’s success being the source of some tension. But when Nick delivers a pizza one fateful night the “bad” guys come into play.

Danny McBride and Nick Swardson are Dwayne and Travis. Dwayne has a considerable inheritance to gain from his father, but first, the guy has to kick the bucket. Dwayne wants to hire an assassin to take care of that, but to get the money, straps a bomb to Nick. Nick has nine hours to somehow come up with 100 grand or else the bomb on his chest will explode, and he enlists Chet to help him out.

All of this sounds very serious and grave, and I do have the feeling that had a dramatic approach been taken, a really gripping thriller could have been carved out of the material. Instead, a very comedic approach is taken to it, which both helps and hurts “30 Minutes” in the long run.

If there’s a fault to be had, it’s not with the cast. These four principal actors are, at least, very talented comedians, and in Eisenberg’s case, an exceptional dramatic actor. It’s truly the dialogue between these two duos, and the care that the film takes to making them seem like realistic friends (if not realistic human beings) goes a long way.

But for an 83-minute film, there’s quite a lot of unrewarding and random gags. It’s simply too inconsistent. For example, there’s one set-sequence mid-way through the film — to come up with the cash, Nick and Chet opt to rob a local bank. It’s built up deliberately (if not slowly), and hits fantastic comedic beats throughout. It’s slow-burn comedy, and it’s great.

Contrast this, however, with McBride and Swardson’s brand of comedy — shouting mostly hilarious, profane non-sequiturs. The two don’t really mesh together cohesively, resulting in a movie that feels oddly disconnected with itself.

“30 Minutes or Less” is a film not quite as taut as it should be, and given the talent involved, not quite as funny. It hits a lot of great beats, mostly with the ways that it builds up the four primary characters. So often in modern American comedies, the filmmakers spend attention on the gags to the extent that the characters are over-looked. “30 Minutes or Less” is curious in that it has the inverse dilemma. B-

Apes charge through San Francisco in the franchise reboot "RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES".

Although he’s dabbled in live-action acting before, Andy Serkis has carved out a very unique niche in the film industry. He’s the go-to man for motion-capture performance, i.e, when a filmmaker wants to have an actor play an otherwise computer-generated character. Think Gollum in “Lord of the Rings”, the title character of the “King Kong” remake. Serkis was irreplaceable in bringing them to life.

And so once again, Serkis delivers a tour-de-force performance in the franchise reboot “Rise of the Planet of the Apes”. So often these days, computer-generated characters are employed in film. But when do they register heart and emotion; so much so that, in fact they end up being the emotional core of the film? The answer is never. And that’s precisely what makes “Rise of the Planet of the Apes” stand out above the average science-fiction-reboot fare, the fact that director Rupert Wyatt finds the soulful in the artificial.

For the second time (“King Kong” being the first), Serkis is playing an ape. This time, however, it’s the genetically-enhanced, hyper-intelligent Caesar. Taken as a baby into scientist James Franco’s home as something of a son, Caesar develops intellectual capability far beyond humans his own age. But when the same serum that elevated Caesar’s consciousness is spread beyond one ape — to an entire sanctuary, in fact, it sets the film on a spiraling series of events, leading to a massive set-piece in which man and ape face off against one another in the streets of San Francisco.

When the time comes for action to kick in, “Apes” delivers and in grand style — it conveys a strong sense of chaos, yet with oddly elegant, fluid camera-work. But it’s well aware that it’s the story of a leader’s rise above all else. In other words, “Apes” places a strong emphasis on believable, interesting characters; something that I’m a little sad that I have to highlight.

James Franco, despite top billing, is sorta around just to provide Caesar with a father figure and originator. Given that in recent years he’s proven to be something of a one-man renaissance, it makes me happy that he’s willing to take on bit roles in which he’s a part of an ensemble, rather than the focal point. He sets the whole thing in motion, given that his Alzheimer’s-combating serum is what elevates Caesar from animal to genetically-enhanced revolutionary. Franco is several notches above his slipshod, barely-there turn in April’s “Your Highness”, and the fact that this is clearly no passion project doesn’t stop him from bringing his standard professionalism and skill to the affair.

The remainder of the supporting cast is adequate yet underdeveloped to the fact that they’re barely even in the thing — “Slumdog Millionaire”s Freida Pinto is here to stand around, question the morality of Franco’s scientific experiments, and give him a nice smooch or two. Brian Cox as an animal handler is around to assert that humanity is bad and evil and wicked, giving Caesar cause to rebel. Hell, even Tom Felton (“Harry Potter”s Malfoy) is around, to sneer and snap at the protagonist for the second time in three movie-going weeks.

But Serkis is the star of the show in all regards, and everyone seems to know it. The film documents his change from adorable baby chimp to a genuine revolutionary against humankind, a ludicrous concept that’s brought to life all too plausibly. Just watch the sequences in which he’s dropped into an ape sanctuary and navigates the social ladder to gain control. (It’s just like high school, I remarked to my friend.) Serkis, just with his facial expressions and a few animalistic yells, executes a complete character transformation. Performances haven’t been this expressive since the silent age.

While the performance is accredited to Serkis, the ingenious visual effects work of WETA is largely responsible as well. There are well over a hundred apes featured in the film, not one of them being real. The fact that I wasn’t aware of this until after the film is a testament to how seamless the work is — and in my opinion, the best special effects are the ones you hardly notice.

“Apes” certainly suffers from pacing issues — it has that annoyingly common habit of starting the film at a rapid-fire pace and gradually slowing down. Save for Caesar and Franco’s character, each and every one of these characters are archetypes — some more engrossing than others, but archetypes nonetheless. Patrick Doyle’s score, while appropriate, swells at totally inopportune moments, although I suppose that’s more the director’s fault than his own.

But director Wyatt has truly done something special here — he took what could have easily been a lazy cash-grab franchise reboot and, through of all things, cutting-edge technology, injected a very recognizable, touching element of humanity. The irony that said ‘humanity’ dwells within an ape character be damned. B+

Ryan Gosling works his womanizing magic as Steve Carell looks on in "Crazy, Stupid, Love".

“Crazy, Stupid, Love” is a film that fits squarely into standard romantic-comedy formula, yet still manages to feel like a vibrant, pulsating slice of life. Given that so many films aspire to this and fail, I think that might make “Crazy, Stupid, Love” something truly great. I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a feeling about this one.

Steve Carell is Cal Weaver, a seemingly successful family man whose 25 years of marriage all crumble to nothing when his wife, played by Julianne Moore, announces that she has cheated on him. Immediately filing for divorce, Cal finds refuge both in raising his kids and in frequenting a local bar. There he meets Jacob, played by with an impeccable fluidity and smoothness by Ryan Gosling. Jacob, given his smooth demeanor and impeccable looks (it must be the name), knows a thing or two about women and projecting himself to them. Jacob takes Cal under his wing, renovating his wardrobe, reinvigorating his confidence, and digging him out of his mid-life crisis.

All the while, Jacob weighs giving up his womanizing tendencies for the sweet, intelligent Hannah. Hannah is played by Emma Stone, who, it’s worth noting, gets exponentially cuter as her career goes on.

Large focus is given to Cal’s middle-schooler son, Robbie, who pines for his older babysitter Jessica. The only problem with that is, Jessica pines for Robbie’s own father, who is totally oblivious to her affections. Did I mention yet that Julianne Moore’s character is pursuing her co-worker, played by Kevin Bacon? Yeah, Bacon’s in yet another villainous role, the difference being that here he’s a smug creep as opposed to his cold-hearted murderer in the recent “X-Men” reboot.

Consider how many films fail at portraying just one romantic plot line. Now picture one that succeeds at satisfyingly delivering four.

It’s a true compliment when I say that for the duration, I had entirely forgotten that these are all A-list, multi-millionaire movie-stars. Their screen personas are all built upon, retaining the charm yet never forsaking the characterizations the film builds. What I’m trying to say is, Ryan Gosling is just as charming here as you’d expect out of Ryan Gosling, but during the film, you never notice that he IS Ryan Gosling. Messily structured sentence, but you get the point, no?

Carell and Moore as a couple, divorced or not, click together exceptionally well. It’s a great pairing because both are so good at projecting warmth and glow in their characters, which makes their moments together sting all the more. Emma Stone is excellent, but then again I’m a bit biased. You know how everyone has that one massive celebrity crush? She’s mine.

Dan Fogelman’s script pulls off the masterful juggling act of balancing everyone’s arcs and problems, tying them all together in a satisfying if not entirely hopeful way. The film is structured interestingly, saving one absolutely massive surprise until the last 20 minutes or so. Who knew romantic comedies’ plot twists could be just as shocking as one in, say, a mystery-thriller?

“Crazy, Stupid, Love” is a work that truly explores love from various perspectives, one as interesting as the next — newly blossoming love, unreturned love, dying love, lasting love. It’s smart enough not to condescend to its viewers and open enough to share its wounds with them. A-

Ryan Reynolds and Jason Bateman, relieving themselves in a life-changing fountain in "The Change-Up".

The R-rated comedy renaissance in the wake of “The Hangover” continues with “The Change-Up”, a film that from frame one feels like a halfway successful attempt to emulate that film’s raunch and dirtiness. After all, how often do you see writers for a movie pimped out in the marketing alongside the A-list actors, in the way the writers of “The Hangover” have been for this film?

Jason Bateman and Ryan Reynolds play two life-long friends, Bateman a devoted workaholic father and Reynolds a profane stoner. One night while drunkenly urinating into a public fountain, the two exclaim a desire to have the other person’s life. And when the two wake up the next morning they find that exactly that has happened — Reynolds in Bateman’s body and vice versa. Naturally, the two have to adapt to the other’s responsibilities. (in Reynolds’ case, lack thereof)

The writers have some fun with the body-switch concept, putting a very crude stamp on it. Examples include debating the morality of a person having sex in the other person’s body, one particular sequence involving intercourse and a thumb being the most memorable of the film.

Reynolds and Bateman, both hot off of recent summer blockbusters of vastly different quality (“Green Lantern” and “Horrible Bosses”), are very strong here. Given the body-switch, the actors have the odd task of playing the other actor’s screen persona, and do so strongly. You wouldn’t think the laid-back Ryan Reynolds could convincingly pull off a working-stiff, but the guy’s got it in him.

The two leads definitely punch-up an otherwise unoriginal concept and the generally predictable proceedings. Perhaps a good deal of my fatigue towards “The Change-Up” is because I’ve seen so many R-rated comedies of similar structure and execution within the last year or so. I literally had a dozen moments of total deja-vu, be it over a joke or over an emotionally charged moment. No moment of “The Change-Up” ever felt like some sort of discovery.

Supporting actresses Leslie Mann and Olivia Wilde are gorgeous, in roles that don’t require a whole lot more other than being gorgeous. It’s worth noting that this is Wilde’s second major role in as many weeks, and despite somewhat weak script choices, she’s certainly a rising talent whose career I’m rooting for.

“The Change-Up” awkwardly shuffles between different characters’ plots. There will be lengthy stretches devoted entirely to one of the main characters in which the other is omitted, giving the film a disjointed feel. There’s literally a few characters who have a set-up in an early scene, disappear for the film, and re-appear in the final scene as if we are to care for them. Seeing Alan Arkin wasted like this is a shame.

I dig raunchiness in comedies, but what I love most is raunchiness that feels naturally integrated with the story that’s being told. “The Change-Up” doesn’t ever quite hit that, carrying with it an awkward pace and a tone that may be filthy one minute and tender the next. It’s an okay watch for shits and giggles, and I mean ‘shits’ literally. C+