The Place Beyond the Pines, or How to Ruin a Movie with Bradley Cooper.

Dear Derek Cianfrance,

I think I see what happened here.  I'll bet you had this really great idea for a film, and the whole time you were writing it you were thinking, "Damn, this is good."  And you kept writing it, it kept being brilliant, and then you finished it and realized that it was only forty-five minutes long.

And in this instance, you blew it.  The first segment of The Place Beyond the Pines is fantastic and the rest of it is a sub-par addendum; devoid of any real emotional or thematic connection to its predecessor.

The Top 10 Films of 2012, or Ten Films that Wouldn't Have Made My Top 10 list in 2011.

Accepting the award for best still of the year is Holy Motors, because the still from Killer Joe was NSFW.

There were a lot of films that I liked in 2012, just not very many that I liked a lot.  There's currently a twenty way tie for tenth going on but, by the time I finish this opening paragraph, I promise I'll pick one.  My list is fairly predictable, but I'll try to spruce it up with witty/childish/gangsta commentary.  I had tried to make the list better by watching plenty of non-Hollywood films but, unfortunately for 2012, that meant that I watched twenty bad movies in a row.  As always, the list does not include documentaries, because then this would just be a list of ten documentaries.  Before we get started, here are some personality awards (because fat kids deserve recognition too):

Side Effects: May Include a Fedora Montage.

In case you haven't heard, there's a new C-Tates movie out.  It's called Side Effects, and it stars Jude Law, Rooney Mara, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and everyone's favorite ex-stripper.  Side Effects is directed by Steven Soderbergh, who I always get confused with David Cronenberg, because they're both Jews who occasionally make good thrillers when they're not busy making garbage.  Soderbergh's track record is arguably more consistent, and Side Effects certainly adds weight to his claim.

Side Effects is one those rare films that I won't gut the plot for you, because the less you know the better.  Catherine Zeta-Jones may not dip beneath any lasers, but I can promise you an awkward montage of a giggling, fedora-wearing Channing Tatum.  If that's somehow not enough for you, read after the break.

Warm Bodies, or Cute Girls and Bonies.

He's trying to find the white meat.

Teenage girls just can't seem to fall in love with the living anymore.  Vampires and werewolves I can understand.  Vampires have just the right amount of mystery and darkness, and werewolves tend to have deliciously bronzed abs even when they do look like alpacas.  Monsters used to be scary, but now they're just your daughter's boyfriend.  I guess that gives the fathers of the world one more reason to hunt them down, but seriously, ladies.  I know you're all secretly dead on the inside, but zombies?!  They are a little too-obviously dead on the outside, and they want to eat you.  And not in an I-want-to-eat-you-so-bad-but-I-love-you-so-much-and-let's-make-a-vampire-baby sort of way.  This opening paragraph has been brought to you by Twilight references and misogyny.

So, let's start the review here.  Warm Bodies is good.  (A warm body is always good.  Right, bro?)

Damn it.  The third time should be the charm:

Zero Dark Thirty, or They Killed My Monkeys.

Hey, that's not funny, bro.  My dad died in 9/11.

Dear Kathryn Bigelow,

One of the few popular criticisms of Zero Dark Thirty is that it just might go on a little too long.  I kind of agree.  I think it was about two hours too long.  I think I could have watched Zero Dark Thirty for thirty-seven minutes and been at least mildly entertained.

In reality, I think my enthusiasm lasted about fifteen minutes.  The opening torture sequence, while not particularly engaging, set the stage well.  A CIA agent tortures a captive, says, "dude", "bro", and "man" a whole lot, and we've got the opening to our story.  At least it was a scene.  The scene began, the scene developed, the scene ended.  It wasn't a particularly excellent scene.  There weren't really any lines of dialogue or deep thoughts to take from it, but it told a story.  It began a plot.  And then, the rest of the movie happened.

Django Unchained, or Cinematic Reparations.

My biggest problem with Django Unchained is that it's not as good as Inglorious Basterds.  That's not a bad problem to have.  Thankfully, unlike Inglorious Basterds, Django doesn't have any moments that make me want to slap Quentin Tarantino in the face.

The film really shines in the first act.  Christoph Waltz purchases Django from some slavers and the two form a bounty-hunting partnership that results in some of the funnest movie moments of the year.  Christoph Waltz seems incapable of being outsmarted or killed, and claims each bounty with panache.  It is in these first scenes that we get the best of Tarantino's dialogue, humor, and cleverness.  Christoph Waltz talks himself out of every threatening experience, befuddling a US marshall, a southern plantation, and a group of Klansmen who can't seem to get their headwear in order.

Les Miserables, The Movie Killed the Dream.

So far, the trailer for Les Miserables is one of the best films of the year.  Anne Hathaway whimper-singing "I Dreamed a Dream" gets me every time.  Unfortunately, the trailer somehow made me forget that Les Miserables only has four good songs (I Dreamed a Dream, On My Own, Master of the House, and Little Fall of Rain).  The film reminded me.