One rather sarcastic movie goer commented to a friend: “Vicky Cristina Barcelona — why are there no commas? I do not know.” Although the film as a whole was slightly better than mediocre — but not quite up to par — the title is certainly justifiable, and representative of the movie’s most distinctive characteristics.

Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) play best friends who fall in love with the same local Spanish artist, a sensual and spontaneous character named Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem). Propelled by unexplainable passion, each woman embarks on a romantic journey with the artist.

“Sometimes something can be so bad, it becomes good again.”

Ideally, this quotation could be applied to Hamlet 2 but, unfortunately, the film failed to land many of the lofty punches it threw. Its frequent parody of cinematic and theatrical tropes often kept it closely bound to the films it was trying to lampoon rather than elevating it above them. I frequently found myself questioning what the film was trying to accomplish and — considering the frequency with which the dialogue turned on its head a culture steeped in political correctness — this is dangerous territory for a film to attempt to navigate. Without its fleeting satiric triumphs, Hamlet 2 would have been indistinguishable from many of Hollywood’s recent comedies.

I might not be the most popular guy in the room after this statement, but given the insane amount of hype surrounding The Dark Knight I feel compelled to speak my mind. No matter how many people seem to share the conviction that the new Batman sequel is “THE BEST MOVIE EVERRRR,” I would have to argue that the film — honestly, plain and simple — just ain’t that good.

“Carrie fever” is not an affliction experienced solely by Beyonce in Jay-Z’s “’03 Bonnie and Clyde.” Racing to get to an 8:01 p.m. showing of Sex and the City, I ransacked my room searching for something worthy to wear in the presence of The Sex. There was no dress code printed on prepaid tickets, or any memo passed on by the media, but any loyal Bradshaw fan knows that Sex and the City is synonymous with “Sex and Manolos.” Alas, my pragmatic self proved too strong and I chose jeans and a sweatshirt instead, but upon entering the theater I quickly found out that I was severely underdressed for the occasion.

If a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound? Does the same rule apply to a little girl? Treeless Mountain, the latest film by Sundance Award winner So Yong Kim, tackles the theory with a simple answer: Children, like trees, have a “quiet resilience” to detrimental change.

This article was originally published online on Jul. 8

The signature opening credit style is there, with the same white font on the same black screen, the same ragtime music playing over the names Jack Rollins and Charles H. Joffe. One can make out the comfortable old tropes, and one sometimes thinks one recognizes signs of life. But one is wrong. Whatever Works, the new Woody Allen movie starring Larry David, is the bleating deathpang of a towering auteur style gone stale, and a powerful argument that, if your choice for a leading role says he can’t act, you should believe him.