ALICE IN WONDERLAND: I found Burton’s decision to film a sequel while advertising it entirely as an adaptation to be brilliant, disorienting, and surreal — much like the film itself. It also gave Burton the freedom to make Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, which, ultimately, is what I wanted to see. The Alice in Wonderland story has achieved the status of modern myth, in my opinion, and that makes it fair game for creators looking to express their own vision through its form.

SHREK FOREVER AFTER: I found the original Shrek to be a merely passable film with a charm that was largely negated by its creators scrawling “I HATE DISNEY” over it in large, crude letters. On the other hand, Shrek 2 capitalized on the strengths of the original, resulting in a film that was superior to it in every way and exceedingly enjoyable in its own right. On the third hand, Shrek 3 was so incredibly bad that I literally can’t remember anything about it. And on the increasingly improbable fourth hand, I enjoyed Shrek 4 quite a bit. It was a well made and funny film. Not as good as Shrek 2, but as good as Shrek would have been if it wasn’t for Dreamworks settling personal grudges.

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON: On the other hand, this is the movie that makes it clear that Dreamworks Animation is on the right track. It’s tight and it’s fun. You know how awesome you always thought dragonriding would be? How to Train Your Dragon shows it to you.

TOY STORY 3: Pixar once again proves that they are masters of subtle, powerful, profound, and joyous storytelling. I think you could make a very strong case that this is now the best trilogy of films ever made.

(The question now isn’t, “Will there be a fourth?” The record-breaking box office assures us that there will be. The question is, “Can they find a new story to tell?” It seems to me that the films have exhausted the potential experiences of a toy, but I’m willing to be pleasantly surprised.)

Successful superhero film franchises have tended to follow the same pattern since Superman 2: The first movie is a tightly-focused origin story with a thematically cohesive script, strong arcs of character development, and a satisfying totality. Then the second movie, bred out of the success and excitement of the first film, throws it all away by trying to cram everything cool about the hero into a single film — you end up with a smorgasboard of villains, a half dozen half-finished character arcs, and a completely unfocused grab-bag of special effects.

The Dark Knight made itself the major exception to this trend by relentlessly paring itself down into a thematically, dramatically, and cinematically cohesive and focused whole. The result is the best superhero movie ever made, and I’m hoping the example it set will improve future superhero franchises (in a genre where copy-cat approaches seem ridiculously popular). (Ironically, Batman Begins is the film that suffered from the “we need to cram everything cool from the comic book into one movie!” problem as it groped its way towards rebooting the franchise.)

At first glance it seems as if Iron Man 2 doesn’t learn the lesson The Dark Knight has to teach. It seems plagued with all the symptoms of superhero sequel-itis: Lots of villains. Lots of different plot threads. Lots of sound and fury.

But upon reflection, I think this is because Iron Man 2 is pursuing a separate solution to the same problem.

Most superhero movies pursue a conflict structure of Man vs. Man (a natural consequence of the superhero vs. supervillain archetype). This is why the “let’s have eight different super-villains!” sequels generally don’t work: They’re eight different movies all competing for the same screen time.

And if you attempt to analyze Iron Man 2 through that lens, it seems to fall prey to the same problem: In looking for a Man vs. Man conflict, the eye is inexorably drawn towards Whiplash. And the “Whiplash as antagonist” story is deeply flawed: Stark think he’s dead less than halfway through the film and isn’t disllusioned until the final act. Which means that for most of the film, there isn’t a Whiplash vs. Iron Man conflict.

But the movie works because it isn’t Iron Man vs. Whiplash; or Iron Man vs. Justin Hammer; or Iron Man vs. Senator Stern; or Iron Man vs. War Machine; or Iron Man vs. Poisonous Palladium.

Instead, the film’s structure is Tony Stark (Man) vs. World.

The difference in structure is subtle, but it makes all the difference in the world.

Which isn’t to say that the film’s narrative structure is flawless. The movie has particular problems when it’s being saddled with handling exposition for the upcoming Marvel films. And although the novelty of seeing this kind of tight cross-continuity being brought to film is kind of exciting, I suspect the value of this novelty will quickly wear thin (much like it’s worn thin in the comic books themselves).

At the moment, I would say that Iron Man 2 isn’t quite as good as Iron Man. But it’s a pretty close match. And given the high quality of Iron Man, that’s entirely to Iron Man 2‘s credit.

It’s very important, when hiring a screenwriter, to make sure that they aren’t suffering from a terminal case of ADHD.

Perseus: I will do this without the help of the gods!
Some Guy: Our comrades are dying because you won’t let the gods help!
Perseus: It’s important that we show that humans can stand on their own!

That’s a paraphrase, but it’s straight from the film. And while one could argue whether or not Perseus is right, it’s certainly an interesting premise to build a film around.

Unfortunately, the screenwriter forgot the film he was writing. Because as soon as all of Perseus’ comrades have died, Perseus decides to start accepting help from the gods. Apparently Perseus is okay with sacrificing other people for his ideals, but if he has to make the sacrifice himself? Forget it.

And it would be one thing if Perseus was forced to make the hard and deliberate choice to abandon his conviction. Or, in fact, if the film had shown him making any kind of choice whatsoever. But that’s not what happens: Instead he just kind of shrugs his shoulders and changes his tune. Heck, even that’s an exageration: He, along with the film, simply forgets that there was ever any sort of “fight the gods” plot happening.

Then, just to make things a little more half-assed, at the end of the film Zeus revives Perseus’ girlfriend so that they can live happily ever after. All of the other poor schmucks who died because Perseus was a dick? Perseus doesn’t care.

Because Perseus is a dick.

The rest of the script is just kind of a fractal variation on this core failure of logic and character arc. On the plus side, the special effects are pretty cool.

China sure is a small place in the world of the new Karate Kid.

(Although I suppose it’s really no worse than having the Eiffel Tower visible from every point in Paris.)

But that gentle ribbing aside, despite my skepticism of this nepotism-driven create-a-star vehicle, I was very impressed with the new movie. There are a few rough edges that are left inexplicably hanging out and the final tournament sequence lacks the satisfying punch and pace of the original movie, but where the movie excels are in the small details: The cinematography is gorgeous. The performances from Jaden Smith, Jackie Chan, and Wen Wen Han (who played the love interest Meiying) are nuanced.

And there are multiple scenes which are just flat-out emotionally beautiful. The sequence where Dre helps Mr. Han out of the car is one of the most powerful things I’ve seen in the cinema recently.

Is this better or worse than the original? Having seen the movie, I find the question almost meaningless. They told the same story, but they made it their own. It’s a different film, good and bad in its own ways, standing on its own.

Dear Prince of Persia,

You have one gimmick: A dagger that lets you rewind time.

You might want to try using it to some meaningful effect at some point during your movie.

Sincerely,

Justin Alexander

In all seriousness, Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is a fairly entertaining action-adventure flick. But it’s not particularly clever, and that’s disappointing because a dagger that lets you rewind time should give you plenty of opportunities for cleverness.

I think the film’s real source of struggle is that they turn the Prince into the infallible star of an action movie: For example, one sequence has him effortlessly surf his way down an avalanche of sand, parkour-leap perfectly onto a narrow ledge, and somersault his way into the next chamber. And he’s doing that sort of thing pretty consistently throughout the entire movie.

But the essential nature of the dagger of time is that it lets you erase your mistakes. So if you never let your prototypical action hero make any mistakes, then you’re knee-capping your premise. The disappointing thing here is that the dagger of time gives you the opportunity to create a prototypical action hero who is still a fallible human being (because he achieves that action hero perfection through the use of the dagger) — thus re-creating cinematically the same basic appeal that the game had.

The film also chickens out of using the incredibly funny-yet-bittersweet ending from the original game, opting instead for a paint-by-numbers Hollywood Romance ending. Which I, personally, find disappointing.

Final analysis: Fun to see, but nothing you’re going to remember six months from now.