Designed and constructed as nothing more than a kick-'em-up action vehicle for Brandon Lee (son of Bruce Lee), Rapid Fire is satisfying patchwork genre filmmaking. It's a highly entertaining, albeit painfully generic pastiche of Mafioso politics, crooked FBI machinations, perpetual mayhem and an array of awesome action sequences. No elements are incorporated into Rapid Fire to hoist it above the territory of the strictly ordinary, but it remains fulfilling as a mindless action flick.

The plot, naturally, has a clichéd ring to it: in a typically contrived way, Jake Lo (Lee) witnesses a mob execution. Jake agrees to testify against the Big Powerful Bad Guy No-One Has The Guts To Mess With, and the FBI places him in the witness protection program. Since it's an unwritten law in the world of action flicks, this witness protection program proves rife with corruption, and Jake - once framed by the FBI - is forced to take matters into his own hands. On the run from the law and caught in the middle of a battle between two feuding drug lords, the Jake is faced with only one way to clear his name: team up with a renegade cop (Boothe). Nothing new here, folks.

Alan McElroy's screenplay (from a plot conceived by himself and Cindy Cirile) seems culled from about 15 television movies concerning witness relocation, unjustly-accused heroes, and cops so devious it's impossible to tell who to root for. The plot twists are all quite predictable, the love interest (in the form of a female cop played by Kate Hodge...is there any other kind?) seems rudimentary, and the villains are comprised of stock B-movie bad guy clichés. Point is, there's no narrative innovation, and characterisations are nothing unprecedented. But why watch such a motion picture on the basis of anything other than action? You shouldn't. Rapid Fire is an action movie; plain and simple. Sure, the world already has enough action movies, but Rapid Fire manages to do something that other action movies failed to achieve: showcase the amazing fighting skills and general agility of Bruce Lee's son. The film never breaks out of the B-movie mould, but Brandon Lee (who helped choreograph the fighting) is given multiple action scenes to work with, ensuring the movie is worth sitting through despite the recycled plot and characters.

As for Brandon Lee, he's not as wooden as one might expect. It was to his advantage that his acting didn't suffer from the exasperating eccentricities of his action star peers - such as Steven Seagal's egocentric mumbling or the preening style of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Or, for that matter, he wasn't marred by any of their accents either. Lee could act; he emitted a charming screen presence of good looks and genuine cool. His fisticuffs are fluid and exhilarating, and boast an inventiveness rarely witnessed outside of Hong Kong kung-fu cinema - not only does Lee use his hands and feet as lethal weapons, but he also defends himself by improvising with nearby objects. Lee's sudden death (due to an on-set accident during production of his next movie, The Crow) is a true tragedy - the young lad had a promising career ahead of him. As for the rest of the cast, there's a solid, if routine performance courtesy of Powers Boothe playing the grizzled, single-track cop, in addition to Nick Mancuso who's passable as the villain, and Kate Hodge who's likeable but nothing special as the love interest. Al Leong makes a brief appearance to battle Lee at one stage, too. During the '80s, Leong's played background henchmen in several action films (like Die Hard and Action Jackson), and it's terrific to see him here.

As far as standard, mindless cookie-cutter action movies (with little redeeming values) go, you could certainly do far worse than Rapid Fire, though that's hardly a ringing endorsement. Those who enjoy balls-to-the-wall action movies will find enough to enjoy within these fast-paced 90 minutes, but others need not apply.

Got any kids who've been naughty? If so, then Deck the Halls is their present. It has become a time-honoured tradition for Hollywood studios to distribute below-par Christmas movies as the festive season approaches in an attempt to extract as much money as possible from the naïve movie-going public. Of all the abysmal Christmas movies in recent memory, Deck the Halls is definitely among the worst. It even fails to meet the low standards set by Jingle All the Way and Christmas with the Kranks. It's unfunny, juvenile, remarkably tedious, painfully formulaic, hackneyed, and infused with messages regarding the holiday season that are shallow and pointless. It's topped off with embarrassing mushiness, and a climax so terribly insipid it makes Christmas with the Kranks seem like It's a Wonderful Life in comparison. The film will even make one want to renounce Christmas altogether. It's simply the definitive Christmas present for any naughty child - far nastier than a lump of coal. Deck the screenwriters instead!

As for the story: Steve Finch (Broderick) is a successful optometrist living in a quaint Massachusetts town. As December sets in and Christmas draws closer, Steve finds his title of Mr. Christmas being challenged by his new neighbour Buddy (DeVito). At Christmastime Steve usually organises small town events, but nothing too ostentatious - he coordinates carolling expeditions, he's in charge of the tree in town square, he owns a Christmas tree farm, and unofficially presides over the annual Winterfest carnival. Meanwhile, Buddy develops a goal of his own for Christmas that's anything but ostentatious: cover his house with so many lights that it can be seen from space. This garish display offends Steve, and thus their December battle commences as they vie for the title of Mr. Christmas. One-upmanship and jealousy ensues as their 60-minute pissing contest takes shape.

Deck the Halls contains unrealistic characters living in a world entirely devoid of logic. Case in point: in a phoney display of apology, Buddy gives Steve a new car from the dealership he works for. Steve is utterly gob-smacked by the generosity, and out of guilt he repents for apparently misjudging Buddy. As it turns out, Buddy forged Steve's signature on some legal documents, meaning Steve has officially PURCHASED the car and must now pay for it. This is about six different types of illegal, but does Steve ever go to the police to sort things out like a smart person? Nope. Instead, the men decide to settle matters by having an ice-skating race. No matter who wins the race, Buddy is still not charged with fraud, theft, or forgery - all of which could be proven, and all of which could put a man in prison for a long time. It's offensive to the intelligence.

Deck the Halls is clearly intended to be a light-hearted family comedy, hence the PG rating. So why are the two protagonists such unredeemable bastards? In black comedies like Bad Santa, contemptible protagonists are acceptable due to tone and target audience. But in a family romp it's confusing for the kids who'd come under the false impression that revenge is right. There's an unforgiveable character cliché here too - Buddy is annoying, manipulative, greedy and contemptible, yet Steve is the only one capable of seeing that. Everyone else thinks Buddy is delightful, and Steve is grilled for disliking his neighbour. But the more Steve attempts to show everyone what a jerk Buddy is (and he IS a jerk; a lying, thieving, crass buffoon) the more it backfires, making him look bad and making everyone love Buddy all the more.

A typical scene depicts either Buddy or Steve (or both) attempting to handle some sort of situation before something foolish and predictable transpires. This formula being reused over and over again makes up Deck the Halls. Trees are burned, dads perversely leer at their teenage daughters without realising it, and a character gets covered in animal excrement. But it's obvious that, despite so many disasters, there will be a reunion of sorts at the end of the film and amends will be made. Why? Because it's Christmas! All is forgiven, right...? Fuck no! It's impossible to forgive the filmmakers for wasting one's time with recycled clichés and unfunny set-pieces. It spends over an hour establishing Buddy as a despicable wretch, and then the audience is expected to start liking him because Steve is dumb enough to be conned into forgiving the guy? In the real world, Buddy would be forced to reform; to admit his wrongdoing and plead for forgiveness. In this twisted wreckage of Hollywood excess, however, somehow STEVE is the one who needs to change his ways. Just when one thinks/hopes the superficiality is over, the population of the town pull out their cell phones to use as lights, because's Buddy's Christmas light display fails...

The fact that this stuff sticks out while watching Deck the Halls is an indicator of the quality of the humour. The lack of reality could be forgiven if only there were laughs to be had, but this film ain't funny, nor is it fun or enjoyable. Matt Corman and Chris Ord were credited for the screenplay, and this is their first Hollywood credit. Boy, their inexperience is obvious. Every amateurish trick designed to entertain is employed, such as an expensive, prized family vase mentioned early into the film that one can pretty much guarantee will play a part somewhere in the third act to provide a giggle. Furthermore, characters appear to mysteriously recite one-liners when they're alone. A prime example of this is a scene during which a young boy, upon seeing two hot girls undress through a window, exclaims "This is going to be the best Christmas ever!" despite the fact he's all alone. Who are you talking to, you horny little brat? Yourself? The audience? The telegraph pole you're perched on? The Lord?

Once the script was completed, Don Rhymer conducted rewrites and John Whitesell was hired as the director. Garbage of a monumental degree was destined to be born from this point forward. Whitesell had previously directed Calendar Girl, See Spot Run, and Malibu's Most Wanted. Rhymer wrote movies like Carpool, The Santa Clause 2 and Agent Cody Banks 2. Rhymer and Whitesell had also collaborated previously for Big Momma's House 2. These two are purveyors of hopeless crap - they're some of the worst "talent" Hollywood has ever seen. Matthew Broderick and Danny DeVito appear to give it their all as the protagonists here, but the actors merely play the umpteenth versions of their long-established screen personas. It's a very tragic state of affairs indeed when someone of DeVito's stature can't get a laugh... Those tempted to give this film a shot as a mark of respect for Broderick and/or DeVito should think twice. If you're a fan of one or both performers, you simply don't want to see the material they've been allocated.

Deck the Halls doesn't do an adequate job of capturing the spirit of the holiday season either. There are Christmas carols and a pallet of red and green, but this lifeless film has no heart. There are some great Christmas movies out there - Bad Santa and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, to name a couple. Deck the Halls, however, is not destined to be remembered among them. Why is it so hard to make a decent Christmas comedy? Not every movie has to be on the level of It's a Wonderful Life. A Home Alone or a Love Actually would do fine. Nevertheless, year after year, we get unfunny and unpleasant cinematic abortions. Deck the Halls takes its place alongside Surviving Christmas and Christmas with the Kranks as one of the most unpleasant gifts of the Christmas season. They look fine when wrapped, but, once opened, one hastily wants to return them.

Nothing says Christmas quite like the classics can. In a contemporary cinematic age governed by a desire for cash over quality, few - if any - modern Christmas flicks are destined to be as popular as the seasonal favourites of old. One picture which ranks highly in the category of Yuletide classics is the 1947 masterpiece Miracle on 34th Street. It's interesting to note just how unlikely this film's success was - back in the '40s, it was a film the studio had no idea know how to handle. It was selected for a summer release (in America, that is, when movie-goers aren't in the mood for movies about Santa Claus), it was armed with a surprisingly astute social insight, it offered subtle jabs at festive commercialism, and was infused with an intersection of law and politics. But Miracle on 34th Street found its audience, and was bestowed with acclaim and Oscars. Anchored by a winning combination of warm, sincere performances, magical moments, and a screenplay that's both sentimental and smart, Miracle on 34th Street should be required viewing on Christmas Eve. Children will find it a rewarding fantasy about the existence of Santa, while older, more mature viewers will be rewarded with an intelligence often lacking in Christmastime entertainment.

As the film begins, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City is about to take place. The Santa Claus hired for said parade is found to be slightly inebriated, and the parade organiser, Doris Walker (O'Hara), is left with no other option but to hire an elderly man she encounters (Gwenn) who happens to look remarkably like Santa. Due to the success of the parade, this old man is then hired as the department store Santa at Macy's, and is a huge hit: he's wonderful with children and is genuinely full of the Christmas spirit. In fact, this man claims that he actually is Kris Kringle himself. Problem is, Doris is raising her daughter Susan (Wood) with directness and honestly, meaning a complete absence of fairy tales, myths...and Santa Claus. Kris' ostensibly ridiculous claim is challenged, of course. Ultimately, rationality and the fantastical meet head to head in a courtroom where the sanity of Kris Kringle is to be determined.

Similar to other Christmas films set during the first half of the twentieth century (like A Christmas Story and It's a Wonderful Life, to name a couple), Miracle on 34th Street evokes and captures a time of sheltered innocence far removed from this day and age. It's almost impossible to imagine a period ever existing - a time when a trip to the department store meant dressing in your very best clothes, and when a stranger across the hall could be trusted alone with a little girl. To view Miracle on 34th Street is not to step back in time per se, but to enter a nostalgic dream wherein an array of wonderful moments unfold: Kris Kringle singing with a little Dutch girl, the great Thelma Ritter in an unbilled cameo as an early benefactor of Kringle's natural goodwill, and the United States Postal Service opting to dump all the undelivered Santa letters on Kris when he's in court.

George Seaton started as a radio actor before moving behind the camera during the 1930s. Miracle on 34th Street was only his fourth movie as a director, but he shows a solid sense of craftsmanship. Seaton's visuals may not exactly be outstanding, but he shows a true gift for working with actors (which comes back to the fact that he was an actor himself prior to his directorial career). Edward Gwenn's performance as Kris Kringle, for which he earned an Oscar, is wonderfully endearing - he's the perfect movie Santa Claus. Gwenn portrays the jolly fat man as the embodiment of goodwill and kind-heartedness; the type of person that makes you smile just by seeing them. Best of all, he deftly keeps his character ambiguous as to whether he genuinely is Santa Claus or just a sweetly deluded old man. Either way, you can't help but love the guy. Further additions to the cast include the wonderful Maureen O'Hara who's very convincing as Doris, and the precocious young Natalie Wood who's an utter joy as Susan.

Miracle on 34th Street also stands out due to its innovative (for the time) and extensive use of authentic locations - Seaton managed to integrate his actors into the real Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (Gwenn even played Santa for the event), and a few specific scenes were shot inside an actual Macy's department store with real workers and customers in the background. Such techniques are highly effective, as is the film's extraordinarily clever ambiguity. No-one ever definitively declares Kris to be the real Santa Claus, nor does the movie prove in any way that Santa exists, and there isn't a single shred of hard evidence to suggest Kris truly is Santa. Just as Doris and Susan slowly begin to gain faith in the unprovable, so does the audience. Sure, hints are presented in Kris' favour, but nothing is solid. It's up to us to believe and interpret the ending however we want.

It may not approach the dizzying heights of the brilliant Christmas staple It's a Wonderful Life, but Miracle on 34th Street remains a smart, immensely enjoyable festive fable that carefully hedges its bets in playing the line between reality and fantasy. In this regard, Edmund Gwenn's performance as Kris Kringle is pitch-perfect because he's able to generate the belief that Santa Claus is not just a mere impossibility, even for the adults (both in the audience and in the film) who should "know better". Yet, this movie refuses to get mushy on us. The sentiment is earned and genuine, but never forced. Seaton's screenplay is sharp; the tender drama is deftly combined with sly humour (this is actually a very funny movie) and a knowing, biting commentary on the commercialism of Christmas that grows more relevant with each passing year (I wonder what Kris would think about the state of Christmas commercialism today...). Miracle on 34th Street is not some cornball effort that uses the Christmas backdrop as a way to cheaply jerk a tear...it's a simple story of how decency and kindness will win over the most cynical of hearts. Here is a movie that doesn't push the materialistic aspect of the festive season (Jingle All the Way, anyone?) but rather the spirit of the holiday. It is, quite plainly, the Christmas spirit put on film.

Ostensibly determined to defecate on one of its most respectable commodities, National Lampoon have begat the abominable, pointless and brain-dead Christmas Vacation 2: Cousin Eddie's Island Adventure. Hoping to get extra mileage out of the Vacation series (which stopped being interesting during the '80s), those responsible for Christmas Vacation 2 dredged up a few familiar faces and placed them in the midst of this plotless, excruciatingly unfunny bedsore of a movie...which is also tagged as a direct sequel to arguably the most beloved Vacation film - 1989's Christmas Vacation - despite the fact it was part three of a four-part film series. Sorry if this doesn't make sense to anyone...

Like most sequels of this ilk, Christmas Vacation 2 bears the stink of being born out of greed and actor desperation. Not even the hopelessly washed-up Chevy Chase needed the work this badly. But Randy Quaid was obviously sick of eating dog food and living in a cardboard box, so he takes centre stage here.

In the film, Cousin Eddie (Quaid) is fired from his job in favour of a monkey. But to avoid a lawsuit when this aforementioned monkey bites Eddie, the company offers him an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii for Christmas. Since most of the jokes are derived from the fact that Eddie is unrealistically stupid, he takes this holiday rather than suing the company for thousands of dollars. With his wife Catherine (Flynn), son "Third" (Thompson), uncle Nick (Asner) and nephew Audrey (Barron, reprising the role 20 years after she played it) in tow, Eddie heads to the beaches of Hawaii. Following a boat accident so hackneyed and unfunny that it's not worth describing, everyone becomes stranded on a deserted island where they play Gilligan's Island and refuse to make you laugh for about an hour. What ensues is a string of unrelated, laugh-free "comedy" set-pieces until Eddie and company are eventually rescued. The end. Oh, and while on the island they throw an "Island Christmas" at the insistence of their brain-challenged guide who has one of those overly convoluted foreign names just so everyone can mispronounce it.

Christmas Vacation 2: Cousin Eddie's Island Adventure sucks hard. Oh, so terribly, terribly hard. Not a single laugh escaped this reviewer's wired-shut jaw. Not a single giggle, chortle, or smirk. The filmmakers tried to get laughs. They threw in slapstick, one-liners, sight gags, crazy monkeys, Fred Willard and dirty old men...but to no avail. The end result is as funny and agonising as a pipe wrench to the testicles. It speaks volumes about the quality of the writing when the only sequence with potential for a laugh was one in which Eddie uses the stench of his dog Snots (who farts frequently, of course) to get through the long airport line in a matter of seconds. Matty Simmons, who was the producer of all four Vacation movies, was the screenwriter for Christmas Vacation 2, despite having no previous screenwriting credits. His inexperience is oh-so-obvious. The film was directed by Nick Marck; a television director who has helmed episodes of such TV shows as The Wonder Years, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Veronica Mars. In spite of his impressive prior efforts, Marck shows no sense of comic timing and has crafted an unbelievably dull motion picture. The screenplay itself was a dud, but Marck's incompetent direction only made it worse.

The primary reason for this movie's failure is the premise of shaping it around Cousin Eddie. Sure, the Griswold saga has run its course, but an Eddie-centric spin-off is hardly an effective solution. It's also hardly a way to let the Vacation series end with a shred of dignity... The character of Eddie worked because he was a foil. He was hilarious because of his juxtaposition with (relatively) normal people, and because of the insults Clark threw at him which never registered. Quaid pulls off his Eddie persona decently enough, but the bottom line is that the character, judged on his own merits, is not funny, and Eddie is not a suitable character to carry his own film.

This leaves the rest of the cast to shoulder the burden...sorry, not happening. Ed Asner never looks remotely interested, Miriam Flynn's Catherine was always a background role so there's not much to mine here, and Sung Hi Lee appears to just be the requisite object of lust. Jack Thompson is flat-out awful. With so many budding actors hoping to break the big time, it's a mystery as to how such talentless failures like Thompson manage to get work. Dana Barron is the only highlight, but only due to the novelty factor since she played the role of Audrey Griswold in the very first Vacation movie in 1983. There's a very unfunny cameo courtesy of Eric Idle as well, who (one supposes) plays the same role he portrayed in European Vacation - the British guy who gets beaten up by accident a lot. Wasn't funny back then, and it's far less funny now. To be fair, even a group of Oscar-winning actors wouldn't make this movie any less dismal.

Perhaps worst of all, Christmas Vacation 2 never even feels like a Christmas movie. This could be attributed to the tropical island setting, or the lack of a delightful Christmas atmosphere. But in all likelihood, it's because of the awful screenwriting that basically tries to cash in on the Christmas Vacation name. Then again, this reviewer might just be a bit of a cynic.

If you're seeking a definitive lesson on how to milk a franchise until there's nothing left but a burnt out, lifeless husk, Christmas Vacation 2 fits the bill. It isn't so bad it's good. It isn't even so bad it's bad. To call it bad would be an insult to all things that are bad. This film hurts one's feeling. It tarnishes the Christmas Vacation label. Depression rates apparently go up at Christmastime, and here's a way to justify that. I believe I've devoted more than enough manpower to write a review of this cinematic abortion. Trust me, you don't want to watch it. You don't even want anything to do with it.

It's strangely appropriate that John Sturges' The Magnificent Seven is a Western remake of Akira Kurosawa's Japanese epic Seven Samurai. After all, Kurosawa has repeatedly said that his work is inspired by American Westerns. While The Magnificent Seven cannot compete with Seven Samurai in terms of visual dexterity or profound thematic complexity, John Sturges' Western-ised adaptation holds up as a rousing action-adventure story as well as a fascinating turning point in the history of films about the Old West. Not only does The Magnificent Seven contain a pitch-perfect cast and a satisfying amount of exciting, gun-slinging action, but it additionally finds time to explore deep contradictions of the mythic noble outlaws which proved so endemic to the American Western genre.

The plot is a simple one, and follows the template established by Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. A small Mexican village is repeatedly raided by a bandit gang led by the menacing Calvera (Wallach) who constantly leaves the villagers destitute. Desperate and fed up with living under Calvera's thumb, several of the villagers travel to a nearby border town in the hope of purchasing guns to defend themselves, but end up simply hiring professional gunmen instead. A total of seven men are recruited, who travel back to the village to confront Calvera and his gang of bandits. Each of the seven men has their own reasons for being involved, but all are united under the common goal of removing fear from the village and overthrowing the evil marauders.

The Magnificent Seven is divided into two distinct halves. The first chronicles the rounding up of the seven gunmen, while the second half recounts the epic battle fought between the gunslingers and Calvera's gang of bandits. Taken at face value, this is standard good vs. evil stuff. But if scrutinised further, one will uncover something much deeper. Sure, the good guys fight off the bad guys heroically, but each character is imbued with a finely-drawn, distinct and interesting personality. The gunmen are masterfully humanised; they're tough guys who have regrets and fears, but manage to do a commendable job of hiding them. Things steadily intensify during the lead-up to the final showdown which displays no mercy even towards the film's most likeable characters. The Magnificent Seven also remains vital and interesting due to departures from the genre norms it opted to take. This was probably the first Hollywood Western in history to delve into the emptiness of the life of a gunfighter; they're confident in their profession, but are unable to hold down a stable home and family life. In a wonderfully judged scene, the seven men discuss the pros and cons of the life they've chosen, and it's apparent this life hasn't greatly rewarded them since they were poor enough to accept this job for which they'll receive little pay.

Of course, The Magnificent Seven wouldn't be considered such a success on characters alone; there are rousing action sequences here as well. In this respect, much of the credit belongs to director John Sturges, an 'outdoor' director who keeps the pacing efficient and has an eye for action set-pieces. Prior to The Magnificent Seven, Sturges was experienced in directing both action films and Westerns with such titles as Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Bad Day at Black Rock. It's due to the director's extensive experience that when the action happens, it's taut, motivated and convincing, with a strong sense of urgency and a clear notion of what's at stake. The expansive vistas of Western scenery, the codes of honour among the gunslingers, the camaraderie they find in each other, as well as the shootouts so common in Hollywood Westerns are all included here in spades. This fusion of so many irresistible elements raises the film several notches above more typical tales of simplistic cowboy heroes.

Yul Brynner was initially suggested to direct this movie, but Sturges ended up getting the job. Instead, Brynner settled for one of the protagonists - an excellent alternative, because Brynner's performance is outstanding. Another inspired casting choice is Steve McQueen as a member of the titular team. McQueen, who eventually went on to star in Bullitt and The Great Escape, imbues his performance with cool and intensity. He was the ultra-cool male film star of the 1960s, after all. The other five champions of the film are James Coburn, Charles Bronson, Robert Vaughn, Brad Dexter and European film star Horst Buchholz. It's easy to see why these men were cast: all have unique, memorable faces that convey both conviction and desolation. A number of actors got their big breaks in this film, including Steve McQueen, James Coburn and Charles Bronson. It's funny to imagine these actors being relatively unknown at the time. It's also interesting to note that there was a tremendous rivalry between the actors, in particular between Brynner and McQueen. Meanwhile Eli Wallach is superb playing the menacing, no-nonsense villain. Too many movies allow the lead villain to remain two-dimensional, but this is not the case here.

Upon close examination, there are no real flaws to point out within The Magnificent Seven - it's just flawed in the sense that it feels like an abridged reiteration of Seven Samurai. Other than that, the film is top drawer. It offers drama, strong characterisations, clever writing, action and suspense. It's exciting, witty, smart and sometimes even sweet. Added to this, it's a Western actioner that crosses the line to appeal to movie-lovers of all sorts. Deep down, you know it's not as brilliant as Kurosawa's Seven Samurai...but very few films are.

One thing's for certain: no-one could ever accuse Joel and Ethan Coen of selling out. After the duo achieved perhaps their greatest critical success with No Country for Old Men (for which they collected multiple well-earned Oscars) immediately followed by the box office triumph of Burn After Reading, they've created one of their most befuddling pictures to date. 2009's A Serious Man is a Coen-esque, oddball mixture of black humour and dramatic pathos told from a profoundly Jewish perspective, which simultaneously highlights the film's deep Old Testament roots and offers a unique cultural backdrop rarely seen in Hollywood films. Many critics have highlighted the ostensibly personal nature of A Serious Man, but the Coens (who aren't devout Jews by any means) seem to have just once again selected a specific area of American culture and skewered it to death - and for this venture it just happens to hit a little closer to home.

A Serious Man is essentially a contemporary re-enactment of the Book of Job which transpires in suburban Minnesota during the late 1960s. Physics professor Larry Gopnik (Stuhlbarg) is married, has kids, and holds down a good job, but he becomes trapped in misery: he's up for tenure but anonymous letters are being submitted urging the committee to deny him, his wife is leaving him for a mutual friend (for vague reasons), a frantic Korean student is trying to bribe his way out of a failing grade (then tries to blackmail him for supposedly accepting the bribe), his brother is lost in depression, and his offspring are predominantly disinterested in him (the only thing his son wants is for Larry to fix the TV aerial so that he can watch F-Troop clearly). As the strands of his life begin to unravel, Larry is left to question whether he's been a good man or a serious man, and whether God is even paying attention.

What Larry is unable to understand is why God would force someone who follows all the rules of decency to suffer so much while others seem to get away with anything they want. The Coens present Larry's dilemma without offering any solutions; suggesting that when life gets tough, one has little recourse but to stand firm and take it. Moreover, Larry seeks an answer to explain the troubles suddenly befalling his life by visiting several rabbis. In every case, however, they merely speak in aphorisms and metaphors, and generally beat around the issue without every getting to the heart of it. And this is precisely the point, of course - the Coens don't shy away from the interpretation that it may all mean nothing. The answer Larry seeks is nonexistent because to answer the question of human suffering would be to forever close the gap between humankind and the eternal. It's due to this that the best answer he receives is one he never recognises as such: "Accept mystery". Perhaps if Larry had heard the Hebrew proverb that prefaces the film - "Accept with simplicity everything that happens to you" - the words might have given him solace in his time of need.

An ode to Midwestern Judaism and the havoc of guilt, the Coen Brothers have woven together a truly masterful tapestry of neuroses and personal damage, intercut with enough black humour to alleviate the pervasive dread. By this stage in their career, Joel & Ethan Coen have perfected the art of quirkiness without contrivance. For each new film, they construct their own bizarre universe governed by chance and indifference to the well-being of its inhabitants, while the characters that are subjected to the whims of this dimension are charged with finding a way through it. Like most Coen productions, A Serious Man is inscrutable and challenging, which is most evident during the opening scene: a parable entirely in Yiddish about a husband who invites over to dinner a man who may or may not be a ghost. This parable's relation to the main story is tenuous, but it acts as a nice introduction to this world.

The direction by the Coens is pitch-perfect - it transforms material which could have easily been painful in the hands of others into a hilariously discomforting and mordant comedy. A Serious Man also benefits from remarkable performances from the mostly unknown cast (this is not the type of film that would benefit from the presence of George Clooney). Due to stage actor Michael Stuhlbarg's big-screen anonymity, a viewer can concentrate entirely on the character rather than the actor, and the result is a sensitive, riveting performance. Alongside Stuhlbarg, Fred Melamed is particularly hysterical; he plays a man who cuckolds Larry, and insists on making it up to him with a bottle of wine that he uses as a metaphor for justifying his behaviour. If there's a flaw with A Serious Man, it's the inclusion of oddball divergences that don't have a compelling reason to exist...other than self-indulgence.

Each Coen Brothers production has an immediate, distinct and memorable visual impact (from the snowscape of Fargo to the scorching desert of No Country for Old Men), and this is unchanged here. Technically and artistically, A Serious Man is pure class; capturing the mid-Western Jewish enclave of the '60s with realistic period recreation and comic exaggeration. The neighbourhood in which Larry resides is an immaculate evocation of the suburban neighbourhoods that existed across America in the '50s and '60s (with the widely separated, flattened houses, narrow driveways, and treeless yards). Roger Deakins' exceptional cinematography brings out the right notes of alienation from the expanses of blue-sky suburbia, while further menace is added by Carter Burwell's score and the ominous sound design. That this technical excellence was achieved on a $7 million budget is a miracle.

While A Serious Man is very funny, it's far removed from mainstream cinema, and wouldn't have had a chance in hell of getting made without the Coen Brothers having earned the right. This is largely because the ending (like the beginning) feels random and unsettling; playing out like a spiteful poke in the eye to those who disliked the ambiguity of the final scene of No Country for Old Men. The ending may not bode well for reliable box office, but it stays true to the film's overall tone; reminding viewers that the journey doesn't end just because things are starting to look up. One of the primary themes the film tackles is the randomness of existence and the futility of figuring everything out through mathematical formulas, thus the apparent abruptness of the ending appears to highlight this theme. It also allows plenty of latitude for interpretation. A Serious Man is cinema at its best, leaving your mind in motion long after the credits have rolled.

A Serious Man manages to be at once laugh-out-loud funny and deeply serious. It's also simultaneously troubling and satisfying, warm and bleak, and respectful of its Jewish heritage while mocking its restrictions and false comforts. This is undoubtedly one of the best films the Coens have made to date, and it reconfirms that they are among the most daring and audacious filmmakers currently working in the movie industry, though it's doubtful this film will catch on with a mass audience.

When it comes to Christmas stories, none are as ubiquitous as Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Since the silent era, there have been at least 25 motion picture adaptations of this 1843 novella for film and television, as well as countless other spin-offs, spoofs and updated variations (the likes of the Muppets, Patrick Stewart and even Mr. Magoo have tackled this Yuletide morality tale). In addition, the characters have seeped so deeply into popular mindset that one just has to utter the name "Scrooge", and the vast majority of the human population will immediately conjure up images of a grumpy, miserable old man who dampens the spirits of those around him. Therefore, it's logical to ask: why does the world need yet another screen version of A Christmas Carol?

The answer is simple: Robert Zemeckis' cinematic adaptation is a Disney-branded, 3-D computer-animated spectacle which is right up the alley of this digital era. A Christmas Carol is, of course, Zemeckis' third stab at reimagining page-bound stories with cutting-edge technology mixing CGI with performance-capture cameras to turn flesh-and-blood actors into infinitely malleable digital avatars (his previous efforts being The Polar Express and Beowulf). It's hard not to be impressed with the top-shelf animation, however Zemeckis' work frequently panders to the 3-D gimmick and all the razzle-dazzle appears to usurp the emotional element.

For anyone who doesn't know the story, here it is in a nutshell... Ebenezer Scrooge (played by Jim Carrey) is a miserable old curmudgeon, and when it comes to celebrating Christmas, his one-word refrain says it all: Humbug! One Christmas Eve, however, he receives a number of supernatural visitors whose goal is to trigger a fundamental change in Scrooge. These visitors include the ghost of his old business partner (Oldman), the Ghost of Christmas Past (also played by Carrey), the Ghost of Christmas Present (Carrey again), and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (still Carrey). Scrooge is confronted with the consequences of his current cruelties, discovers the dire fate that awaits him, and is faced with a decision as to what his future will hold: death or redemption.

Zemeckis' screenplay for A Christmas Carol is remarkably faithful to Dickens' novella; right down to insignificant moments and most of the dialogue. But this fidelity creates a lethal problem. Not to suggest the script should have been dumbed down to Twitter speak, but Victorian English is vastly different to any form of English spoken today (in terms of grammar, words, syntax and rhythm). The dialogue is therefore quite dry, and children will no doubt have trouble deciphering what is being said. Dickens also inserted societal commentary into his original work (that was relevant at the time) which is once again carried over into Zemeckis' movie. The most glaring example of this is an out-of-place digression in which Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present take time out of their journey to discuss "Sabbatarianism" (the practise of closing businesses on Sunday). Presented in this motion picture without any specification as to what is being discussed (more than a century after it stopped being controversial) results in a huge "what the fuck?!" moment. There's a good reason why books should be altered for cinematic adaptations (consider Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy - masterful adaptations that work without being 100% faithful to Tolkien's novel).

Such faithfulness to Dickens' novella could have worked, but Zemeckis wasn't just aiming for a loyal page-to-screen transplantation; A Christmas Carol also aspires to be a flashy, adamantly Hollywood-ised blockbuster that appeals to a family audience. Thus, the film tries to have it both ways, with moments of inane physical comedy as well as elaborate action set-pieces (who knew Scrooge was such an able stuntman?). Added to this, the camera movements are overdone even during the low-key scenes (to make the most of the 3-D gimmick), which is distracting when the film wants to make an emotional impact. Imagine watching a drama like Remains of the Day which is interrupted by a Michael Bay movie every 10 minutes - the jarring dissonance is overwhelming. And for those wanting to take their 5-year-old to this movie, note the PG rating: it contains a few sequences too scarifying for the infant crowd.

A Christmas Carol is admittedly well-told and enjoyable, but it lacks a certain heart. It hits all the required notes but, despite playing them with technical proficiency, there's no profound emotion. A vital Scrooge character development arc gets lost amidst the huge, kinetic set-pieces - his moral journey becomes a mere battle for survival as he's flung from one chase scene to the next, and his epiphany is rushed. At least the design of Victorian London is jaw-dropping. The film opens with a brilliant tracking shot that takes the audience on an aerial tour of the long-ago city; over spires, under lampposts and through windows before finally ending up in Scrooge's dingy office. The combination of twinkly snow, smoky skylines and looping camerawork is spectacular. The criticism often levelled at motion capture animation movies is that the characters look "dead behind the eyes". Despite advancements made in the technology since Zemeckis' awful The Polar Express, this is still the case in A Christmas Carol. No matter how photorealistic the characters are rendered, the layer of computer-generated gloss remains an unsurpassable emotional barrier between character and viewer that's yet to be broken.

Working overtime is star Jim Carrey, who plays a total of seven roles. It's an interesting and unusual casting choice given that Scrooge is defined by his bitter stasis whereas Carrey is best known for his brand of comedic performance. Yet, as Carrey has proved in films like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, he is hardly a one-trick pony. He manages to play the role almost entirely straight, but this begs the question: why cast Jim at all? The miserable old man doesn't seem right for Carrey at all (the Ghost of Christmas Present is the only character that fits Carrey's range). As a side note, Carrey is virtually unrecognisable in his new digital bodies. And this is, of course, precisely the point - one of the failures of Zemeckis' earlier outings was that he didn't take full advantage of the possibilities of digital manipulation.
Other members of the cast include Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Robert Wright Penn and Cary Elwes, who lend not only their vocal stylings to their roles but their physical likenesses as well.

With A Christmas Carol, Robert Zemeckis has succeeded in creating an enjoyable, visually succulent film, but the true heart of the original story is lost amidst the visual pyrotechnics which take full advantage of the technologies available but fail to illuminate or expand Dickens' story in new or meaningful ways. It's stunning and occasionally mesmerising visual filmmaking, yet still disappointingly shallow. At least it's a few hundred notches above Hollywood's usual festive output...