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It’s easy to dislike Michael Bay, the director of The Island and other action packed movies like Pearl Harbor, Bad Boys (1 and 2), The Rock, and Armageddon, not because he’s a bad director, although many say that he is, but because he’s so in love with himself. Michael Bay loves Michael Bay. Every special feature on the The Island DVD exists to remind us how smart, clever, and daring Michael Bay is. The first special-feature documentary opens with Michael Bay looking at camera and saying “I told the writers not to write any action [in the script]. Just write the word ‘action’ and I’ll do all the rest.” Oh, Michael Bay. Aren’t you brilliant? Bless you for being the ONLY person who made this movie.

The fact is, filmmaking is a collaborative art. It’s the product of a lot of talented people combining their skills to make something imaginative. Together. And to have Michael Bay, or any director for that matter, so happily take all the credit for a film annoys me beyond end.

But an inflated ego isn’t Michael Bay’s only problem. Apparently he’s a real tyrant on set as well. Actors learn to hate him. Like James Cameron, Michael Bay sees people as tin soldiers to be ordered around, commodities, set pieces, not as artists themselves.

Compare Michael Bay with a much more talented director Ron Howard, aka Mr. Humility, aka “My films are the result of the great talent around me.” Actors love Ron Howard, if for no other reason than the respect he gives them.

After the Michael Bay lovefest documentaries, I didn’t even bother listening to the director’s commentary. I typically don’t listen to commentaries anyway, but a commentary that features Michael Bay yapping about how intelligent and ingenious he is — which doubtless is what the commentary was — is even less appealing.

As for the film, I loved it. It’s the best film by Michael Bay I’ve seen. Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson are clones, copies of people in the real world, living in an underground research facility just waiting for their organs to be harvested. They don’t know they’re clones of course. They think they’re one of the few survivors of a global contamination, the fortunate few, all waiting for their chance to be sent to the last contaminate-free place on earth, a garden of Eden, the Island.

When McGregor learns the truth of the facility, he and Johansson escape. Bullets fly. Engines rev. And lots of running, car chasing, and explosions follow. Besides a few eye-rolling “no one would survive that” moments — such as the heroes falling out of a fifty story building — the film was a pleasure to watch. Lauren loved it as well.

A warning for those with weak stomachs: The Island is violent. Weapons used include a nail gun, a large plumber’s wrench, grappling hooks that sink into human flesh, chains, an incinerator, and of course bullets. Lots and lots of bullets. But if that’s your cup of tea, grab a big glass and pop in The Island. You’re sure to get your fill.

A few months ago I read the young-adult novel Millions by Frank Cottrell Boyce and thought it one of the best books of the year. It tells the story of Damien Cunningham, a young British boy who, after the death of his mother, develops a near obsession for Catholic Saints, learning their names, the dates of their lives, and the various responsibilities they now have as those on the Lord’s errand. (Saint Peter is the patron saint of locks, keys and security. Saint Catherine of Alexandria is the patroness of fireworks).

Damien’s mother died in a catholic hospital where the tiny figurines of saints were plentiful, and Damien believes that his mother, because she was so pure and virtuous, must be a saint as well.

Damien finds all these facts about saints at totallysaints.com, a real website created to correspond with the book. It’s a fun site if you have a moment or two.

Damien’s life changes — and the real story begins — when a bag of nearly 230,000 British pounds (that’s money) falls from the sky onto his cardboard hermitage. Damien, believing the money has come from God, sets out to do good and help the poor. But Anthony, Damien’s older and unnaturally money-smart brother, has different plans: they’re going to invest the money. And spend it.

But the clock is ticking. The British are destroying all their pounds and converting their currency to the Europe-wide one, the Euro. So Damien and Anthony have only a limited number of days to get rid of all that cash. And as Richard Pryor taught us so many years ago in Brewster’s Millions, blowing a big wad of cash isn’t as easy as it sounds. And Damien and Anthony, because their children, have an especially hard time of it since no adult will give them the time of day.

The story is wonderful. And the narrative, written from Damien’s point of view, is so sweet and endearing that you want to reach into the pages and adopt the kid.

And that’s why the film is so wonderful as well. Alex Etel, who plays Damien, and who had never acted before in his life, is so convincing as the pure-hearted true believer that you want to sign whatever paperwork is necessary and adopt this kid. Special kudos goes to Danny Boyle, the film’s director, for bringing all of the magic of the book onto the screen.

And the score is wonderful, some of the best upbeat choral music I’ve heard in a long time, the kind that when you listen to it, you just feel grateful for life.

And bravo to Frank Cottrell Boyce for adapting his own novel into one of the best screenplays this year and proving to the Hollywood establishment all clean, family-focused storytelling is alive and well.

Fans won’t be disappointed by the newest film in the Harry Potter series. I saw it last night. It was fantastic. Of a possible four stars, I give it four and a half. Lauren and I went with our friend Scott, who had actually seen the film already but liked it so much the first time, he wanted to see it again. And with theater tickets at ten bucks a pop, a willingness to see a film twice in the theater is no small praise.

The story surrounds the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a competition between representatives of the three schools of magic, one of which of course is Hogwarts, Harry’s school. Harry’s name is somehow selected to participate even though a representative of Hogwarts had already been chosen and only students seventeen or older are eligible. (Harry is fourteen.)

Harry’s forced participation, as anyone who has read the book knows, is all orchestrated by dark wizards hoping to return the mack-daddy of bad wizards, Voldemort, to power.

The stages of the competition are so suspenseful that I found myself grabbing Lauren and bringing my hand to my face in a oh-no-Harry’s-going-to-get-it-for-good gesture. This is edge of your seat action.

In fact, the dragon sequence was better than the book, with the horntail chasing Harry all over Hogwarts and clawing along steep rooftops in an effort to burn him into a charbroiled wizard on a stick. (Harry was riding his broom at the time.)

But action sequences don’t make a movie. Great movies are the result of great storytelling, and Goblet achieves that and then some. For starters, the characters and performances are believable, with particular kudos going to our three stars: Harry, Ron and Hermoine. Hermonie has always delivered, but Harry and Ron are finally keeping pace, showing emotion that most actors their age can only dream of pulling off believably. And, yes, the emotion is high in Goblet. Bad things happen. Terrible things. People get hurt. And evil is more apparent than in any other Potter film to date. This movie earns it’s PG-13 rating. But thank goodness it did. Anything less would have been water-downed grade-school pandering. This is a coming-of-age story for Harry, and director Mike Newell delivers exactly that.

Look for other great performances by Brandan Gleeson as Mad Eye Moody, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and Miranda Richardson as Rita Skeeter, the self-loving tabloid writer for the Daily Prophet.

Oh, and watch for the unrecognizable Ralph Fiennes as the Dark Lord himself, who is actually more evil than I could have imagined him. Don’t bring the kids for this one. They won’t sleep for days.

So the Potter films have improved with each installment. Goblet is the best to date. If the franchise can keep that up, I’ll be a very happy fan indeed.

The teaser for Superman Returns, which hits theaters next summer, is out. You can see it here.) I’ve watched it half a dozen times now, and it still gives me goosebumps.

For the informed, Superman Returns is being directed by Bryan Singer, one of the most talented young directors in Hollywood right now. His credits include the recent X-Men movies as well as The Usual Suspects, which is one of those lots-of-plot-twists character pieces that I enjoyed immensely but, because of the violence and profanity, can only watch once.

Superman Returns also has an unknown actor in the lead, one Brandon Routh (rhymes with south), who looks so much like Christopher Reeves in some of the publicity photos that it’s a little eerie.

As for the story, suffice it to say that Superman has been away from Earth for a few years, and when he returns, he finds Lois Lane with a child and engaged to be married. Plus Lex Luthor has some diabolical plan, I’m sure. Oh, and I think there are aliens involved. Anyway, it’s a departure from the previous Superman films, which is good considering the third one co-starred (wince) Richard Pryor and the fourth one was about nuclear arms proliferation. Ugh.

Oh, and I’ve always despised Margot Kidder (Christopher Reeves’s Lois Lane). She has this raspy smoker’s voice that makes me cringe. Plus I don’t find her the least bit attractive. (Call me shallow but if I’m going to stare at a face for two hours, I’d prefer it be easy on the eyes.)

So the new Superman movie will be different in some ways. But not in all ways. As the teaser suggests, there is some elements of the last few pictures that will carry over to this one. And it’s here where Singer shows his genius.

The Score
John William’s score from the first Superman movie is arguably one of the best film scores ever composed. It’s certainly one of the most memorable. Luke, who’s only seen about five minutes of the first Superman movie can hum some of the tune. That’s how catchy it is. I love the score. It’s nostalgic. It conjures up all these great memories that I associate with the wonder and magic of Superman. And that’s because it SOUNDS like Superman. It’s majestic and powerful and suspenseful and everything that is the man in tights.

Marlon Brando
Marlon Brando, who played Jor El, Superman’s Kryptonian father in the first Superman movie, is back as well. But how can that be, you ask? Brando has been dead for, what, a few years now? The answer is simple. When filming the original Superman, Brando recorded a lot of voice over for the film, much of which wasn’t used. So Singer has mined these recordings and plugged a few of them into the new movie.

But this is where the trailer trips up a bit. There was a REASON why these recordings weren’t used. They’re condescending.

In the trailer, Brando (Jor El) explains why he sent Kal El (Superman), his only son, to Earth. And it’s a little insulting. According to Jor El, we earthlings “lack the light” needed to live peacefully. And we have a “capacity for good,” but without Superman to guide us, we’re lost sheep.

The “Superman as Savior” angle works only to so many degrees. And this is overkill.

Perhaps you think that harsh criticism. After all, Singer and his writers didn’t pen the voice over. They’re just using what was available. But the point is they used it. They didn’t have to. They chose to.

Superman is a hero. He saves people from danger and stands for truth and justice. But he doesn’t teach us what good is. We know what good is. That’s why we admire him. He’s a superhero, not a God.

This isn’t to say I don’t have high hopes for Superman Returns. Quite the contrary. It looks amazing. The footage for the trailer is stunning. I particularly enjoyed one over-head shot of citizens of Metropolis all frozen in wonder, staring up into the sky at, what we can assume is, Superman.

In fact, I felt the same way about the trailer: I stared in wonder. This is going to be good, folks. I’ll forgive Brando and the original writers for their touch of overkill. As far as I’m concerned, Superman Returns is THE movie of 2006.

I’m not one to use superlatives often. Call everything “the best” and people will begin to place a lesser value on your opinion thinking you’re won over too easily. But here I can say with confidence that this is indeed the best book I have read in many years. In fact, it might very well be the best book I’ve ever read, or at least one of the top three or four. In other words, I can’t say enough about Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke.

What’s amazing to me is that this is a debut novel. It took Susanna Clarke ten years to write it, but it’s her first. Set in pre-Victorian England during the Napoleonic wars, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell is part Jane Austen, part historical fiction, and part Lord of the Rings. It tells the story of the two titular magicians who rise to stardom in England centuries after English magic is all but forgotten and decayed. Magic used to be prevalent in England, thanks mostly to the long reigning King of the North and first great magician, The Raven King.

But practical magic eventually ceased, and England was left with theoretical magicians, scholars who studied magic but who had neither the skill nor the inclination to actually DO magic.

Enter Gilbert Norrell, whose goal it is to bring about the restoration of English magic, but whose paranoid disposition prompts him to horde all the books OF and ABOUT magic and then prohibit anyone (including his only pupil, Strange) from reading them. Strange, for his part, is a tall, somewhat arrogant gentleman who learns much of his craft by trial and error. (He’s forced into this method since Norrell won’t relent the books filled with spells and enchantments.)

I don’t want to give away too much of the story. You’ll have to experience it for yourself. I knew hardly anything about the plot when I began reading and that, I’ve decided, is the best way to approach it. I would do you a great disservice by revealing more here. All I can say is that you won’t regret picking it up. Of course, you may find it a bit heavy; it’s 800 pages long and at first glance seems a bit daunting. But trust me, when the last page is turned, you’ll be begging for a thousand more.

It’s terribly cliche to say so, but this book is pure magic.

The film has been out for more than a year now, but Lauren and I just caught it on DVD. It tells the true (or mostly true) story of Paul Rusesabagina, a hotel manager in the Rwandan capital of Kigali, who, eleven years ago, during the genocidal atrocities of that country, turned his hotel into a refugee camp for more than a thousand people, in effect saving their lives from the murderous Hutus who were killing every Tutsi tribal member they found. More than a million men, women, and children were brutally murdered in a mere three months time. Sadly, the rest of the world turned a mostly blind eye.

The film is a hard one to watch, and despite its political potency and eye-opening account of a horror that went mostly unnoticed elsewhere, I can’t recommend it. It’s just too disturbing. The PG-13 rating is questionable. I’d push this more into the R territory, not because the violence is gratuitous — it isn’t, it’s real — but because the subject matter is too painful for any teenager to witness.

In one scene, Don Cheadle (who plays Rusesabagina and earns the Oscar nomination his performance garnered him) tells everyone staying at the hotel to call their friends in other countries and plead for help. “Make them think that if they hang up with you and do nothing, you will die,” he says. “Shame them into helping us.” And in a sense, that’s precisely what Hotel Rwanda does, it shames us. It reminds us that as a community of world citizens, we’ve ignored Black Africa. We’ve shrugged at their problems, however horrific, and, as one reporter in the film states, “gone back to [our] dinner.”

That sounds like a damning statement, but there’s some truth to it. Had these atrocities occurred in Europe, US troops would be called to aid immediately. But Black Africa . . . well that’s different.

The reasoning for this negligence is NOT, I don’t think, as the film suggests, because Black Africans are black. It’s because we, the rest of the wrold, are ignorant of their circumstance. Their society is totally foreign to us. The word “tribe” conjures up a certain primitive barbarism that we, the average, Westerner simply don’t understand. In short, we’re ignorant, stupid in fact. We see the problem as something distant and unintelligible and, because we feel powerless to the evils causing it, we do nothing.

After the film was over, I felt deep sadness and shame, meaning that Hotel Rwanda achieved precisely what it set out to do: move its audience from ignorance to social awareness. But I also felt grateful. Suddenly my own problems seemed minute and insignificant.

Will I watch it again? No. Am I glad I saw it once? Yes. Definitely. Should you watch it? Well . . . that’s up to you. But be warned. It won’t be a pleasant experience.