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The newest film from the director of Napoleon Dynamite is much like its predecessor, which is to say it’s weird. That sounds harsh, I know, but there’s no getting around it. It’s just weird. Bizarre. Kooky. A little out there. And I hate to admit that because I really wanted this film to be great. I really did. I mean, the director is a Mormon, for crying out loud. He went to BYU, my alma mater. And film directors from BYU are few and far between, let me tell you. When a good one rolls around, you want him to achieve every success and honor.

But Nacho Libre is just a little too wacky for my tastes. I can’t, in good conscience, give it a glowing review and recommendation. And the sad part is, the movie probably isn’t to blame. What’s more likely is that I’m not cool enough to get it.

This isn’t to say the film is without merit. It has many things going for it. For starters, it’s got a PG rating. (BRAVO!) The cinematography was great. Jack Black was cute and cuddly in a way that most overweight men can only dream to be. Plus he’s funny. And I mean dang funny. I laughed quite a bit. Jack Black has a face for everything. He can elicit a laugh for something as simple as revving the engine on his motorscooter.

But he also left me a little wanting. Sure, he’s a monk with a big heart who loves orphans and professional wrestling. But he’s also a bumbling idiot who smears cow manure on his partner’s face. I had a hard time seeing past that.

Maybe I have to watch it again. It took two viewings for me to like Napoleon Dynamite. The first time I saw it I hated it. B-.

I suppose this should be classified as a romantic comedy, but it’s so distinct from others I’ve seen that to call it such doesn’t do it justice. Most romantic comedies, films like Sleepless in Seattle or My Best Friend’s Wedding are cute and fun to watch. Pretty people in silly sitautions falling in love and overcoming all obstables to (usually) end up in each others’ arms. Not so with The Break-Up. (Note: I’m not giving away the ending here; I’m merely saying that the expereince was different.)

It would be more accurate to call The Break-Up a drama with romantic elements.

Because to be honest, The Break-Up is a hard movie to watch. People argue with each other, in a real and convincing manner. Bad things are said. Poor judgment is made. And in the end you want these two people to be together yet DON’T want them to be together because they cause each other so much pain. It’s excruciating. Why can’t they simply be nice, tell each other that they love one another, and kiss and make up? Well, becuase this isn’t the 1940’s and Vince Vaughan and Jennifer Aniston aren’t Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn from The African Queen. This is real heady stuff.

The Break-Up, whether it intends to be or not, is about selfishness and the absence of commitment in what has become a socially acceptable relationship (ie. the cohabitating, unmarried couple). Buying a condo together is no replacement for wedding vows. And people who love each other should place the needs and comforts of the spouse above their own. Otherwise, the relationship is doomed to failure.

Vince Vaughan, to my surprise, is a very good actor. The fights with he and Jenifer Aniston were wincingly realistic, with the tension mounting to a palpable fury. It’s even more impressive to learn that some of the dialogue, at least, was improvised.

My biggest complaint is that the Vince Vaughan character at times is so hateful and so cruel that no woman in her right mind, however charming or witty he may be at times, would pursue a relationship with this guy. But what about women who always return to their abusive boyfriends, you say? Well, those women aren’t the independent Jennifer Aniston types.

My biggest praise of the film goes to the excellent, highly hilarious supporting cast. It’s from them that most of the laughs come. Jason Batemen, Jon Favreau, the singing Jon Michael Higgins, and the Hello-I’m-a-Mac Justin Long. Funny, funny, funny. Rent this movie for no other reason than to see these folks shine.

It seems cruel to criticize free theater. I mean, it’s free. All I’m investing in the performance is my time. It’s not like Broadway, where tickets can run $100 a pop. There, if I hate a performance, I can justifiably stomp my feet in anger and shake my fists at the sky, cursing myself for flushing $100 down the toilet. But free?

Well, the outdoor performance of The Legend of Sleep Hollow at the Carolina First Amphitheater at Falls Park on the Reedy is so miserably bland, boring and lifeless that I felt like I lost $100. I’m not exaggerating here. Even C-Span is more captivating.

The problem was the script, or, better said, the lack thereof. The man who adapted Washington Irving’s story for the stage and who also directed this production failed in both of his duties. Rather than embellish the meat of the story — the legend of the headless horsemen and the love triangle between Ichobod Crane and the town damsel and villain — the playwright introduced a new troupe of actors who talked and talked and talked about nothing. And worse, who did nothing. Twenty minutes into the play — which thankfully only lasted a little over an hour — I leaned to Lauren’s ear and asked, “When does the play start?”

It didn’t help that the actors’ accents were so poor and their annunciation so unclear that most of what I heard was garbled mush. Here’s a rule: if everyone in the cast can’t nail a Northeastern accent, no one should do a Northeastern accent. Another rule: don’t step on each other’s lines in an outdoor amphitheater. It’s hard enough to hear you as is. There are no walls to which sound can bounce off of. If you speak over each other, the result is only noise. No one will understand a word.

Since this was a production by the Upstate Shakespeare Festival I assumed we’d be dealing with professional grade actors. I mean, it’s the Shakespeare Festival, that’s WAY above community theater grade acting, right? Well, no. Only one member of the ten-person cast was a member of Equity, the union to which all professional stage actors belong.

So what was nice? Several things. The venue is great. The stage and environment are perfect for outdoor theater. The costumes were fun, with the exception of one heinous wig (shown here). The set was simple and sufficient. And the actors all had mics. Too bad we couldn’t understand most of what they were saying.

The author of the Artemis Fowl series hits another one out of the park with The Supernaturalist; the difference is that the latter is an action-packed sci-fi cyberpunk thriller and not a funny YA fantasy novel. Fans of Eion Colfer won’t be disappointed, though. The Supernaturalist has all the charm, zippy pace, and imagination of Colfer’s previous novels, maybe even more so. One critic cited on the back of the book’s cover rightly said that it reads like a “Dickens novel set in a Blade Runner world.”

Fourteen-year-old Cosmo Hill is an orphan living in the Clarissa Frayne Institute for Parentally Challenged Boys. When he escapes, he discovers a distopia even bleaker than the lab-rab-like experiments he had to endure in the orphanage. Following a near-death experience, Cosmo sees blue creatures that seem to suck the lifeforce out of injured humans. He then joins a ragtag group of teenagers known as the Supernaturalists who’ve made it their mission to save the world from these creatures, or parasites.

What follows is a wonderfully plotted series of twists, rescues, and tender moments. Colfer is a master of world creation and lovable characters. He makes you care about these people.

I had been listening to the book on my iPod — which is voiced wonderfully by some English chap who sounds exactly like Jude Law — but soon found the reading too slow to my liking, and picked up the book to finish it. A must for AF fans. A.

We rented this for the boys to watch, but Luke became so upset by the villainous bear at the beginning that only Lauren and I watched it all the way through. The premise is simple: hibernating animals wake up in the spring to discover most of the forest they consider home gone. It’s been replaced by a huge housing subdivision, and all that separates the naive animals from the dangerous humans is a tall hedge. A raccoon, desperate to pay back a debt, convinces the animals to cross over the hedge and scavenge for food.

The animation and voice-over work is top notch. Bruce Willis returns to his comic, wise-cracking roots. Gary Shandling plays the cautious turtle with some real heart. But the movie belongs to the scene-stealing Steve Carrell as the hyperactive squirrel Hammie. Hi-larious.

The housing project superintendent — or whatever her title was — was somewhat annoying, one of those villains so over the top that it makes a film full of talking animals unbelievable. B

Kind of a bizarre episode. I didn’t expect Locke to have a past like that. Nice to see the polar bear back. Who in tarnation were those two new faces on the beach shooting questions to Hurley when Locke, Charley, Hurley, and Ecko stumbled back into camp? Can you say SAG card? They were awful. And they only said a few words each.

I’m sure you all caught the Geronimo Jackson dialogue. What I want to know is, why was the agent wearing a tee shirt from the obscure group and why was the leader of the drug commune a fan also? Berry berry interesting.

Here’s an illustration of Mr. Ecko by my dear friend Nathan Lindsay. It made me chuckle. Perhaps he’s making that pained face because a bear is gnawing on his leg.