CENTURION

Review: Centurion

3 stars (out of 5)
By R. Kurt Osenlund

With 2005's “The Descent,” writer/director Neil Marshall delivered one of the best horror films of the last 10 years. The subterranean thriller – which sees a group of trapped female spelunkers square off against pasty-skinned monsters – is a triumph of story, craft, atmosphere and chills, and given the slim-pickings of the genre, some might even call it vital. (Others might reach for a similar adjective when discussing “Dog Soldiers,” Marshall's cult-fave debut.) “Centurion,” a son-of-“Gladiator” splatterfest oddly aimed at the arthouse, produces the opposite reaction. More akin to his 2008 misfire, “Doomsday,” Marshall's latest is a well-enough made clash-of-the-broadswords picture, but it reeks of inconsequence. Amidst all the amply distributed plasma and the Ridley-Scott-gunmetal-filter photography, you wonder: Why should I care about this movie?

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THE EXTRA MAN

Review: The Extra Man

4 stars (out of 5)
By R. Kurt Osenlund

One way for a young man to thicken his skin upon moving to New York is to surround himself with some of the city's most aloofly outré eccentrics. That's what Louis Ives, a sheepish dreamer played by sheepishness pro Paul Dano, unwittingly does in “The Extra Man,” the deeply weird and weirdly deep new comedy from Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini, the husband-and-wife filmmaking team behind 2007's “American Splendor.” Booted from his teaching job at a Princeton prep school after being caught in a compromising spot (he's got a thing for ladies' underthings that goes well beyond the typical male turn-ons), Louis decides to head to Manhattan, a move partly prompted by the aspiring writer's tendency to imagine himself as a character in “The Great Gatsby,” or any other novel by his literary hero, F. Scott Fitzgerald. But even one so imaginative as Louis couldn't have dreamed he'd wind up living with someone like Henry Harrsion, an out-of-work playwright with outsized quirks who rents Louis a room in his knickknack-strewn foxhole of an apartment. Played riotously well by Kevin Kline, Henry is the first and surely the most memorable of the fun and fancy freaks who enter Louis's life, which does indeed start to look like something out of a Great – or, at least greatly urbane and deranged – American novel.

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EAT PRAY LOVE

Review: Eat Pray Love
3.5 stars (out of 5)
By R. Kurt Osenlund

When Elizabeth Gilbert released her hugely successful 2006 memoir, “Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia,” naysayers lambasted the New York writer, calling her selfish – a privileged, upper-crust woman with upper-crust problems whose all-expenses-paid globetrotting hardly warranted a philosophical travelogue, let alone one that would enjoy an extended stay on The New York Times Bestseller List. Yet, I don't think Gilbert set out to top the charts and conquer the world with her book, which chronicles her cross-continental quest for self and spirituality following the collapse of her marriage and emotional well-being. Sometimes people, regardless of their resources or backgrounds, need to take what they know to be the very best avenues for themselves. Sometimes selfishness is a necessity for survival, and others need not understand. That's what comes across most strongly in “Eat Pray Love,” the imperfect, pleasure-cruise adaptation of the book, directed and co-written by “Glee” creator Ryan Murphy. The movie hits lulls, overstays its welcome and follows a way-too-Hollywood trajectory, but it's also an exhilarating palate-pleaser, and a fine vehicle with which to reunite us with the movie star Julia Roberts.

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STEP UP 3D

Review: Step Up 3D
3.5 stars (out of 5)
By R. Kurt Osenlund

It doesn't get much more superficial than “Step Up 3D,” the leap-, twist-, thrust- and windmill-off-the-screen third installment of a film series defined by perfect choreography and perfectly lousy writing. Everything you see in this souped-up sequel is in support of its being an urban-confetti carnival ride. Whenever it breaks from its dance numbers and briefly strains to develop its excuses for characters, you can feel the entire production itching to get back to the spectacle, and you can practically hear the grinding gears of the conceptual process: To sustain their franchise, a crew of excitable hacks decides to employ 3-D technology and stage a bunch of truly in-your-face sequences, then realizes, “Dammit! We've got to tie this all together with an actual – gulp! – story.” Thus, the narrative is a chore, both for filmmaker and viewer. The dancing and visual design, however, are so energetic, bright and unapologetically sensational, you can't take your eyes off the screen.

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CHARLIE ST. CLOUD

Review: Charlie St. Cloud

3 stars (out of 5)

By R. Kurt Osenlund

If Zac Efron were working with better material, were a little bit older and weren't, well, Zac Efron, he'd garner some serious praise for his work in “Charlie St. Cloud,” a spiritual drama that's based on a 2004 Ben Sherwood novel but basically exists to serve as the “High School Musical” grad's first dramatic star vehicle. In the pop-culture-conscious mind (or, at least, in one that thinks in stereotypes), the word “dramatic” doesn't exactly fit nicely into conversations about teen idols. Yet, I didn't catch a single false note in Efron's “Cloud” performance – no strained responses, no glaring inexperience, no histrionic, black-and-white extremes to swallow up the necessary emotional gray area. In short, none of the typical teen idol stuff.

Clearly approaching his career with DiCaprio-like determination, Efron, 22, is a talented, consummate professional, and I think it's safe to assume he'll be headlining many films for many years to come. In “Cloud,” despite some stoic stares, he never fails to connect with the audience, and his performance – a balancing act of maintaining a non-listless nonchalance and purifying bumper-sticker dialogue with pitch-perfect line readings – is as good a case as any of a hot young star proving himself beyond his looks. Which is not to say, in any form or fashion, that Efron's reduce-to-a-puddle looks don't benefit him and the film tremendously. At times, it's almost comical how absurdly attractive this kid is. With his thick eyebrows, elfin nose, gleaming ivories and casting-director-friendly muscles, he's a bred-for-cinema hunk in the tradition of James Dean. And director Burr Steers (Efron's “17 Again”) doesn't squander a bit of his young star's assets, seizing every opportunity to swim in his blue-lagoon eyes. (You know someone was considering "Dreamboat" as the title for this nautical-themed film.)

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