The subject of America the Beautiful is women—and our culture’s unhealthy obsession with their physical appearance. As the film progresses, Roberts hits on all the subjects you might imagine he would: the fashion industry, Madison Avenue, anorexia and bulimia, sexism, Hollywood, patriarchalism, MTV, parenting, plastic surgery, and peer pressure. But the thread that effectively and entertainingly ties all these subjects together is how Roberts follows the career of one hopeful supermodel through the American morass of image, materialism, and careerism. I’m hesitant to say much beyond that. This is truly one of those films that’s more effective the less you know about it—but if you choose to take my recommendation and invest (yes invest) your eight or ten bucks in seeing this film, you’ll probably never think quite the same way about the very real women in your life.

“The line that I sort of walk,” says Mike Nawrocki, the 3-2-1 Penguins! spokesman for Big Idea, “is wanting to make sure that the stories that we tell have biblically-grounded messages in them, so they can be a resource for their parents to pass values along to their kids. That’s at the core. And then we’ve got to be really funny, really entertaining, and have really great music. And then just hope that people are going to want to see them. And keep enabling us to keep doing that—with Veggietales, and with 3-2-1 Penguins! It’s a tricky thing. Entertainment itself is a very tricky business, and then when you add the ministry aspect to it—the faith aspect—it gets even trickier.” Look for Save the Planets! on DVD come September 2.

With an interesting and quirky story and a top notch cast, does Henry Poole Is Here manage to deliver the goods? The answer I think is decidedly maybe… depending on the individual moviegoer. Issues of religion and faith can be polarizing. Some folks will likely think this film is too religious while others will dislike it because it’s not religious enough. I can’t tell you which end of the spectrum you might fall on. What I can tell you is that this is a film that doesn’t try to preach to you, or at you. It doesn’t try to sell you a particular set of beliefs or tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel. It uses religious themes as a springboard to go deeper and take look at the relationships between people. In the end, it seems to ask the question “Does it matter if it’s really a miracle as long as lives experience positive change?” And to its credit, the film leaves the answer up to you. I liked it; you might like it, too.

this is one of those rare instances—something like Shine or Pollock—where, in the presence of such self- and art-absorbed personalities, we manage to think: What a schmuck… but what a great, captivating, and creative schmuck! And aren’t we grateful for such schmuckitude! Documentarian James Marsh finds a great foil for his camera in Petit, who is an always-on performer and natural raconteur. Marsh then skillfully interweaves mobile interviews with Petit (and others) with archival footage, home movie footage, and “reenactments” to keep the tone light and entertaining. By the time we arrive at the literally breathtaking culmination of Petit’s signature stunt—the outcome of which is no surprise, by the way, in case you were wondering, as Petit is still alive, and since the media headlines and photos give away the climax—we don’t merely understand what Petit and his crew accomplished; we also get the feeling that we really comprehend the man behind the stunt. Sadly. But really, why should I tire so easily of pompous artists? I would just be little more enthusiastic about the film if Marsh’s reenactments weren’t so dippy.

Frozen River is one of the best movies in recent years to address the issue of situational ethics, or morality-by-circumstance. However, writer and director Courtney Hunt has included a strange twist on that theme that many critics are missing. Ray is so fixated on a new double-wide trailer that she has chosen to make that the priority in her life and really is asking her children to suffer for the sake of her goal also. A mother that is truly concerned about putting food in her children’s mouths doesn’t watch them eat popcorn for breakfast while $4,000 is sitting outside in the car—and while she is still chain-smoking cigarettes. The case for situational ethics, in Ray’s situation, just doesn’t ring true. It’s hard to feel sorry for anyone but the children. While it is difficult to accept Ray as a heroine, Hunt does allow some redemption for her in the end. Hunt even divides her story well, leaving an edge of dissatisfaction since Ray’s and Lila’s fates differ—masterful! Ray only smiles once in the entire movie, and that is when Ricky wakes her up on the morning the half of the house is about to be delivered… before life gets even more complicated and falls apart.

I don’t want to give you the impression that I find no redeeming value in Tropic Thunder. It’s fun to spot the many references to classic war films like Saving Private Ryan—a rare moment in which I did burst into laughter—and Platoon. There’s also a delightful Indiana Jones moment for Jack Black’s heroin-addict character. I also enjoyed some of the film’s The Player-like satire; but most of the moments that generated laughter from the promotional screening audience resulted from the gross-out gags and excessive cursing. Maybe I’ve just become inoculated to that approach after having seen so many films that thrive on that kind of humor. Still, maybe where Tropic Thunder goes wrong is its failure to create characters to care about. I didn’t give a darn whether Stiller and company got out of the jungle alive or not. Cruel? Maybe. But hey, this is Hollywood.

Not even name-brand voice actors in the form of Christopher Lloyd, Tim Curry, Kelly Ripa and others can ride to the aid of this film. You know you’re not leveraging the talent when the audience has to wait for the credits to see who was who. The digital models here seem to have no relationship to the actors behind the scenes. None of the performances show through, it’s just pure voiceover. Honestly, it begs the question, “Why bother hiring recognizable actors?” The lackluster result is a shame, because I do believe that 3D technology has achieved a level where we can begin to expect really good things from it. But it’s no substitute for a good story that is well told. And that is the one thing missing-in-action from Fly Me To The Moon. Young children may find some entertainment value from this film, but anyone into their tween years or beyond is probably going to find most of the film a tough slog.

The battle animation is top notch, with dazzling color and detail. Fortunately, the technical quality makes up for what is, plot-wise, a pretty routine story with dialogue that has been uttered in various forms hundreds of times by cowboys, cops, soldiers, spacemen, and super heroes through decades of films, movie serials, television shows, and cartoons. Of course, that is nothing new for the Star Wars franchise. It has always borrowed heavily and recognizably from these genres, and that is partly why it works so well. People love a ripping action story altered slightly, but with the basic premise—good guys battle bad guys and, after several hardships, near escapes, and fights, they finally triumph—intact. The target audience will, however, enjoy it more than their older brothers and sisters—and their parents. I doubt the retread plot and dialogue will win new devotees to the leagues of Star Wars enthusiasts.

I am particularly tired of seeing films from writers and directors of advanced years that seem to scream, “I have just managed to throw off the bonds of restraint! Come, celebrate with me!” I mean, really; from what restraints could Allen be possibly struggling to get free? Are the world’s prudish morals really repressing him? But this is all my bias speaking. Upon reflection, I find that that Vicky Cristina Barcelona actually challenges some of those conventions and turns them on their heads—even if those challenges will probably be lost amidst all of the film’s seductive cosmopolitan mores, championing of indulgent artists (another tired trope), and Johansson’s pouty lips and flouncing breasts. Some of the imagery supports the notion that Allen is actually taking some objective and critically analytic distance from his subject. Sure, it’s fun to play with fire, the film says; but it’s also easy to get burned.