It’s interesting the way movies can grow on you. The same can be true for actors, actresses, directors or just about anything, but I especially like it when a movie surprises me in ways I didn’t get the first time around. A good, recent case-in-point would be Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. I saw it in theaters in 2010. I liked it a lot, the movie had a wonderful, crazed energy, a great cast and a steady sense of humor that never became obnoxious, but it wasn’t the best thing I had seen all year. I enjoyed it, moved on with my life and didn’t plan on seeing it again.

I guess it’s good that people just inherently assume I’ve seen The Hunger Games. I don’t want to think of it as a bad thing. If people just inherently assume that I do nothing but watch movies (and then occasionally write about them), I guess there’s nothing I can really do about that.

Fight Club is a disjointed novel told in swift, brutal jabs of black humor–at once a tribute to and a mockery of masculinity. Chuck Palahniuk wrote the book as a commentary on the basic need, in men, for ritual and tradition that is stifled by modern consumer culture. The book was a moderate success, but became much more well known in the wake of a controversial film adaptation starring one of the biggest stars in the world. 

I’m sure the fact that I average somewhere in the neighborhood of two or three hours of sleep a night will catch up to me someday, but for now, I’m grateful to still have the time to dig on the fact that I will never live long enough to see every movie I want to see. 

To be honest, I’m not a complete fangirl. I’ve only read all three books twice. I only bought one shirt, and I did not go to the midnight showing. But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t completely excited to see this movie. When compared side by side, the movie and book are parallel in story line. Some movies drop or reorder events to get to more important devices in, but it ruins the stories’ charm (Harry Potter, I’m talking at you). Thankfully, The Hunger Games did this to the least possible degree. 

I'm not a big fan of Sean Penn to begin with, but I have a special reason to know that I would be perfectly happy to never see him or his freakish wife in a movie ever again. Penn has won two Best Actor Oscars over the course of his dull, uninteresting career. One for Mystic River, and the other for Milk (which, fine, I actually did enjoy). I don’t begrudge the guy his successful, nearly-thirty-year career as a director and actor. I’ll never be a great admirer of his work, but I don’t wish death on the man. I’m not hoping to one day drive past him at seventy-miles-per-hour with a shovel in hand.

Many films that end up being ostensibly about the process of film making itself and the passionate genius of directors often become bogged down in sentimentality or pomposity. Martin Scorsese’s latest film, Hugo, includes a sequence that could operate as a primer for a Film 101 class, in which two children sit in a library and read from a book of film history. The sequence could be stuffy, a perfunctory information dump, but in Scorsese’s hands it becomes one of the most visually striking moments in a film that contains dozens of gorgeous set pieces. 

It wouldn’t be fair for me to spend this entire review comparing the latest entry in the Muppet franchise to the 1979 classic The Muppet Movie, but let me just say: I really, really love The Muppet Movie. The new film, called simply The Muppets, is based more on the original television series The Muppet Show than any of the films – in fact, the entire plot of the movie is built around the Muppets needing to put on a telethon and perform an all-new Muppet show, which allows them to even re-create the classic opening number to the old show, a joyous bit of fan service that plays well.