John Krasinski's sophomore directing effort -- THE HOLLARS -- opens in South Florida

The latest in the popular sub-genre of "Aren't-we-just-the-craziest-but-most-adorable-folk-ever?" has now arrived, and my answer to that question is a resounding No! After making a surprising, risky and generally well-done screenplay/ directorial debut with his adaptation of the David Foster Wallace story collection, Brief Interviews Wih Hideous Men, actor John Krasinski (shown below) has gone a good deal more mainstream with THE HOLLARS, his second effort as director.

Much of the credit for this very well-acted but too-often cringe-inducing piece of feel-good schlock must go to its screenwriter, Jim Strouse, who has an up-and-down track record so far as I'm concerned -- from the so-so Grace Is Gone to the much better People Places Things (both of which Strouse also directed) -- and here hands us a cast of characters so fucking quirky you'll want to sedate them forthwith.

Let's start with the Hollar son, Ron (played by South African actor Sharlto Copley, above, center), whose behavior goes from simply goofy to certifiable within minutes. Copley handles all this quite well. He's believable, but his character is simply not. Ditto the dad, Don, played by the ever-reliable Richard Jenkins (above, left), who offer up a will/won't, can/can't. happy/sad guy so utterly incompetent, you won't imagine he could ever have run his own business (well, it is going bankrupt. But still: How did he ever keep it afloat?).

The same can be said for the behavior of the hospital nurse, Jason (Charlie Day, above), who takes care of the Hollars ailing mom (the great Margo Martindale, below). Jason is so often so over-the-top, you'll roll your eyes and then some. So many characters here are so charmingly quirky that the movie begins to curdle early on. Ms Martindale -- by virtue of her skilled acting chops and refusal to overplay the quirks -- manages to keep the movie grounded whenever she's on screen. But that's not often enough.

Krasinski himself plays the more "normal" brother, John, who returns to the fold to aid his sick mom but turns out to have a usual rom-com problem of his own -- commitment phobia to his pregnant girlfriend (played with her usual sassy charm by Anna Kendrick, below, center, flanked by Krasinksi, left and Copley).

Also standing by, amongst a fine supporting cast, are Josh Groban (below, right), as the local minister, and that wonderful and recently BrainDead actress, Mary Elizabeth Winstead (at bottom), as Mr. Day's philandering spouse. As I say, the acting is first-rate all-around but is consistently done in by the too-muchness of the ridiculous story.

In its race toward the feel-good at all costs, the movie -- which purportedly deals with our difficult economic times and involves job loss and bankruptcy -- actually offers up one character from a rich-as-Croesus family who can and does solve financial problems with a wave of her economic wand. Think of it as the final insult.

A shoo-in for audiences who demand jerked tears, coy laughs and the warm-and-fuzzy above any real intelligence, this manufactured and manipulative movie is star-studded, beautifully-acted crap.

From Sony Pictures Classics and running a thankfully short 88 minutes, The Hollars, after debuting in the "big" cities a few weeks back, opens here in South Florida this Friday, September 16, at eleven different theaters --from Boca Raton to Delray Beach, Davie, Lake Worth, Boynton Beach, Fort Lauderdale and the greater Miami area. Click here, then scroll down, to view all the currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters.

Wes Anderson's at it again--with an absolutely "dear" MOONRISE KINGDOM

His best film since The Darjeeling Limited (which, for TrustMovies, remains his best yet), Wes Anderson's newest work, MOONRISE KINGDOM, will probably not convert the as-yet unconverted, but it should please his fans something fierce, while adding a few new ones to the club. It's got all his trademark tropes: It's fey, it's twee; it's got family upended and odd ducks galore. This time, gracious a-me, it even offers young love and pubescent sexuality. At one point I actually thought, whoa -- this is Wes' version of The Blue Lagoon! But, no, it's much more. And much different.

Can this writer/director, shown at left, be mellowing? Why not? Most of us do. (Yes, of course: He was never Tarrantino-like or Gaspar Noé-esque. Still, compare this new film to Rushmore or The Royal Tenenbaums and you'll see what I mean.) I believe there is a kind of acceptance here, along with the usual, No, I won't, I won't, I can't fit in! Fortunately, there are enough of us film-goers internationally who probably feel all this, too, so that we embrace each new work with relish and delight. (For me, the least embraceable of his movies is The Life Aquatic; you'll probably disagree.)

Over the past few weeks we've been graced with three wonderful movies, the work of filmmakers who could never be mistaken for each other -- or anyone else. These are Whit Stillman (Damsels in Distress), Bobcat Goldthwait (God Bless America) and now Mr. Anderson. These three are among the most original (and certainly diverse) filmmakers we possess. While we should treasure them, TM thinks it's safe to say than among the three, only Mr. Anderson possesses real movie-making skills. Stillman and Goldthwait get by purely on their originality and daring, and the fact that no one is making anything like what they come up with. (Not to say they won't improve as filmmakers over time.)

Mr. Anderson, though, is a wonderful stylist, with such knowledge of editing, casting, acting, art direction, set design, credit sequences and all the rest (or at least he has the sense to hire the right people and give them their lead) that he is able to bring his visions to impeccable, if always odd, life. Some films sour; his generally soar. This one certainly does -- mostly in its quiet, deadpan manner, although the final half-hour does possess a rather exciting "boy's best adventure" quality.

Anderson has assembled his usual starry (independent-style) cast (above), beginning with Bruce Willis, Frances McDormand, Edward Norton, Bob Balaban and Tilda Swinton -- all of whom, I believe, are new to this director -- plus his usual suspects: Bill Murray and Jason Schwartzman. They perform with the skill and ability of a solid repertory ensemble.

As the town's single police officer, Willis in particular (shown above, right, with Ms McDormand), is just lovely, for the filmmaker mines the star's history of heroics and combines this with a new-found sweetness that works beautifully.

Norton (above, flanked by scouts) adds another singular portrait to his portfolio of riches, while Ms Swinton (below, with Murray) surprises by showing us, as she did in The Deep End, that she can appear absolutely real and normal, representing bureaucracy with the best of them.

Mr. Balaban, below, as the film's sort-of "narrator" uses his dead-pan delivery and elfin quality to great effect, filling us in on the fictitious town and its history, while only Mr Murray (above, left) seems a little wasted here, either not having been given much to do or not finding much special in it. No matter; this remains a strong ensemble supporting cast. The movie's real stars are elsewhere.

They are two new actors of wonderful visage and spirit: Jared Gilman (below) and Kara Hayward. Master Gilman, who looks like he could grow up to be Orson Welles, is a delight: full of energy and youthful arrogance (balanced with enough charm to defuse it).

Ms Hayward (below), is a young actress of odd, slightly "off," visual beauty that only adds to her appeal, and she -- as the female of the pair often does -- seems older, wiser and more generally mature than her goofy, sweet love interest.

Both characters come complete with family trauma, as we now expect from any Anderson film. But here they are given an array of kindly, older-consequently-wiser adults to guide them. Plus a director who so thoroughly understands what he is doing that he is able, as (almost) usual, to bring us and his movie home. I should also note how terrific is the film's use of music (the score is by Alexander Desplat). Anderson uses his classical selections in a manner exciting, eccentric and rich, just as he did using Joe Dassin to sing the sweet Aux Champs Elysées in The Darjeeling Limited.

Moonrise Kingdom, from Focus Features with a concise running time of 94 minutes, opens this Friday, May 25, in New York City at the AMC Lincoln Square and the Regal Union Square; in Los Angeles, look for it at The Landmark and Pacific's Arclight Hollywood. Over the next two weeks it will open across the country in another 15 to 20 cities. Click here to see the whole shebang.

THE FUTURE looks grim in the film of the same name by Ms kitty-cute Miranda July

THE FUTURE?  There ain't much. Or so it'll probably seem to many viewers who brave the new movie by Miranda July, the lady who, a few years back, gave us the much lighter (on its feet and otherwise) Me and You and Everyone We Know. Folk who loved her last film (yours truly, for one) will flock to her latest endeavor. Their feelings upon exiting will depend heavily on how far they are willing to go down Ms July's increasingly dark road.

Her movie begins with a cat narrating (with Miranda, shown at right, providing the animal's near-ideal voice). This seems amazingly right (to me, at least; detractors will loathe it), including the cat paws, one bandaged from an accident. (See the final photo in this post for a look at that.) Paws and voice collude to create an indelible presence, who immediately takes us in with its own story of abandonment, near-death and then salvation, at the hands of a very odd couple, Sophie (played by Ms July) and Jason (played by Hamish Linklater, below, right). The cat's story -- it comes back and back again as the film progresses -- is of equal importance to that of Sophie's and Jason's, for the animal's future is dependent upon these two twerpy "adults" adopting it prior to euthanization.

The thought of taking responsibility -- the movie's theme -- for someone (or even some thing) sets these two would-be free spirits into a terrible fright about aging, creativity, attractiveness, and lots more. So they quit their respective jobs -- he works from home as an IT helper, she teaches dance to pre-school-age kids (the kids are under that yellows cloth, in the shot below) -- in order to pursue their dreams while there's still time. Yes, these are dumb choices, but our twosome does not radiate like a bright bulb.

What happens to these two (they are generally more passive than active at any given time) makes up the meat of the movie and involves another man for her (for him, too -- but no, it's not sexual). Jason's man (Joe Putterlik, below) proves one the film's true delights and distractions. As quirky as its lead characters, Joe composes dirty ditties for his late wife and later on in the movie becomes the voice of the moon in a conversation with Jason.

As for Sophie, she gets involved with Marshall, a widower dad in suburbia (well, this is L.A., so it's all sort of suburbia) whose daughter (below) is growing more and more desperate.

Sex with Marshall is good, or at least better, or maybe just different from that of Jason, but poor Sophie is followed literally by her own crunched-up yellow t-shirt or chemise (the color yellow must mean something here, but what?) and in one of the film's most telling and odd scenes, below, she dresses/hides in this large piece of material and does a strange/wonderful dance of sorts -- a kind of re-birth, perhaps?

TrustMovies doesn't usually give away so much of a film's plot, but in this case, the connections and meanings, more than the incidents themselves, are what count. And The Future does count -- as a strange ode to failure and hope. That hopeful cat has, if not the last word, probably the best. What happens to it and what it tells us coincides, I think, with what Patricio Guzmán has to say in his wonderful docu-mentary Nostalgia for the Light. The Future, simplicity itself, may also be a little simple, but it is not simplistic. July and her characters are struggling, just like me and you and everyone we know. We are not growing up, But things are indeed growing darker.

And yet, could Rogers & Hart, in their wildest dreams, have imagined how one of their most durable songs would be used in a movie? I doubt it. See for yourself, as The Future -- 91 minutes and distributed in the USA by Roadside Attractions -- opens this Friday, July 29, in New York City at the IFC Center.  There'll be more cities and theaters to come, I am sure, though Roadside isn't telling, as of the time of this posting, at least....