Letting Go of TiVo...

By June 1, I may be saying good-bye to TiVo. Hell, I may be saying good-bye to cable. The prices for my local cable provider, Cox, have gone up (not by a lot, but by enough) to make me ponder whether or not it's wiser to change to satellite. I've had TiVo for nearly 5 years, and for various reasons, I think it may be time to cut the cord. This is a case where TiVo hasn't done anything wrong, so much as my needs have changed based on the marketplace.

I see TiVo in the same way that I see Netflix and HBO: if the service is something you will use frequently enough per month to justify the cost, go for it. Regarding the latter examples, I have never felt that my Netflix subscription was a waste, even when the very idea of instantly watching movies on my computer or via my Blu-ray player was a glimmer in someone's eye. Since I've had HBO, as I've discussed in past posts, I've been watching more than enough content to justify the price. What's more, since it'll be a cold day in hell before HBO lets Netflix put its shows up via Netflix Instant, having both makes sense. For me. Not for everyone.

The real issue with TiVo is something you've probably figured out by this point in the post. Netflix is a unique service. Yes, there is competition, in the form of Redbox and Blockbuster Video (also, DirecTV Cinema, but...no). But Netflix is still the king of what it does, at the moment. It has to continue adapting to the ever-changing world of technology, but the company has done well enough in the short-term over the past 6 years (since I've been a subscriber) to work. HBO is...well, we can all make fun of the old tagline, but it's not just normal TV. While TiVo is a recognizable name, the service it provides is not as unique as it could be. For a while, I thought I loved TiVo, but now I realize that what I love is a DVR service. I just didn't realize, for a long, long time, what the difference between those two things is.

I'm waiting to make this change--presuming I do, which is still not a guarantee, but I'm fairly confident--until June because I want to make sure that whatever hiccups may happen do so after the normal network season is over. If problems crop up, I'd rather they happen when I have nothing to watch. But I'm hoping nothing bad happens, and the transition is smooth. I'm still not completely sold on DirecTV's DVR layout (while the one I've seen in person isn't their newest model, based on a YouTube tutorial showing off how the new DirecTV DVR is very fast, the layout hasn't changed), I'm sold on a lot of the services they offer that Cox does not. I've been looking for a satellite provider that would give me at least what I have now in terms of channels, plus a monthly DVR fee that would be demonstrably less than what I pay for with Cox and TiVo. Over a 24-month period, I'll be saving about 500 bucks. Hard to argue with that.

I've never had satellite before, so I'm still a bit wary, but I'm also fairly intrigued to see what the difference would be; I've already heard from some people who say they'd never go back to cable providers now that they've got satellite, so maybe I'll become an acolyte soon enough. It feels a little weird to be even thinking of saying good-bye to my TiVo (especially since I've upgraded the equipment, meaning it's not the same one), but until the vaunted day with DirecTV and TiVo finally release a new DVR (from what I read, that day will come roughly when Netflix and HBO team up), I think it's about time to cut that cord.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia has become one of the most prevalent, pointless arenas of entertainment over the past decade, to the point where it's choking out the quality of any movie or TV show that exists partly for nostalgic reasons. Because she loves the original trilogy, my wife dragged me to watch Scream 4 (because, as you may have guessed, I have no interest in using the faux-title being plastered all over the poster and marketing materials) last weekend. I'm not a big horror movie fan, but the first movie in the series was relatively funny and scary, and the second movie has the only genuinely creepy moment in any of the films. But I'm baffled and mildly disturbed that some people (including my lovely wife) think the movie not only deserves a pass, but was pretty damn good.

Maybe it's just that I don't get the point of the modern slasher (or torture porn) horror movie: introduce a group of zero-dimensional pretty people to get killed in presumably creative and gory ways. Oh, but there's at least one or two people who don't get killed, so they can get attacked in the sequel. Lather, rinse, repeat. I get that people like to be scared, and I see the value in a good horror movie, but most American horror movies are lousy, uncomfortable, and disgusting. Scream 4 is no different, eschewing any interest in character motivations, plot, and themes for nostalgia. Remember that one bit in that one movie 15 years ago? What do you say to a rehash of that one bit with all new actors? Wouldn't it be really funny to have characters in the movie comment on how dumb horror movies (like the movie they're in) are?

What fascinated me most is that I rebelled against the meta jokes in this movie, and boy, are there a lot of them. As an example, I love the NBC comedy Community. It's one of my favorite current shows on television. Anyone who watches the show knows that it can be very, very meta. One episode this season, using the "bottle show" structure (wherein the majority, if not the entirety, of the episode takes place in one setting with a minimum of characters), had characters directly commenting on being in a bottle episode. So how does Scream 4 represent the opposite side of the line from Community? (Fun fact: Alison Brie, who plays Annie in the latter, is also in the former, and is one of the only performers enjoying herself.) The problem lies in a lack of investment for the characters.

Only three characters from the original Scream films appear in this new movie, played by Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, and David Arquette. Three guesses on how many of the characters in the movie, including all the newbies, make it out alive, and the first two don't count. Why place any investment in a new movie if all but three of the characters exist to become dead meat of some kind? Does it really matter who's behind the mask if that person is just going to die? While I have to give credit to Kevin Williamson, the writer of the film (or, rather, the sole credited writer), for not ending the movie on a note where we assume the killer will magically spring to life for the next entry in the saga, that doesn't make the outcome of the movie any less dull or lifeless. And, yes, I know: I must be thinking too hard about a silly horror movie, right?

I loathe that kind of mentality. I straight-up hate it. If the people making the movie didn't put any thought into it, why should I pay any money for it? Some folks enjoy mindless trash (and make no mistake: that is what Scream 4 is), but I prefer my mindless trash to not be mindless. Some of the best action movies manage to be slick, entertaining, and suspenseful without actually being stupid. At the very least, great action and horror movies make you forget about any potential plot holes while you're watching. Is Die Hard an airtight film in terms of plausibility? I'm sure it isn't, but when I watch it, I never think about whether or not it makes sense. Many genre movies, including Scream 4, call attention to their flaws, leaving aside only the flashing red arrow pointing at the problem. For audience members like my wife, any flaws are washed aside because of nostalgic callbacks.

Make no mistake, this is nothing new. Nostalgia in movies and television is a spreading cancer in the entertainment industry, and unfortunately, the onslaught is because of us. If movies like Scream 4 tanked (and it didn't), Hollywood would stop making them. If you don't make money, you're out. But people like to be reminded (even when they are paying to be reminded) about stuff they used to like way back when. Sometimes, the nostalgia factor can work, but it only works if there's more to the story than just the past. Looking back fondly, wistfully, at times gone by is not a bad thing, but doing so has to work on multiple levels.

Another recent sequel that was extremely nostalgic while being incredibly satisfying is Toy Story 3. The most climactic, powerful, emotional moment in the movie is leavened by one of the best and most elaborate callbacks in movie history. (Spoilers ahead if you are the one person who has not seen the movie.) Woody, Buzz, and their pals are at the end of the line: the villain in the film has left them to die in a massive, hellish incinerator in the local dump. Initially, Woody looks around to find something, anything, that will save them. They can't go out like this. But then, he notices that Buzz, Jessie, Rex, Potato Head, and everyone else are accepting their fate. They hold hands. If they're going to go, they'll go together. Woody joins them. They get closer and closer, and then suddenly, the lights come on. A massive iron hand lifts them out of the trash (yes, this is a literal deus ex machina). Who saved them? Why, it's the little green men who've been in each film of the trilogy...maneuvering a giant claw, just like the one they once revered as a deity.

Even writing about it, I get a little emotional (and I don't care how dumb that makes me look). Why? Because even though that climax plays on our nostalgia for the characters, it's presented them with very real, very high stakes. It's to the credit of everyone involved in making the movie that, as I sat there in the theater, watching this moment, I had lost all logical sense, because I actually thought Woody and everybody else was about to die. "Holy shit, they're going to kill one of them? All of them?" This was my thought process. Of course, looking back on it, the filmmakers would have been both daring and idiotic to kill off some of the most beloved animated characters of the past two decades, even if it made for thrilling cinema. But I'd forgotten about the little green aliens, or about the possibility that the good guys would get out of it. I was hooked, in the moment.

I'm not trying to take Scream 4 to task for not being as ambitious a movie as Toy Story 3 was. I wasn't walking in expecting that. I was hoping--barely, mind you--that the movie would attempt something other than exactly what is expected. We know the motions; some people may get glad that we're seeing it all over again, but I was hoping for a little shake-up. Instead, the final entry (hope springs eternal) self-consciously copies the original, trying to substitute a meta commentary on the flaws of the script as enough of a pass for the script being so shitty. Nostalgia is not a bad thing, even in this case. But nostalgia does not make a movie good. Too much can make a movie bad, forgettable, or just misguided.

Buying Into The Hype

Hype surrounding various pieces of entertainment are, these days, almost more common than the actual entertainment. Hype about a movie, a new album, a TV show, a book...there's always something to be excited about before it's been released to the general public. The latest victim of hype (and while hype can be generally positive, I do think it's bad for any piece of entertainment) is HBO's newest drama, Game of Thrones. I talked a bit about the show in my previous post, but now that the show's aired its first episode to general praise, I wanted to talk a bit about the show and the surrounding media coverage.

First of all, to no one's surprise, the ratings for Game of Thrones were solid and respectable enough to garner it a second-season renewal. Some people are feigning shock at this news, but if you pay attention to the trends in past shows, this isn't surprising at all. Two days after Treme and Boardwalk Empire premiered, those shows got renewals for their second seasons. While the latter program had much more dominant ratings after one airing--its first night got 7.1 million viewers, whereas Game of Thrones got 4.2 million--a show like Treme only got 1.4 million viewers for its first night, and still got the renewal. And yet today, people are throwing around terms that make it sound like Thrones had far more meager ratings.

Of course, the stakes are different for Game of Thrones, a series that HBO has been marketing in various ways for the past six months or so. The show has, presumably, a built-in audience that's familiar with the source material (as a note, I've read the first book, and am reading the second currently), but even the book's fans may not have HBO. Also, where Treme can afford to premiere a new season with 1.4 million viewers, Game of Thrones is expected to do better, because it's costing HBO a relative fortune. So part of what frustrates me about the ratings comparisons with Boardwalk Empire, which certainly had a similar built-in interest and high costs, is that everyone is looking at the first numbers, not the last.

The first airing of the first episode of Boardwalk Empire got 4.8 million viewers, which is pretty impressive for a network that has 28-plus million subscribers. The first airing of that show's season finale garnered less than half that number. No one put up a fuss when this news came out, partly because the season finale's ratings didn't matter; the show had a second season on the way, so there was no hand-wringing among fans about whether or not the show would be on the bubble. But something that no one seems to acknowledge, unless they want to mock HBO, is that the first airing doesn't matter. It almost never matters. Yes, HBO has some genuine out-of-the-gate (in this case, referring to the first airing) hits, such as True Blood, which has tripled its audience since the first season, often getting somewhere around 7 million viewers as an average on Sunday nights. But if you have HBO, you know that it's not a big deal if you miss the new episode of True Blood on Sunday night, because it will air again. And again. And again. Also, you can watch it on demand. Or on HBO Go. One would assume that the executives at HBO have ways of finding out what those numbers are.

I mentioned above that there was a bit of mocking from the media about how HBO is making sure every one of its subscribers knows that Game of Thrones premiered this week. There have been 12 airings since Sunday night's inaugural episode, and most have scoffed at this frontal marketing attack. On the one hand, I get it. It's certainly stacking the deck in the network's favor. But on the other hand, why not? As some have pointed out, if you subscribe to HBO, it's likely that you don't forget the channel. Ordering a standard cable package sometimes means you forget what channels you have or don't have, but ordering something like a premium channel means you're likely aware of its existence in your cable box. Here's another note: this tactic HBO is using for Game of Thrones is not new. They used it recently...with Boardwalk Empire. And yet I don't remember the commentary being as loud (though the point was brought up then). The stakes are, of course, quite high for HBO, but they were high last year, too. Grumbling aside, though, it's satisfying to see the assumptions made by pretty much everybody (that the show would return for a sophomore session) confirmed today by the network.

But what of the program? Unsurprisingly, it's quite good. I can't speak to whether or not the show's any good if you haven't read the book, of course. I can understand that someone might be confused in some of the more minor details and character identifications of the pilot (two of the regulars, at least, have lines but aren't ever really identified, in terms of what their roles are related to other people), but in general, I think that the show's creators and head writers, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss, did a great job of acclimating the audience to the world of Westeros within the span of an hour. While not everything is spelled out, that's a necessity: the first episode takes up the first 80 pages of the first book in a seven-book series. You can't get all the answers immediately.

After watching the pilot a second time, I'm warming up to the idea that it's on the same storytelling level as the pilot episode for Deadwood or The Wire, two of the crown jewels in HBO's cache. Though some critics, who may generally enjoy the program, have pointed out that the expository dialogue can sink some scenes, it doesn't happen here. Yes, there is exposition in this pilot (and a few lines are more blatant about it than others), but there's exposition in any television pilot. Sometimes, it can be dealt with efficiently, never calling attention to itself, but that's frequently very rare. I won't try to excuse the show for being expository just because that's how the book is; I just felt that there's never a point where the exposition is left hanging out in the open, ready to be slammed or snarked upon.

The scale of the show is immense without overdoing anything, which is a fine balance to create. Jumping from land to land to land within this fantasy world is enough of an imaginative challenge when you're reading the Song of Ice and Fire series by George R.R. Martin. It's another thing entirely to see those lands created to scale on your TV set. The near-tropical allure of King's Landing is palpable in the few minutes it's onscreen, as believable as the harsher climate of Winterfell, where the majority of the episode takes place. Pentos, a more exotic city on the harbor of the narrow sea, is both inviting and somewhat chilling. The production design, to me, doesn't end there; in some ways, casting this show is keeping in line with the show's sets. While the actors aren't props, they have to look the part especially when people have been holding images of what the characters should look like for nearly 15 years.

The cast is large, but only a few names are recognizable to most people, partly because some of the cast are young newcomers. Sean Bean, Mark Addy, and Peter Dinklage are the marquee stars here, and all are perfectly cast. Though only the latter gets to really let loose (Bean and Addy have a couple moments of levity, granted), all three are suited for their roles as Ned Stark, King Robert, and Tyrion Lannister. The standouts here, including those three, also include Emilia Clarke as Daenerys Targaryen, a shy, beautiful teenager who's being married off to a savage warlord so her power-mad brother can reclaim the throne; and Kit Harington, as Jon Snow, Ned's bastard son who wants to serve his kingdom at the Wall, the massive ice structure that keeps Westeros safe from the supposedly extinct White Walkers, who are very much alive and seem like thoughtless killing machines. Both Clarke and Harington exude a vulnerability that never topples into camp; Clarke especially has a difficult role, not just because of the purposeful objectification her character goes through in this episode, but because of her future arc. She seems more than capable of pulling it off.

That should be it, but there's one more thing I wanted to discuss about the show, and that's another aspect of the media reaction. As it goes with pre-hyped entertainment, there's a backlash to that hype. It happened with movies like Inception and Toy Story 3, and it's happened with Game of Thrones, which is somewhat fascinating because the praise for this show has been consistently positive, but not overwhelmingly so. Also, the good reviews aren't all universally saying the show is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The built-in audience is, true, trained a bit to react harshly against any kind of criticism, but for a while, it seemed like there'd be no harsh reviews to rail against. Enter Ginia Bellafante of the Grey Lady, the paper of record, the New York Times.

Have you ever noticed that, while the Times is appropriately lauded for its film criticism, the same doesn't go for its television coverage. This review is a great example of why we should scorn the newspaper's critics. In case it's not already clear, let me say this: having a negative opinion about anything is fine. Having a completely unjustified negative opinion is something else. A few folks, including HitFix's Daniel Fienberg, sarcastically praised Ms. Bellafante for writing a review of a new TV show without talking about its plot, characters, or actors, but there you go. The main issue with the review has been the section including this choice quote: "While I do not doubt that there are women in the world who read books like Mr. Martin's, I can honestly say that I have never met a single woman who has stood up in indignation at her book club and refused to read the latest from Lorrie Moore unless everyone agreed to 'The Hobbit' first."

In the same vein, while I do not doubt that there are men who watch Oprah Winfrey, I can honestly say that I have never met a man who does. So Oprah is bad. Right? That logic holds water, yeah? Of course it doesn't. More to the point, Ms. Bellafante, I couldn't care less what you think about the entire genre of fantasy if you're going to dismiss anything within that genre for existing. Her review generated appropriate amounts of ire from pretty much everywhere online, especially from women who were shocked to realize that they didn't like fantasy novels, even if they'd been reading them for years. Her response to this hubbub came today, and...well, it's another doozy.

Her condescension knows no bounds, as evidenced by this quote: "As I wrote in the review, I realize that there are women who love fantasy, but I don't know any and that is the truth: I don't know any. At the same time, I am sure that there are fantasy fans out there who may not know a single person who worships at the altar of quietly hewn domestic novels or celebrates the films of Nicole Holofcener or is engrossed by reruns of 'House.'" Again, Ms. Bellafante, I don't care if you do or don't know any woman (or anyone, for that matter) who likes fantasy novels or the genre. In the confines of a review, it doesn't matter who you know or don't know, or what the people you know or don't know like to read or watch. What matters is what you think; other people's thoughts shouldn't invade your criticism. Oh, and here's what: there is a possibility, Ms. Bellafante, minute as it may seem to you, that some people like movies directed by Nicole Holofcener AND the genre of fantasy. Please. Sit down. Don't get crazy at the mere idea I'm offering. But, seriously? Your pretensions are disturbing, not because they're unique (the fantasy genre has plenty of detractors), but because they're being published by the New York Times.

I'm OK with buying into the hype on Game of Thrones. I was OK with it when I watched and very much enjoyed the first season of Boardwalk Empire, but then, I wasn't disappointed to find that the show wasn't a carbon copy of The Sopranos. Sometimes, the hype lets you down, but there are rare times when the people behind a TV show, movie, book, or album get it right. In some ways, HBO has become the premier TV network for big TV, and big hype around big TV. (The preview of the new David Milch series Luck is the first bit of marketing for that show, but I'm ready for it now.) They're good at both, which is lucky for anyone who's willing to have an open mind and enjoy shows as diverse as those about Prohibition-era gangsters, or about vampires, or about curmudgeons, or even fantastical lords and ladies.

Is It Worth It?

I've been an HBO subscriber off and on over the last five or six years. I had it for a couple of years back when I was in college, back when shows like The Sopranos, Deadwood, and The Wire were still airing new episodes. But then, for one reason or another, I dropped it. I went back to being a subscriber last September, when Boardwalk Empire, HBO's first attempt in a while to be the top cable network began its first season. I'd been pondering becoming a subscriber again, and had to ask myself the question I first remember asking when I began my Netflix subscription: is it worth it?

I began my Netflix subscription in the fall of 2005 for one DVD set and one alone: the first season of Veronica Mars. I'd heard good things about the show from various critics and figured I ought to catch up and see if I was missing a genuinely good TV show, even if it was on UPN. (Remember UPN? It was a real TV network with shows and everything!) So, I went to Blockbuster and found, typically, no DVDs for the show. I say "typically" because even back when Netflix wasn't the dominant force in rentals, it became obvious that Blockbuster was giving up vital ground in TV show rentals. Blockbuster had some TV shows, but only the most popular. 24, Lost, and a few others would show up, but even though Veronica Mars is far from the most obscure TV show on DVD, it wasn't there. And it wasn't at Hollywood Video, either. I'd heard a bit about Netflix and figured I ought to do some research. I don't even remember what the plan I signed up for cost back then, because I've not only jumped from plan to plan, but the costs have jumped as well. Even still, the price is appropriate based on the alternative.

I thought about it with regards to HBO in the same way. Obviously, the counterargument against subscribing to HBO is simple: I have Netflix, so why not just wait for the DVDs on Netflix? My response to that is equally simple: I've been subscribing to Netflix since October of 2005, and there are still movies on my Netflix Queue--movies that have and haven't transferred to Instant--that I haven't watched. Six years, and I haven't watched Roger Dodger or Russian Ark or even the latter seasons of The Wire. Who's to say I'll get to watch seasons of newer shows on Netflix any quicker? Even more, HBO has introduced something called HBO Go, which is basically Netflix Instant for HBO. Since the actual Netflix Instant is probably never going to get HBO shows (unless the two merge, or something along those lines), the incentive is strong.

The incentive grew stronger last fall, as I became more and more entranced and hooked by Boardwalk Empire, a show with lots of hype, a show that some people were let down by. Lucky for me (well, probably not lucky, but you get my meaning), I've only seen the pilot episode of The Sopranos, so I didn't go into the series assuming that it would be that show, but set in the 1920s. Though the show isn't as great as programs like Mad Men or Breaking Bad, I'm confident that it will remain one of the most entertaining, epic dramas of its time.

But subscribing to HBO last September wasn't just for Boardwalk Empire. I know that I wouldn't have been able to avoid the hype surrounding HBO's newest drama, based on the series of novels by George R.R. Martin, Game of Thrones. I've read the first novel in the series and am a quarter of the way through the second, so while I know where the show's going (or, rather, I assume I know) during this season, the hype and positive reviews are too much to ignore. I'm also working my way through some other HBO shows, like Curb Your Enthusiasm (I've seen, now, the first five seasons and want to be fully caught up by the season eight premiere in July), thanks to HBO Go. It's funny to me that most--OK, all of the pull for me to subscribe to HBO is less about the movies that initially gave the channel its definition ("Look, folks, watch all of the movies we have with no editing or commercials!") than its original programming. But with shows like Boardwalk Empire, True Blood, The Ricky Gervais Show, Bored to Death, Curb, and more, there's no question to me that, yeah, it's worth it.

Hanna

These days, there's nothing so thrilling in popular culture when something unique squeaks through. Most movies, TV shows, music, and books are relatively in line with our expectations. Even the best of movies and TV are usually in line with what we expect. Last year's Best Picture winner was, to many people, inspirational and entertaining, but it was also nothing surprising. Not every movie that dares to take a chance works out; one such failure is 2007's Across the Universe, which dares to tell a story with songs by the Beatles, but was an unmitigated disaster. When a daring idea works, though, it's awesome to watch. Such is the case with Hanna.

Though the concept of this fairy tale-cum-action film is simple enough--a 16-year old girl who can kick serious ass is raised in the Finnish wilderness is hunted down by government agents because of her value to the CIA--the execution is something else. A movie this deliriously unhinged would seem to be the product of David Lynch and Tony Scott; what's so surprising about Hanna is its director's pedigree. Joe Wright was previously known as an Oscar-bait director, having directed such well-made but somewhat infuriating movies like Atonement and The Soloist. Wright makes Hanna into an ambitious, enthralling, and engaging action picture with a modicum of intelligence.

It helps that the title character is played by the 21st-century version of a young Kate Winslet: Saoirse Ronan. Her name may be nearly unpronounceable, but Ronan proves here that she is nothing less than diverse in her performances. Though The Lovely Bones was also something of a disaster, Ronan delivered a fine lead performance. Here, she's a breath of fresh air, tough without feeling forced, and believably being an animal growing into a human being. Hanna is similar to other characters who want to know what it's like to be a human; she knows the notes, but not the music. She may know the names of cities, countries, and invented friends, but she doesn't know what music sounds like, or what friends can do, or what it's like to share your first kiss. That such a coming-of-age tale is woven into a kickass action movie proves how difficult it was to thread the needle that is this movie. Wright and company pull it off.

While Ronan's work is exemplary here, she's not the only one whose performance deserves accolades. Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana, Tom Hollander, Olivia Williams, and Jason Flemyng play the other major adult characters here, and all do great jobs. Blanchett and Bana have the flashiest roles (though Hollander's got a colorful enough role to play), as the agent hunting the girl down and Hanna's father, respectively. Bana doesn't get to play more than a tough guy who let his emotions get the best of him a long time ago, but he plays the character well. What's more, Bana's the centerpiece of the film's most notable action scene, a single-take through a bus terminal and a subway station while taking down a cadre of bad guys. Blanchett sinks her teeth into Marisa Viegler, a frighteningly dedicated federal agent who refuses to let go of Hanna, whose value grows as the story proceeds. While her Southern accent comes and goes, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, there's no question that Blanchett is having a lot of fun in this movie, and her infectious villainy is hard to resist.

Hollander is one of those actors I wish was in every movie. Though I know dream casting can't always work, I still wish he was cast as Littlefinger in the new HBO series Game of Thrones. He'd be perfect for the scheming, dryly sarcastic character, as he's perfect here as the hitman Viegler brings out of retirement to kill Hanna. Flemyng and Williams have smaller roles, as hippie parents Hanna encounters after her escape from government custody. She jumps from one extreme to the other, from no human interaction to the brightest and wildest kind. Though they have less to do in the film, both Flemyng and Williams do a great job inhabiting their characters. Williams, in particular, has turned into one of the great character actresses of her generation, able to imbue humanity into even the smallest roles.

About halfway through Hanna, somewhere just after we're introduced to Hollander's hitman character at the burlesque club where he's criticizing his new hermaphrodite dancer (yes, really), I marveled that such a movie even exists. What's great is that Hanna was the highest-grossing new movie last weekend. The number may not have been massive, but people are flocking to this movie in bigger numbers than I would have expected. Some people are not going to like this movie; some will flat-out hate it. But for those of us who can embrace this movie's warped sensibility, it's the first genuine pleasure of 2011.