May 2
Made of Honor: Stale Wedding Cake.
Zagat says: Wasn’t that good when it was fresh.

May 9
Speed Racer: Pop Rocks and Redbull.
Zagat says: Worth the risk of your stomach exploding.

What Happens in Vegas: Crappy, overpriced room-service.
Zagat says: You know what it’s going to be like, so you’d better be starving.

May 16
The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian: Renn Fair Turkey Leg.
Zagat says: As long as you’re wearing the cape, you might as well eat it.

May 23
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: Grandma’s Mac and Cheese.
Zagat says: Might not be as good as you remember, but what you remember was really, really good.

Postal: Creamed Tuna.
Zagat says: Sometimes something is so bad it’s good.

May 30
Sex and the City: Manhattan-Priced Cosmopolitan.
Zagat says: Your waiter let this drink sit for a really long time before he brought it to you.

The Strangers: Apple with a Razor Blade Inside.
Zagat says: The best Halloween candy is the stuff you’re afraid to eat.

June 6
Kung Fu Panda: Sour Patch Kids.
Zagat says: Might be too sweet if not for the tangy, Jack Black coating.

You Don’t Mess with the Zohan: Cool Ranch Matzoh.
Zagat says: Who knew Zionist Judaism could be so hip and cool.

June 13
The Happening: The Last Bit-O-Honey Before All the Bees Go Extinct.
Zagat says: They’re always disappointing, but this might be your last chance to pick that sticky concrete out of your teeth.

June 20
Get Smart: A Twinkie.
Zagat says: Could have been packaged yesterday or 40 years ago, the only way to tell is to eat it.

The Love Guru: Fermented Curry.
Zagat says: This recipe does not have a very long shelf life.

June 27
WALL-E: Wonka Bar with the Golden Ticket Inside.
Zagat says: The secret ingredient is love.

Wanted: Sparks.
Zagat says: Ah, to be hyper and drunk at the same time.

July 2
Hancock: Greasy Pork Chop Sandwich Served in a Dirty Ashtray.
Zagat says: Dust it off and try it if you want, but don’t come crying to us when your house burns down.

July 11
Hellboy II: The Golden Army: Code Red Mountain Dew.
Zagat says: Big, red, and highly caffeinated.

Meet Dave: Freeze Dried Ice Cream.
Zagat says: Sounds like a bad idea and, guess what, it is.

July 18
The Dark Knight: The Last Heath Bar. Ever.
Zagat says: Hopefully the deliciousness will distract us from the tragedy.

Mamma Mia!: A smorgasbord full of pasta.
Zagat says: Nobody does Italian like the Swedes.

Space Chimps: Chocolate Banana.
Zagat says: Because chimps like bananas. Get it?

July 25
Step Brothers: Jungle Juice.
Zagat says: The lack of prep makes it easy, but can also make it rank — and there’s always the risk somebody peed in it.

X-Files: I Want to Believe: Mystery Flavor Dum Dum at the Bottom of a Bank Teller’s Jar.
Zagat says: Could be well past the expiration date, but mystery goes a long way.

The Longshots: Haterade.
Zagat says: It’s got what plants crave.

American Teen: Ally Sheedy’s Cap’n Crunch and Pixi Stix Sandwich from the Breakfast Club.
Zagat says: Angst never tasted so carb-licious. Except here.

Even if they basically follow the same superhero mold of yesteryear, the tight ensemble of Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Terrence Howard, and Jeff Bridges sells the action romp every step of the way -– so much so that one can’t help but want more. It’s quite evident that the best is yet to come, not only with this series, but also with big-screen Marvel outings as a whole. With clever shout-outs to the imprint’s expansive universe (including a post-credit cameo that’ll send the geek Richter scale off the charts), Iron Man sets the stage for as yet unrealized crossover possibilities, a dream barely hinted at in previous book-to-screen adaptations. If future productions can deliver on the story while juggling both the technology and the talent as well as this one did, then it is possible that this is the true start of comicdom’s cinematic rebirth, built by the best that Hollywood has to offer. All in all, a fine introduction to a hero that finally dares to tackle weight-of-the-world issues. It’s about time.

Of all the Rolling Stones concert films, Shine a Light offers the greatest argument the Jagger might be the best frontman in rock history. While his authoritative sexuality was teasing and dark in the sixties and seventies, it mutated into near self-parody in the next two decades. Time being on his side, Jagger in his sixties doesn’t so much seem a dirty old man, as just a dirty man who still enjoys the art of tempting and teasing his audience, his bandmates, and himself. IMAX might be the only format that can fully communicate the sheer amount of commitment that goes into every one of his movements. He could seemingly go on forever.

Working as a contrast to Jagger’s relentless energy, is the stoic realism of Charlie Watts. There are very few out of shape drummers, because it’s the one instrument in a rock band you need physical stamina to play over the course of a concert. At one point in the show, Watts looks directly into the camera and lets out an exhausted sigh. It’s a small moment, but one loaded with meaning. In that quick instant you realize that for all of Mick’s boundless enthusiasm, the Stones are not immortal. Charlie has not lost a beat, but looking at him that spent so early in the evening, you understand that one shouldn’t take this band for granted ever again.

That leaves Keith Richards. He could drop dead on stage, or he might live another 100 years, and either way he will continue to do what he has always done – play music, preferably with Ron Wood at his side. And the music is why Shine a Light matters a great deal. From the still relevant “Satisfaction,” to the urgency of “She Was Hot,” to the longing “Just My Imagination,” the perfectly constructed setlist showcases everything the Rolling Stones do well. They still appreciate their own gifts, but have not grown so bloated that they can’t share the stage. The three guest stars that show up underscore the band’s flexibility. Jack White III harmonizes with Mick on “Loving Cup,” and it wouldn’t have sounded out of place on the album he produced for Loretta Lynn. Christina Aguilera matches Mick grind for grind as well as note for note in a duet on “Live with Me” that would be funny if it weren’t treated with such commitment by both of them. And blues legend Buddy Guy joins the boys for an authoritative rendition of “Champagne & Reefer” that offers ample proof of the Stones chops – as far as traditional blues numbers go it’s equal to the legendary Muddy Waters performance in The Last Waltz.

There is something to recommend about every Rolling Stones documentary. The cult classic Cocksucker Blues forever captured the most excessive aspects of their life, Gimme Shelter showcased the group’s skill as well as the occasionally dangerous power of their music, and even Let’s Spend the Night Together puts Mick’s inclination for pomp on the big screen. But Shine a Light captures where the band is right now, forty-five years into their careers, capturing their ability to be larger than life, while staying intimately connected to each other through the music. Scorsese records for posterity the band member’s connections to each other, to music, and to their audience, making Shine a Light one of the most ferociously entertaining movies of the year.

Steel-jawed, hard bodied, terse in speech, Charlton Heston was an American man’s man, an epic unto himself. While he played modern men, he was at his best when portraying larger-than-life figures from world history, preferably with his shirt off. He was born John Charles Carter on October 4, 1924 and originally trained in the classics in Northwestern University’s drama program, gaining early experience playing the lead in a 1941 filmed school production of Peer Gynt. He also performed on the radio, and then went on to serve in the Air Force for three years during WWII. Afterwards, he went to work as a model in New York, where he met his wife, fellow model Lydia Clarke, to whom he remained married until his death. Later the two operated a theater in Asheville, North Carolina where Heston honed his acting skills. He made his Broadway debut in Katharine Cornell’s 1947 production of Antony and Cleopatra and subsequently went on to be a staple of the highly-regarded New York-based Studio One live television anthology where he played such classic characters as Heathcliff, Julius Caesar and Petruchio. The show made Heston a star.

He made his Hollywood film debut in William Dieterle’s film noir Dark City playing opposite Lizabeth Scott. Even though she was more established in Hollywood, it was Heston who received top billing. He went on to appear as a white man raised in Indian culture in The Savage (1952) and then as a snob who snubs a country girl in King Vidor’s Ruby Gentry (1952). His big break came when Cecil B. DeMille cast him as the bitter circus manager Brad Braden in The Greatest Show on Earth (1952).

In subsequent films, Heston began developing his persona of an unflinching hero with a piercing blue-eyed stare and unbending, self-righteous Middle American ethics. Heston’s heroes could be violent and cruel, but only when absolutely necessary. He began a long stint of playing historical characters with his portrayal of Buffalo Bill in Pony Express and then Andrew Jackson in The President’s Lady (both 1953). Heston’s star burned at its brightest when DeMille cast him as the stern Moses in the lavish epic The Ten Commandments (1956). From there, Heston went on to headline numerous spectaculars which provided him the opportunity to play everyone from John the Baptist to Michelangelo to El Cid to General “Chinese” Gordon. In 1959, Heston won an Academy Award for the title role in William Wyler’s Ben Hur. By the mid-1960s, the reign of the epic film passed and Heston began appearing in westerns (Will Penny) and epic war dramas (Midway). He also did sci-fi films, the most famous of which was the acclaimed opus Planet of the Apes (1968), The Omega Man (1970) and the cult favorite Soylent Green (1973). The ’70s brought Heston into a new kind of epic, the disaster film, and he appeared in three, notably Airport 1975. From the late ’80s though the ’90s, Heston has returned to television, appearing in series, miniseries and made-for TV movies. He also appeared in such films as Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet (1996) and 1998’s Armageddon (as the narrator).

Outside of his film work, Heston served six terms as the president of the Screen Actors Guild and also chaired the American Film Institute. Active in such charities as The Will Rogers Institute, he was awarded the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award at the 1977 Oscar ceremony. Known as a conservative Republican and proud member of the National Rifle Association, Heston worked closely with his long-time colleague and friend, President Ronald Reagan as the leader of the president’s task force on arts and the humanities. He made two of his final film appearances in the disastrous Warren Beatty-Diane Keaton sex farce Town and Country (2001) (in a parodistic role, as a shotgun wielding arsonist who burns Beatty’s cabin to the ground!) and as himself in Michael Moore’s documentary Bowling For Columbine (2002) (in which he stormed out of an interview after Moore pummeled him with gun-related questions). Heston died in the spring of 2008 at age 84; although the cause of death was officially undisclosed, he had revealed several years prior that he was suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease.

While his rough facial features prevented him from becoming a movie matinee idol along the lines of Laurence Olivier, Scofield was always welcome in his extremely infrequent film appearances. His first picture was That Lady (1955), for which he won a Most Promising Newcomer British Academy Award for his portrayal of King Philip II of Spain. In 1966, Scofield gained international film stardom — and won an Academy Award — for recreating his Tony-winning Broadway portrayal of Sir Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons. Further acclaim greeted the actor for his work in films such as Kenneth Branagh’s Henry V (1989) and Franco Zeffirelli’s Hamlet (1990). In 1994, at the age of seventy-two, Scofield was once again nominated for an Oscar, this time for his performance as American poet Mark Van Doren in director Robert Redford’s Quiz Show. Two years later, audiences could see him in Nicholas Hytner’s The Crucible, lending somber authority to the role of Judge Danforth. Scofield earned one of his last credits doing voiceover work on the Hallmark television production of Animal Farm in 1999.

Over the course of his career, Scofield served as the co-director for the Royal Shakespeare Company (1966-1968) and as the director of the National Theatre (1971). His years of service to his country culminated in a several offers of of knighthood from Queen Elizabeth, honors that the actor gracefully declined on each occasion. Scofield died of leukemia in March 2008 at the age of 86.

In terms of performances, Naomi Watts, Tim Roth, and Devon Gearhart are absolutely fearless. Though Roth has the somewhat thankless task of simply grimacing and grunting his way through most of the film, his perceived weakness of character serves well to contrast Watts’ more assertive take on the role of the decidedly more protective (not to mention proactive) mother and wife. While Gearhart has precious little to say in terms of dialog, his facial expression speaks volumes – chillingly highlighting the moment in which a child is rudely awakened to the fact that there are forces in this world that even mom and dad are helpless to fight against. As their tormentors, Michael Pitt and Brady Corbet are nightmares dressed in white; a pair of perverse, soft-spoken sadists clad to country club perfection. It’s easy to see why the unsuspecting family would fall into the pair’s deadly game, given their deceptive mask of politeness, and once those bleached whites become stained with the blood of the innocent it’s absolutely horrifying to see how far good manners can go in keeping their prey off-balance. This is where Haneke’s skills as a true master of tension come into play. This family takes all the cautions that viewers prone to screaming at the screen would likely take, and Haneke takes great care to show us just how easily things could go wrong regardless of this preparedness. It’s only later, when Haneke reveals his true intentions by committing the ultimate act of cinematic sadism – one in which all hope is essentially stripped away – that we begin to realize that we never really were in thriller territory after all. For those in the audience who are willing to digest this transgression and put their trust in the director, Haneke’s unconventional technique will no doubt serve as the fodder for some interesting debate concerning the role that violence plays in media as well as our perceived desensitization to such destructiveness as a society. For the viewer who feels cheated and violated by it, well… they’re arguably just as justified, though they may take pause and reevaluate their reaction to violence in entertainment once they get over their initial disgust.

Of course, this is a Gondry film, so beneath the wild and crazy premise of the plot is the poignant and bittersweet premise of the subtext. In this case, it revolves around the bleakness of the video store’s destitute New Jersey neighborhood. Again and again, the film comes back to the idea that the myths we turn to for comfort and for identity are our ours to create, whether we’re making our favorite movies our own (which Mike and Jerry do quite literally) or inventing our histories (which the whole ensemble does, by extolling their city as the supposed birthplace of jazz musician Fats Waller). The juxtaposition of the guys’ funny and inspired film remaking process against the dead-end nature of their crappy neighborhood is good, but probably not as effective as it was meant to be. The two parts are clearly supposed to be alternate sides of the same paradoxical coin, intended to show how hardship and despair often inspire the most tremendous displays of hope and creativity. Except all too often, the opposing moods of the film don’t read as self creating and self sustaining, but rather as simply disjointed.

Watching Mike and Jerry making their movies is downright delightful, and the Sweded films are no doubt the heart of the film. In lieu of money, or even time, the duo employs limitless ingenuity and an enduring love of movies, conjuring pure enchantment every time they roll camera. It’s gleeful and gratifying whether they’re working on Rush Hour 2 or Last Tango in Paris, which is why it feels so uneven for us not to be shown more of their adventures behind the camera – let alone their finished products. The disappointingly small amount of screen time that the Sweded films are allotted makes it feel like Gondry is skipping out on the element of the movie we relate to most. And while the Be Kind Rewind’s serious content is often moving and eloquent, it’s also frequently rambling and slow.

Despite its faults, the film is still full of great performances, especially by Mos Def, who could easily have played the simple straight-man to Black’s highly-caffeinated antics but instead, opted to subtly flesh Mike out into someone very real. The film is also deft in hitting home its themes about nostalgia being so vital to us — though it expresses those sentiments in pretty obvious terms as well, hence the plot hinging on a room full of VHS tapes. True to form, Gondry offers equal parts hope and heartbreak in his ending, but the greater tragedy may lay in the uncertainty of whether the ending, or indeed the film, packs all the emotional punch that he intended.

Lest there somehow remain any shred of doubt as to how little faith George A. Romero has in humanity, the grim coda to his curious foray into subjective filmmaking should dispatch that uncertainty with the stopping power of a carefully aimed bullet fired into a shambling zombie’s forehead. Not since Night of the Living Dead has a Romero coda felt so deliciously grim, and while fans will certainly argue the merits of his fifth “Dead” film – as well, perhaps, as the ageing filmmaker’s continued relevance or lack thereof – there’s still plenty to like about Diary of the Dead.

While some may be quick to compare Diary of the Dead to such subjective-style hits as Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project, it should be noted that this is a very different beast. Whereas both of those films were purported to be raw found or recovered footage, Diary of the Dead wastes no time explaining that the film-within-a-film that we are about to see – a student film entitled “The Death of Death” – is in fact a “professionally” produced document of events as experienced by a group of young filmmakers who happened to be shooting a low budget horror film when the dead decided to get up and go searching for some guts to munch. As such, the “filmmaker” has seen fit to drop in the occasional musical cue, get a bit creative with editing, and occasionally draw on footage shot by others in order to drive home their point. It’s a curious experiment that largely works thanks to Romero’s signature gallows humor, social commentary, and creative zombie kills, though some longtime fans may decry the perceived lack of character definition that distinguishes the director’s most effective works. Still, seeing as how the main character – the one through whom the audience experiences the majority of the story - goes largely unseen for most of the running time, it could be argued that Romero was simply going for concept rather than character this time around. Romero has always been concerned with how we receive and respond to media, and in this film that preoccupation is arguably more pronounced than ever before. From a mention of the original “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast early on, we’re clearly tuned into Romero’s feelings about the power of the media, and in an era where everyone with internet access is essentially “the media,” he seems to be arguing that we shouldn’t take that distinction in stride.

Two films past the “Dead Trilogy” and counting (Romero has openly stated in interviews that he is interested in making his first-ever direct sequel to Diary), perhaps it’s time to lay the concept of this being a trilogy to rest in order to reassess and reevaluate the “Dead” films as a series. At this point, we all know that Romero is a filmmaker who likes to inject his horror with a little social commentary – it’s what distinguishes his movies from the glut of brainless, generic zombie flicks that line the shelves of your local videostore. Yet to constantly compare his latest endeavors to the films we now consider “classics” (Night, Dawn, and Day), we do both the movies and the man behind them a grave injustice: Even Day was maligned by fans and critics when it first hit screens back in 1985, only to be deemed a grim classic by legions of fans upon reappraisal. Romero isn’t the same filmmaker he was when he created that original trilogy – nor, for that matter, when he made Land of the Dead - and while it may be hard to accept the fact that we might never get another film with the power and iconography of Dawn of the Dead we should be careful not to dismiss his more recent endeavors simply due to some perceived lack of bite. Perhaps his commentary works better when applied to some concepts (and eras) than others, but given the choice between watching a lesser work by a filmmaker with something truly interesting to say, or a polished slice of entertainment from a former music video director who built their career on pushing a product, why continually opt to switch off our brains? Are we still capable of thinking and being entertained at the same time, or has the short attention span theater of modern media made us completely incapable of completing such advanced processes? If you answered in the positive, chances are you’ll be able to look past the surface flaws and find something to like about Diary of the Dead. If you answered in the negative, perhaps Romero’s bleak commentary concerning mankind’s true value isn’t too far off.