The Avengers **½

Director: Joss Whedon
Cast: Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth
Samuel L. Jackson, Mark Ruffalo, Scarlett Johansson, Jeremy Renner
Tom Hiddleston, Clark Gregg, Cobie Smulders
Stellan Skarsgård, Gwyneth Paltrow

The Avengers feels like a success because its very existence seems to be fulfilling a promise made to us with the advent of comic book movies: that one day we would get to see an epic popcorn flick in which all our favorite superheroes would get to have some fun together.
What once was thought to be impossible due to technology, budget and other factors, has finally become a reality and the result is disappointing because in the process, the film has become the equivalent of opening gifts as grown ups on Christmas morning: the magic has all but vanished.
The first part of the movie, consists of the "let's put on a show" plot that was much better used in last year's The Muppets, since the faces involved are all familiar (or at least they should given that this movie has no less than six prequels) all the audience is expecting to see is what they will do together.
The film however takes its time setting up the stage as we see Thor (Hemsworth) come back to Earth to stop his psychotic brother Loki (Hiddleston) from invading it. Joining the Norse god are brilliant playboy/Iron-Man (Downey Jr.), the slightly passive aggressive Bruce Banner (Ruffalo) whose Hulk is on almost permanent sleep, the thawed Captain America (Evans), the sexy agent known as Black Widow (Johansson) and ace archer Hawkeye (Renner), all led by agent extraordinaire Nick Fury (Jackson who seems to be more alive than in any movie he's made in at least a decade).
The entire film revolves around this group of heroes kicking Loki's ass and preventing imminent destruction at the hand of weird aliens who ride intergalactic mopeds and use fish like spaceships to wreak havoc on New York City (because where else do space invasions begin?).
The film often lies at a very awkward spot because its execution is often marred by the Whedonisms being repressed by the very epicness of it all. Whedon is an extraordinary director who has no trouble alternating and even normalizing the relationship between fantasy and "real life". Some of his greatest creations combine vampires, space cowboys and clones with a deep sense of longing, melancholy and geek humor.
His persona shines during some key moments in the film, mostly through, who would've guessed it, Thor and Captain America, the two towering men whose latent humanity shines through under Whedon's sensitive directing.
The Avengers thrives on its all-star ensemble but the running time (already excessive) doesn't give us enough time to delight ourselves with our favorite characters, unlike the Ocean's Eleven movies this one doesn't know how and when to use its assets best. It tries to be fair, when it should've been selfish in its purposes. As much as Downey Jr. shines as Stark, his smugness can get too grating, especially when Whedon is making Hemsworth and Evans act! 
It's a shame that the director never really knows what to do with the larger setpieces, because he has proven time and time again just how great he is at action sequences (remember the sense of Indiana Jones-like adventure he infused in the whole of Serenity?) The Avengers overflows with moments of almost-greatness that feel abrupt, as if Whedon wanted to jump but remembered he might break a bone upon landing.
The movie is unarguably efficient in its coherence, but it's almost too coherent, when it could have been playful, thrilling. Instead of inspiring us to want and turn the page to see what's next, more often than not we end up wondering if something fun will ever happen. Comic book movies are often a double edged sword because those who concentrate on the profoundness contained in the post-war plight for salvation are never really "fun" (any Batman movie under Nolan), and those that concentrate on thrills leave audiences feeling empty and self indulgent (any Spider-Man under Raimi).
Perhaps to concentrate too much on this would lead to an exploration of why comic books even matter and by the end we'd have lost all notion of the product known as The Avengers, which despite Whedon's attempts, misfires more than it succeeds and reminds us that the whole sometimes is lesser than the sum of its parts.

Midnight in Paris ****

Director: Woody Allen

Cast: Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Adrien Brody

Alison PillCarla Bruni-Sarkozy, Corey Stoll, Kathy Bates

Kurt Fuller, Léa Seydoux, Marion Cotillard

Mimi Kennedy, Tom Hiddleston

From its opening scene, Midnight in Paris establishes itself as a love song: we see how a series of shots of the city comprise a verse that thrills us because of its familiarity (ooh it's Notre Dame! ooh it's Place Vendome!) and despite its otherworldly beauty.

Paris is one of those cities that becomes universal because of the feelings they inspire even if you have never visited them. Tons of films have been set in Paris, tons of romances have been set there as well and to those less inclined by emotions, the French capital has also been the stage for some of the most revolutionary cultural movements in the world.

It makes absolute sense then, that Woody Allen would fall head over heels for it. Not since Manhattan had he shown such passion for a place as he does in this film. Structured like his iconic ode to New York City, Midnight in Paris is formed by a bookend in which we first develop the crush, a large plot development in which we suffer through the ups and downs of love and a final thought that reminds us, not only of our insignificance but about the immortality of beauty.

Throughout the film, Allen, aided by cinematographer Darius Khondji's breathtaking framing, reminds us that Paris will remain even after we're gone.

Take for example the scene in which we meet Gil Pender (Wilson), our protagonist. We hear him talking to his fiancee Inez (McAdams) about the beauty and romanticism of Paris but we can not see either of them. What we see instead is a huge pond filled with fragile water lilies. For a moment, we're not even sure if we're watching a painting or an actual real life image, Then Gil mentions something about Monet and our mind clicks, but so does the camera and we move to find ourselves in front of the people we're about to meet.

In several other scenes throughout the movie, first we see places and things and only then do the characters enter the scene. The camera is sometimes placed before them, as if suggesting the characters need to catch up with time - and wondering if they ever will be able to do it - and sometimes it seems to wander about trying to take in the riches of a city that's too overwhelming for a films's running time.

The subject of catching up with time might be the plot's biggest preoccupation, as Gil finds himself yearning to live in a different place as his writer's block increases. After working as a Hollywood hired hand- and being quite successful at it- he's trying out a novel for the first time. His trip to Paris is meant to inspire him but all he gets are insults from Inez and her parents (the pitch perfect Kennedy and Fuller).

Things get worse when they run into Paul (Sheen) and Carol (Arianda), two friends of Inez who tag along everywhere they go. He's a pseudo-intellectual who knows it all on the surface, she's the loving companion who nods at his every word.

Allen never has any problem revealing to us that the world that surrounds Gil (who in this film is the "Woody Allen character") is truly atrocious. As he usually does, he has no problem affirming that this is a misunderstood man, perhaps a bit too sensitive to be surrounded by the shrewd beings he knows. Allen has never been good at hiding his disdain for bourgeois apathy and while his characters are never exactly saints of any kind, he has always excelled at making us like them.

Gil for example seems to breathe by inertia, we're meant to dislike Inez (the things she says often make you gasp) but we're not supposed to be rooting for Gil just yet. He needs to earn our liking, he needs to achieve a breakthrough.

Woody provides him this opportunity by relying on a fantastical twist that resembles what he did in his brilliant The Purple Rose of Cairo, as in that occasion, everything happens so fast that we're unable to try and reason. Anyone who cared to deconstruct either movie by ways of physics and probability could probably accuse of them of being truly preposterous. During one scene Inez's mother describes a movie she saw as "infantile" and lacking in any believable qualities, but she doesn't deny it had charm (is she talking about the movie she's in?).

However Allen becomes the ultimate alchemist, turning the dullness of the quotidian into magic that defies the most complicated visual effects. Midnight in Paris gives him an opportunity to bask in his love for the Lost Generation and all things 20s, giving us glimpses of a city where you could run into characters the likes of Hemingway (a phenomenal, scene stealing Stoll), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Hiddleston) and Gertrude Stein (Bates) among others.

Leading us in this tour of a golden era is Marion Cotillard, playing the woman who captures Gil's heart. To reveal the many twists and turns in the movie would be to rob the audience of what can only be called utter pleasure. In the past Allen has expressed his love for classic things, however this might be the first time when he seems to find his voice through others.

While sometimes it might seem like a film meant for culture snobs (and what Allen movie isn't?) Midnight in Paris is also remarkable for its unaware passion for the arts. When Gil says to a character "you take art groupie to a whole new level" he might as well be talking about Allen and the movie.

It's no coincidence that the film seems to be based on the theory that places of great antiquity and history are forever plagued with the ghosts of those who once lived there. At many times during the film there are mentions of the main character in Gil's novel; a young man who owns a nostalgia shop, the places where you can buy old records and Shirley Temple memorabilia.

For some this is an enchanting concept (Cotillard's character is "hooked" by it) while others find it creepy and childish. "Nostalgia is denial" says Paul condescendingly, while Gil looks away finding himself in a place far away from judgment.

The movie toys with the possibility of transporting yourself to a time where everything can be perfect and Allen approaches his everlasting obsession with mortality in a way that makes the heart ache and puts a smile on your face.

We realize eventually that Allen is the shop vendor mentioned so much, he's the one always selling us nostalgia, whether it be his use of music, artistic references or the affected way in which his characters talk (the use of words like "pseudo-intellectual", "lovely" and "erotic" usually give his screenplays away).

Midnight in Paris can be read through countless layers, the magic of its ensemble alone is enough to warrant an essay but like the greatest art what's easiest to discuss, perhaps because it inspires excited, clumsy eloquence, is the feeling that it leaves you with: something that resembles the warmth of a good meal and the exhilarating joy of being in love.

After his last movie which failed to invite us into its dark world, in this one a character reminds Gil that a writer can not succumb to despair, his duty is to find an antidote to the emptiness of existence. Woody Allen seems to have taken this advice and Midnight in Paris is the kind of movie that reminds us that heaven might be a plane ride away.

Thor ***

Director: Kenneth Branagh

Cast: Chris Hemsworth, Natalie Portman

Stellan Skarsgård, Tom Hiddleston, Kat Dennings, Idris Elba

Renee Russo, Anthony Hopkins,

Superhero movies can be divided into three main kinds: the obnoxiously preachy ones (Watchmen, The Dark Knight), the blissfully entertaining and therefore more memorable ones (Spider-Man 2, X2: X-Men United) and the Daredevil ones (i.e. the worst kind).
Directed with unusual glee and un-selfconscious gravitas by Kenneth Branagh, Thor falls into the second category. Breakthrough star Chris Hemsworth plays Thor, son of the Nordic god Odin (Hopkins) who has maintained peace in the world for millennia. When Thor is about to succeed his father as king of the realm of Asgard (imagine a Pink Floyd album cover turned into an 80s amusement park) they are suddenly attacked by their dormant enemies: the Frost Giants.
After the crisis is averted, Thor, encouraged by his sneaky brother Loki (Hiddleston) goes against his father’s wishes and attacks the Giants’ kingdom: Jotunheim. After learning of his son’s disobedience, Odin has no choice but to strip him of his godly gifts, exile him from Asgard and send him to a place so hideous that he’d spend the rest of eternity trying to ascend back to the heavens: Thor lands in New Mexico.
Lucky for him, his father out of some Shakespearean whim (can’t have Branagh without the Bard) also throws Thor’s mythical hammer Mjolnir to Earth, in the hopes that, sooner than later, his son will regain its power. Thor is discovered by scientist Jane Foster (the absolutely ravishing Portman) and her colleagues Erik Selvig (Skarsgård) and Darcy (a scene stealing Dennings) as they study wormholes and strange storms in the desert.
Like an alien version of Tarzan, Jane has to teach Thor about the ways of the world but in the meantime, watching Hemsworth in all of his brutish glory is a true spectacle. He enters pet shops demanding horses, calls New Mexico a realm and kisses the hands of the delighted ladies. Darcy’s comments about Thor’s undeniable hotness are hilarious (Dennings’ dead pan delivery is comedic wonder) and soon enough Jane has developed a crush on this man from the stars who might just prove her scientific theories right.
The film tries to stress this out a bit too much (people from different worlds learning from each other) without ever realizing that the more it points us to this, the more we’ll question the film’s motives and discrepancies. How many different gods from how many different cultures coexist for example? Or is the film choosing Nordic mythology as the one?
This is why the movie works best when it’s simple fun. The action sequences are done with just the right amount of kitsch (a 50’s inspired robot attacks a small town!) and the characters are interesting enough without being overdone (Hiddleston’s slimy Loki is the right mix of angst and silly comic book evil). Branagh shines in scenes where he gets to make the actors truly act: Hopkins’ Odin is King Lear minus the actual tragedy and the director is kind enough to give comic book enthusiasts a peek at upcoming projects as well as filling the movie with references only some of them will get.
Interestingly enough, with all of its fun and seeming silliness, the film also works as a fascinating study of gender dynamics and homoerotic identification. There is one particular scene in which Thor, who seems ignorant about the attractiveness of his physique, takes his short off revealing a perfectly chiseled torso. Branagh lingers in this moment more than any heterosexual filmmaker would dare to (directors like Nolan for example prefer showing the ugliness of masculinity) and then cuts to reactions of Jane and Darcy who literally open their mouths in disbelief.
However in doing so, Branagh also forces audiences (heterosexual males included) to embrace the beauty of another male body and heck, even admire and envy it.
When the year comes to an end, this will still remain one of the most talked about scenes of the year and if Branagh manages to make strictly heterosexual and even homophobic audiences talk about Hemsworth with the same spark Jane Foster does in the movie, he’ll have achieved something slightly divine.