The hard-as-nails grit of the fruit industry is painted in broad, cynical strokes as Nick Garcos sets out to avenge his father's maiming. Dassin steeps the pot with episode after episode of plainly disturbing injustice, much of it at the hands of Lee J. Cobb's Mike Figlia, the casually brash top dog in the fruit game. Cobb's snide, ego-on-his-sleeve turn is perfectly aligned with the film's weird generalizing. There isn't a speck of topicality or soapbox preaching: The whole thing successfully microscopes human nature.

So purely about the wonder of adolescense. Kiki is one of Miyazaki's most charming characters. London watched it in pieces at least five times at the beach. I caught myself re-watching it with her each time.

The most appropriate casting one could possibly imagine. The script has some cornball resolutions, but the palpable feel of the music's "cool" overpowers nearly every key flaw. The latent convenience of the thing gives it the feel of a sort of genre-specific John Hughes film.

Nevermind that it ass-rapes the book, Heisler's film is marginal at best, taking by-the-numbers filmmaking into the stratosphere of tiresome, saved only by some great charaterizations (William Bendix's Jeff is notably psychotic). Calleia's Nick Varna is now an Italian crook instead of a vile Irish Mob Leader, but the actor still nails the level-headed business savvy; Ladd and Donlevy - who couldn't begin to play these heavily abridged characters - aren't as fortunate.

Why isn't this film talked about more? Its' astounding!

Grant and Hepburn open their mouths and the whole thing just sings. They comic sparring is the stuff of genius. Real, scientific genius. It never gets old.

Despite itself, Summer Rental is a fine vehicle that is not without its fault (for instance, that downright vague crap about catching the wind to win the big boat race at the end). Still, no one could make more a more awesome family comedy than John Candy, here initiating The Great Family Man character he'd revisit several times during the next ten years.

Woolf's film is fascinating, a selection from the documentary belt that chooses not to go the preachy route. It draws conclusions directly from the mouths of the corn industry's everyday players, but squares its focus on an "experience", with Ian Cheney and Curt Ellis tapping the speaks-for-itself bent of Morgan Spurlock by growing exactly one acre of corn and exploring its journey into the collective American feedbag. Innocuous and easy enough to digest, King Corn makes a great, pop-companion to Michael Pollan's "The Omnivore's Dilemma", which explores similar territory through the experience of tracking a cow.

Compelling, but also careful to tap just the right emotional nerve; The film is about being cognizant of one's changes, and does so with the sort of classical elements you just want to embrace. I really like when May mimics the big Totoro's roar. And, despite myself, I really like the theme song.

Consistently hilarious send-up of the deeply arcane (e.g., Y Tu Mama Tambien), the horribly cliched (nearly all romantic interaction is cribbed from television on autopilot) and even the musical sum-up montage (where, natch, all the characters break into songs of summary). Conceptually, its not as strong Wet Hot American Summer, but most impressive is the ability for it to stand on its own. Wet Hot had the added padding of a singular, specific target; The Ten, for using The Commandments as its skeleton, pretty much does just that, rarely checking in on context or even thematic relevance of these universally acknowledged "rules". Clearly, its all designed as an excuse for the jokes. It's very much a string of well-laced sketches, but it never dulls and ends just as it should. Paul Rudd remains one of the funniest men working today.