There was a time when I thought there were only two kind of Weezer fans: the ones who identified with Pinkerton and the ones who jumped on the bandwagon because “Island in the Sun” was so damned catchy. But since the group’s 2001 re-emergence, more and more of the former group have shunned the band, writing off front man Rivers Cuomo as a two-trick pony and calling Weezer (The Green Album), Maladroit, and Make Believe nothing but average power pop. Early reviews for the band’s sixth offering, Weezer (Red Album), follow that path, solidifying the new kind of Weezer fan: overly analytical elitist. Surely, none of the post-cloister albums are as good as Pinkerton or Weezer (Blue Album), and some of them do have some awful songs, but they’re all remarkably listenable, and the red Weezer is no exception.

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As an administrative employee at a local university, I am consistently baffled at the idea of a sabbatical; do you mean to tell me that I can promise to do research for a few months and get a whole semester away from the office? Who are these softee professors who can’t stand a full year’s worth of teaching and research? Surely, they could take some lessons from Prof. Henry Jones, Jr., who fought off Nazis and recovered more than his fair share of fabulous artifacts while teaching a full course load. The adventurous academic returns after 19 years in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and while Hitler, Marcus Brody and Henry Sr. are long dead, the fedora, bullwhip and sense of fun remain in tact. If only the last half hour of the movie wasn’t so far-fetched.

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

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I guess I missed a major opportunity not writing this review on the 15th of May, considering all the wordplay I could get out of it, but I’ve had thoughts on Horton Hears a Who rattling around my head for a few weeks and haven’t gotten the chance to express them yet. For a while, I was tempted to compare the movie to Seussical, the magical musical that tells the same story (and that I have a soft spot for), or to How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Cat in the Hat, the two live-action attempts at recreating Dr. Seuss’ material. In the end, though – as with all movies – it’s best to let Horton stand on its own.

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Many people thought the comic book movie renaissance reached its creative peak with 2005’s Batman Begins, a property of comic giant DC. Though rival Marvel had started the upswing with Spider-man three years earlier, it was thought that DC had claimed dominance when Marvel answered Batman with the underwhelming trilogy-cappers Spider-man 3 and X-Men 3: The Last Stand. Add to the evidence that DC is set to release The Dark Knight this summer to a drooling, anticipatory public. But it seems that Marvel had one more trick up its sleeve, and that trick is Jon Favreau, director of the meritorious Iron Man and key to the studio’s bid to remain relevant.

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Though I’m loath to kowtow to the tagline “from the guys who brought you…” in movie trailers, it’s hard to deny the catchphrase’s usefulness in identifying good films when it comes to the Judd Apatow comedy factory. The hitting streak continues with Forgetting Sarah Marshall, written and starring Apatow apprentice and How I Met Your Mother star Jason Segel. And while the big news making the rounds is that Segel shows his man parts during the movie, the more important thing is that he shows a great deal of heart.

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I don’t care what the calendar says, because for me, it’s officially summer. Not because we’re three days away from possibly hitting 80 on the thermometer and not because my dad is bugging me for a check to pay for a week at the shore. No, friends, summer started when I opened my first bottle of Flying Fish’s Farmhouse Summer Ale. The perfectly balanced, nicely hopped brew is smooth, delicious and rare at the bars, so it’s especially important that I spent the summer stocking up on it for my personal stash. Beer fans, get to your local carrier and get a case. It’s worth it, and then some.

Actor-scribe Simon Pegg has earned himself a devoted fan base in a relatively short time, largely built from Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead, two movies that were produced in a relatively insular world made up of his friends (who are mostly British), and so it was confusing to see in the end credits of his new Run Fatboy Run that the top writing directing credit went to Americans Michael Ian Black and David Schwimmer, respectively. More surprising is that the tone of the movie is less Simon Pegg and more Nick Hornby. Nevertheless, Pegg successfully continues his campaign for mainstream success.

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It’s one of those stories that seems like it came straight out of Hollywood: brainiac students from MIT team with a slimy professor to count cards in Vegas, making a killing. And while 21, the film loosely based on Ben Mezrich’s true story Bringing Down the House, isn’t a total winner as either a “inspired by a true story” movie or as this generation’s answer to Rounders, it keeps viewers at the table long enough to cash in on a deck stacked with pure entertainment.

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I’m sure by now you’re as tired as I am of all these gaps in writing time, and there’s not much I can say but “sorry.” Honestly, this time, a total lack of interesting movies to see or worthwhile reviews to write has kept me away for more than a month. Finally, though, there’s a stockpile of films in theaters that I’m moderately interested in seeing. That includes two this past weekend: Run, Fatboy, Run and 21. You’ll get reviews of those in the next couple days. Stay tuned.

It’s good to be back.

With the high-def format war officially over and impeccably digitized movies coming to your home television any day now, the sentiment behind Michael Gondry’s Be Kind Rewind – namely, that the sterilized consumption of movies has ruined mom and pop shops and cheapened the experience of film – is easy to understand. But for a movie that seems so in love with cinema, it would be nice to see a more carefully constructed concept.

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