Gallo goes on overlong tangents where he tries to debunk the theories of Aristotle, dramaturgy teachers, and books before him. A lot of what he says in these passages—although sound and somewhat tied into the book’s central theme that a screenplay’s characters are its soul—is too exhausting; it’s all a constant bombardment of quotes, counterarguments, and repeated points. This might be interesting to a scholar; to others these passages sound like a superfluous attempt to pitch his work. But, in his defense, Guy does recommend you skip the aforementioned if you’re not into the deeper arguments.

What remains is a sometimes funny and sorta-kinda poignant look into an often brutal industry. Within the first couple pages (much before my grips set in), the author quips, “Nobody wants to like your screenplay. Expect your mother or your best friend or your lover. Everyone else will be looking for reasons not to like your screenplay.” Sounds disheartening but in the next paragraph he explains why certain studio readers aren’t interested—they’re overworked and underpaid—and focuses on how to make them, without a doubt, want to take a peek at the work you’ve worked so hard on. When Gallo balances brutal honesty with reassurance and advice, the book shines.

Throughout the meat of the text, Screenwriter’s Compass makes up for lost ground with an eloquently detailed guide to character construction and the ever daunting first draft. Once more, he harmonizes feedback with motivation. Personally, as an aspiring screenwriter, Gallo’s explanation of the revision process (usually the hardest part of doing a script) was the most telling. And, by the end, it’s his appreciation for all cinema and obvious experience—not verbose examinations into Greek philosophers—that separates his work from other how-to books.

In the nation of Panem, the wealthy Capitol hosts an annual event in which one boy and one girl from each of the 12 districts are chosen in a lottery as “tributes.” Those unfortunate enough to be selected are required to fight to the death in an arena until one victor remains. This is to serve as punishment for a past rebellion against the government. Running the occasion are President Snow (Donald Sutherland) and Games supervisor Seneca Crane (Wes Bentley). From the last and the poorest of these impoverished sectors are Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), who volunteers to take her sister’s place as tribute, and Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), her male counterpart. Both are brought to the Capitol, where they’re trained by a drunken mentor, former victor Haymitch Abernathy (Woody Harrelson), and their overseer, Effie Trinket (Elizabeth Banks).

What’s kept pulling me back to The Hunger Games is the nuanced depiction of the Capitol. In fact, the entire process of scoring sponsors—who have the ability to gift tributes food, medicine, and tools—is incredibly entertaining. The filmmakers didn’t cut corners in portraying the upper class, whose fashion sense was practically inspired by David Bowie’s wardrobe circa the 1970s. With so much detail paid to crowd, it’s no wonder Ross constantly indulges in them via a series of wide shots. And it always helps to have an endlessly cartoony Stanley Tucci, who stars as Caesar Flickerman—the Game’s equivalent to Ryan Seacrest (except, of course, the former has zing)—host.

The best characters are the ones who blur the line between having control and being sacrificial lambs. For example, Trinket isn’t much of an antagonist. Dressed in a series of flamboyant dresses and powdered wigs, Effie’s a caricature of Panem’s elite; whilst endorsing the slaughter of innocent children, she’s more concerned with day-to-day manners. But though deluded, she’s as much a pawn to Snow’s game as the teenagers themselves. To a certain extent, Crane’s also applicable. Both Banks and Bentley deliver quality performances. Yet none compare to Lawrence’s show-stealing act.

She’s Kristen Stewart minus the dependency issues and mono-stare. Considering the movie’s target audience, it’s refreshing to see a strong, independent woman in the lead. Katniss, although careful and methodical, is courageous and welcoming enough to make us root for her. Lawrence, despite being 22, looks the part and is an infectious headliner. However, the uneven screenplay left me questioning some of the character’s decisions—especially once the competition has begun.

Unfortunately, Ross is a tad weak during the film’s second half. Detached from the wonderful art direction of the Capitol, he becomes too reliant on shaky camera and rushing through plot points. It’s strange because, at the start of her training, Katniss’ advisors explain that her fellow tributes are nothing compared to starvation and disease; the action inside the arena, however, is too brisk to reflect this danger. But given the length of the source material, it’s no surprise the filmmakers gloss over a few elements. Be that as it may, the dynamic between our heroine and Peeta becomes too unclear in the process. Also, due to the toned-down violence and shoddy characterization, the deaths of these faux-gladiators aren’t as resonant as they could’ve been.

Nevertheless, these inconsistences barely detract from the experience. The film’s an action-packed blockbuster with enough brains and originality to dearly recommend. And considering the corniness that usually accompanies movies marketed towards teens, it seems the odds were ever in our favor with The Hunger Games.

Despite influencing science fiction authors like Ray Bradbury and Arthur C. Clarke, and even astronomers such as Carl Sagan, I’d never read (or even heard of) the series prior to this adaptation. In that respect, the movie, which escapes a 79 year long bout in “development hell,” earns my admiration. However, unlike the director’s previous films — Finding Nemo and WALL-E — Stanton’s debut live-action film is focused more on action than it is tight storytelling. Nevertheless, there is an attention to detail that only those well-versed in animation could replicate. From the native aliens, which all have different markings and tusk sizes, to the contrast between stony environments and majestic metal palaces, the film’s world is incredibly bold. And while there’s a lack of cohesion in the first act — it jumps too quickly between moody period piece and loony western — once the central story’s established, it all become a wildly entertaining opener to 2012′s blockbuster season.

Written by the director alongside Mark Andrews and Michael Chabon, John Carter is an adaptation of the first book in Burroughs’ grandiose vision. In the movie, Mars is not the barren wasteland we believe it to be. In fact, it is home to two human cities at war with each other. However, the destruction of its atmosphere is destroying the planet and only an alliance can save it. Fortunately, Carter (Taylor Kitsch), a former Confederate captain mysteriously transported to our red neighbor, becomes embroiled in the political strife. There, he chooses sides with a beautiful Princess named Dejah Thoris (Lynn Collins) and the world’s spear-wielding, rhino-riding indigenous race, the Tharks which are led by Tars Tarkas (Willem Dafoe).

Amongst the vibrant visuals, there are characters who continuously earn their audience’s interest. But unfortunately, neither Carter nor the actor playing him ever surpass basic Hollywood conventions. However, his journey is made all the more pleasant by Collins’ infectious charisma. Unlike most female accomplices, Thoris is an independent and strong supporting woman and, at times, it seems like she’s more in control than her shirtless ally. Also notable is Matai Shang (Mark Strong). Although it’s asserted that he serves to oversee destiny’s completion, the scribes never explicitly explain his backstory. This introduces an idiosyncratic mystery and, whilst he’s often depicted mingling with the villains, the character goes beyond the grain of cackling antagonists.

John Carter isn’t the most original or thought-provoking cinema; however, brilliant special effects and likable characters make it easy to forgive the film’s spotty elements. With it, weekend audiences can enjoy quality science fiction, while my friend can finally add to his long list of fatherly accomplishments that a movie was “made about” his dad’s journey into deep space.

21 Jump Street follows police force partners, the meat-headed Jenko (Channing Tatum) and smarty-pants Schmidt (Jonah Hill). While they expected nonstop thrills, the two are put on park duty. After a shabby arrest (during which they forget to read the Miranda Rights), their higher-up (played by Nick Offerman) sentences the duo to an undercover unit that has the baby-faced cops infiltrating high schools to stop the flow of drugs. Operating in an old Korean church and led by Capt. Dickson (Ice Cube), their first assignment is stopping the flow of a new narcotic called HFS. Jenko tries to utilize his past experience as the prom king, whilst Schmidt tries to stay true to his teenage awkwardness. Yet times have changed, and with the reversal of roles, they must go out of their element to bust the suppliers.

In a bout of self-parody, screenwriter Michael Bacall crafts a hilarious remake. Part of the movie’s likability comes from not taking itself too seriously. With constant references to Hollywood rehashing old ideas and tight interplay, the physical gags and corny stereotypes are kept at a bare minimum. The oft-used pop-culture jabs, however, are stale (i.e., “You Justin Bieber lookin’ motherfuckas…”). Nonetheless, it’s always nice when the creator of the original television series decides to produce.

The idea of the poles inverting is genius. If The Vow proved anything, it’s that Tatum is a gym junkie. On the other hand, films like Superbad have displayed Hill’s skill at playing awkward characters. It would’ve been too easy to cast them as the jock and nerd respectively and doing it conversely worked out. Tatum, oddly enough, has great comedic timing, and, these days, it’s not hard to envision the latter as a cool kid (as long as he had alcohol to spare). These performers work well together and are supported by fantastic actors like Rob Riggle, who recites his lines with enough energy to make his stock character, a clueless gym teacher, feel fresh. The potty-mouthed Ice Cube is another worthy addition.

But the direction is a bit flat. The locations are nothing special and Lord and Miller’s depiction of a drug high is less than original. There isn’t a definitive style and, whilst the movie relies largely on its performers and screenplay, I would’ve liked more of a visual panache.

Nevertheless, although shining a light on today’s youth’s lack of morals, 21 Jump Street plays out like a modern high school party: Unpredictable, loud, and raunchy fun.

Scribed by Jason Katims, Abby Kohn, and Marc Silverstein, this romantic footnote chronicles Paige (McAdams) and Leo (Tatum), a young couple tested by unfortunate circumstances. After a car accident, the former wakes up with memory loss. As a result, she forgets her husband, but remembers an old engagement to Jeremy (Scott Speedman), a smug businessman. Meanwhile, her parents, Rita (Jessica Lange) and Bill (Sam Neill), use the accident as an act of contrition and try to make up for pushing her out once before. Still, Leo, with photographs and old recordings as his only evidence, tries to win back his wife’s heart.
The Vow is based on Kim and Krickitt Carpenter’s story. While she never regained those lost memories, they have remained together, eventually raising two children. From a cinematic perspective, their strife makes for an intriguing premise. Nonetheless, this romance brushes past the painful details, delivering on the same tired formula: There’s a syrupy introduction, disheartening climax, and hopeful ending. The affair’s even narrated by a grief-stricken Leo, who adds faux-poeticism to the events. The writers never really address the burning questions: Is Leo hiding old mistakes? Sculpting Paige to his expectations? And, most complicatedly, how did one approach having sex with someone who claims to be your spouse if you don’t remember them?
Tatum and McAdams aren’t the best in the business, but they’re charismatic and attractive enough to win over most audiences. Women can swoon over the former, who has not only the looks, but also a tenderness and sense for romantics, while their bearded counterparts should find some solace in the lead actress’s beauty and supposed innocence. Credit is due to the superb costume and make-up departments, which dolled up the performers in designer chic.

Considering that, behind women, landscape is the second most romanticized subject in art, it’s odd how much the characters are detached from their surroundings. Unlike other such dramas where location is closely weaved into the plot, there isn’t much of a scenic touch. Save for Chicago’s Millennium Park and the Music Box movie theater (which enter the frame for mere seconds) viewers are stuck with Leo’s music studio and Paige’s parent’s luxurious home. Upon closer inspection, I learned that’s because the crew shot in Toronto, Canada, not Illinois.

However, with a narrative as sweet as McAdams’ smile, The Vow makes for an adequate date movie which, in spite of its shortcomings, is impossible to hate.