
It’s that time of year again: it’s sweltering hot, you’re putting the tree up, and you’re grudgingly contacting the rellies to discuss plans for Christmas and Boxing Day–summer is upon us once again. Soon the schools will open their floodgates and unleash a shrieking horde of children upon us, and TV channels are going to stop caring what you watch, resulting in some seriously poor programming.
All you want to do is go escape to another world for a while, inhabit someone else’s life from the air-conditioned comfort of a theatre chair–but what’s good over the next few months? You don’t want to waste your hard-earned free time on a stinker. Stick with our handy guide to safe bets this season:
Clint Eastwood directs Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela–’nuff said.
Rachel McAdams in a corset, Robert Downey Jr. cracks wise, Guy Ritchie (Snatch, Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels) directs.
Peter Jackson’s smallest ever film since breaking Hollywood–still more visually elaborate and digital than everyone else’s small films. Bring the missus and a hanky.
Scorsese directs DiCaprio in a psychological thriller that looks batshit insane. Good to see he’s lightened up since finally winning that Oscar.
This is the big one, the tentpole release for ’09. James Cameron’s (Terminator 1 & 2, Aliens, The Abyss, True Lies, Titanic–you have to love at least one, if not all, of these films) triumphant return to his roots: balls-to-the-wall, sci-fi, gung-ho, macho-yet-intelligent, breathtakingly shot action. Here’s hoping it doesn’t disappoint.
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And here are some stinkers that I strongly suggest you avoid like the plague:
Hugh Grant’s unwelcome return to cinema, in which he plays an older, uglier, slower version of himself battling against the similarly old, ugly and irritating Sarah Jessica Parker.
Alec Baldwin cheats on his young new wife with his older ex-wife, Meryl Streep, who herself is stringing Baldwin along while simultaneously getting down with Steve Martin. It’s not that complicated.
Robin Williams and John Travolta engage in childish pratfalls and low-brow buffoonery, ostensibly for the benefit of children, who by this decade won’t have any idea who either of these people are.
I remember when Dwayne Johnson made big dumb manly movies like The Scorpion King and Welcome To The Jungle (called The Rundown in the US for some reason). I thought he was going to be a noughties Sly or Arnie–but instead, we get shit like Race To Witch Mountain and this trash. I bet even kids find this movie condescending.
Oh Jason Lee, what respect I once had for you (earned in Kevin Smith’s earier films, as well as the sublime My Name Is Earl) was squandered when you signed onto the first Alvin holocaust (well that and when I discovered you are a scientologist–you idiot! Sorry. I bought the Earl season 4 DVD set today [where's the Blu-Ray?!], I still love you). The amount of fun contained in this film could also be wrung from a swift, weak kick to the shins–ironically, that’s probably what you’ll receive upon denying your offspring the ‘pleasure’ of watching this dross. My advice: save the time, take the kick.
So there you have it, folks. If you can only make five movies this summer, you know which five to choose. Any family members who ask to see one of the latter five–well, one less relly to organise for Chrissy next year, I guess.

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