In today's post-September 11 landscape, the American public lives in fear of terrorism, with some citizens willing to surrender civil liberties such as privacy in favor of governmental protection. The politically-minded thriller Vantage Point is shaped by this concept. A stellar ensemble cast was assembled for the film, including heavyweights like Dennis Quaid, Forest Whitaker, William Hurt, and Sigourney Weaver. Action-packed Vantage Point shepherds a familiar plot—a presidential assassination attempt—to the forefront, but it updates the narrative structure in a thoroughly refreshing way. The film follows in the structural footsteps of TV's 24, adopting minute-by-minute pacing, where every ticking second leads to the attempted murder of the U.S. President (played by the stately Hurt) during a crowded peace summit in Spain. In an attempt to assemble the puzzle pieces of who fired the bullet and under whose directive, the film repeats the same event five different

Members have come and gone, and so has the identity of a once dirty-ish rock act. In seeking out a new sound, Earlimart has stumbled a bit en route—but only with gaining a due audience—which is unfortunate. Last year's Mentor Tormentor was a widely overlooked, indie pop-rock gem, and Hymn and Her continues the more lush orchestration that their last few efforts have spawned. Earlimart is starting to head down an interesting path: Hymn and Her sounds a lot like a lost '90s alt-rock outtake, in the vein of older bands like Luna, Madder Rose and Belly. Those acts didn't get any full-time respect, and maybe there's something about making well crafted dream-pop that people can't catch on to. Hymn and Her fluctuates between the upbeat, building piano-pop of tunes like "For The Birds" and "God Loves You Best," to more slow, weird numbers like the ethereal, string-lined "Tell Me." Lead Earlimarter Aaron Espinoza seems much more assertive this time around, in a sort of refund-demanding

Set in New York City during the summer of 1994, The Wackness is less about reflecting the historical specificities of that year (though there are several references to Rudy Giuliani’s newfound anointment as mayor) than its emotive atmosphere. Sweltering heat and an evocative soundtrack of hip hop favorites, including songs courtesy of A Tribe Called Quest and Nas, foster an energetic tone that rouses youthful nostalgia in the 20 and 30-somethings who are The Wackness’ target audience. With references to mixtape madness and R. Kelly’s “Bump ‘N Grind” associated with the first blossomings of sexuality, director Jonathan Levine captures the innocent and often heartbreaking subtleties of maturation. This nostalgia transcends the slightly sensational story line, about a new high school graduate named Luke (Josh Peck) who pushes pot and trades the green for psychological counsel from an erratic therapist (Ben Kingsley). Luke contends with problems common to those on the brink of adulthood:

Anyone can sire a child. However, it takes a real man to be a father to his son. The societal, cultural, and personal impact that a father has on his son cannot be discounted or underestimated. City Of Men examines the value of the father-son relationship and its implications by laying out what happens when two boys struggle to become men despite being raised without the influence of a strong male figure. The "nature versus nurture" tug-of-war is on full display in this cautionary tale. The film appears to have been shot with a digital camera in a soft focus, with key scenes taking on a jittery shaky-cam vibe. It's as though the characters' actions were captured by a handheld camera, as the cinematography of City of Men is intimate and immediate, comprised of close shots that place the viewer smack dab in the middle of the all the frenetic action. You'll see beads of sweat breaking on the actors' brows and backs, since that's how dangerously close the camera comes to its subjects.

Delta Goodrem wants to give us something to believe in. That's instantly apparent from "Believe Again," the aptly-titled opening track of her eponymous U.S. debut. At 23, the entrancing and sultry Australian beauty has a lot to say about love, relationships and life. Granted, that may sound a little trite on paper, but bare with her. She writes dreamy, epic pop in a classic sense. Poetic lyrics come to life via ethereal, near-angelic vocals, and hooks take center stage. On that first track, an orchestral intro crashes into a mammoth chorus that's somewhere between Fiona Apple and Celine Dion—yet it stands alone. The cherry on top of that song has to be gospel-style backing vocals, which sound like divine intervention mid-song. It's very rare for a young-starlet-in-the-making to come out of the gate so auspicious, but Delta breaks right through, living up to her status as a platinum sensation down under. Her voice has an edge, but at the same time, it's got a glossy, palatable

Danger Radio have effectively updated funk for the MySpace Generation. The Seattle six-piece stir up a veritable hodgepodge of sounds that could only be described as "electro-dream funk." In fact, their debut, Used and Abused, could serve as the soundtrack for a '70s cop flick, or more likely, an '00s remake of a '70s cop flick. The band mixes flourishes of disco, emo, funk and alt rock seamlessly. What results is something of a sonic lava lamp, where fluid sounds co-exist and smoothly float over each other. Nothing's off limits. On "Kiss N' Tell" and the bouncy title track, there are some piano passages that'd make Elton John proud. Both songs keep the listener guessing, as they segue from danceable audio ecstasy to fiery arena-rock choruses. "So Far Gone" begins with an intro that wouldn't be out of place on an Isaac Hayes jam, but the chorus channels Fall Out Boy. "Things" builds with a funky and fun groove. The cut's cheeky synth interlude could signal the zombie invasion

Jackson Conti isn't a neo-soul balladeer, a hip-hop artist or even a singer-songwriter, but rather, Jackson Conti is the team of famed hip-hop/down-tempo producer Otis Jackson, Jr. (Madlib) and veteran Brazilian drummer Ivan "Mamão" Conti. In other words, it's the dream project of a very specific kind of music nerd, i.e. anyone who is passionate enough about the tepid acid-jazz of Jackson's Yesterday's New Quintet project to seek out one of his more significant vintage influences in a contemporary context. On those terms, Sunjinho just lives up to expectations, balancing fairly tired Spanish guitars, predictable synth pads, and daiquiri-strength xylaphones with layers of fervent horns, manic, over-driven piano, and—not often enough—stoned vocal passages. "Papaia" is the longest track, working enough different angles to cast a heavy spell, while female, scat showcase "Upa Nenguinho" is the most creative and ecstatic, closing triumphantly with a spacey coda of dubbed-out atmospheres

Maybe you have to be European to appreciate and comprehend the black humor battery that politically incorrect yarn In Bruges operates off of. The film is a coy, almost daft study of the post-job life of hit men and how they attempt survival in the murder-for-hire business. The film twists the traditional, overused formula of examining the minutiae and day-to-day activities of those who’ve done the deed when they're laying low and avoiding retribution for their actions. Ray (furry-browed Colin Farrell) and his partner Ken (Brendan Gleeson) are hiding out in the quaint, architecturally beautiful town of Bruges, Belgium, far away from the brutal murder they committed in London. Ray accidentally knocked off a child and his guilt complex has shifted into overdrive. Despite being deposited in a sleepy city ripe for partaking in innocent touristy activities and maintaining anonymnity, the lethal plague of boredom overwhelms the pair. Contract killers don’t exactly blend into the scenery,

On her fourth studio album, Ashanti's attempt at asserting her independence from the producers that have controlled her career yields lackluster results. For a lead single, "The Way That I Love You," which is also the record's first real song, is dullsville. Sure, it has a nice, real tone on the piano. However, there's no real hook to the melody, and most of L.T. Hutton's production, while serviceable, refuses to call attention to itself, leaving it feeling more wallflower than cool and laidback. The numbers on which Ashanti should shine in exactly this context, establishing herself as more than a pretty but flavorless voice, are, sadly, the ones that fail to impress most, while the songs on which she has help from guest stars (Akon, Nelly, Robin Thicke) or more notable producers (Jermaine Dupri, Babyface) are more memorable, if not always better. "Good Good," which Dupri shapes around the star's image—still more invested in innocent come-ons than in full-on sexpot antics—with a

Oh, to be the sweet new kid on the block. With tousled blonde locks and saucer-sized doe eyes, Jessie Baylin is that soft and sought-after girl next door. But boys beware: This gal is wise beyond her 24 years, and she's way above any b.s. from the X-Y chromosome. Her latest album, Firesight, is proof of that. Kicking the set off with the easy groove of "See How I Run" and the jazzy, full-bodied swagger of "Leave Your Mark," Baylin surfaces as a refreshingly mature artist. On the latter track, she crafts a country-influenced come-on that twinkles and shines in all the right ways. That's because as she croons for a lover to leave his mark somewhere on her, she doesn't adopt the over-sexed stance of her similarly aged musical peers. No, Baylin is flying high above that mess, and that’s what’s so endearing and impressive about her material; she unveils heartfelt and adult work you’d expect from someone twice her age. It helps, too, that she sounds more like a sultry Joni Mitchell

WALL-E, an early model robot designed for allocating waste, is the most soulful, lovable non-human to hit film since E.T., thanks to his expressive and soulful android eyes. In this case, the cliché is correct in its assertion that eyes are the windows to the soul, with WALL-E's being a pair of mechanical doe peepers which reveal the layers of the sweet and sensitive droid’s soul. In WALL-E, Pixar’s animation genius is combined with Disney's knack for humanizing storylines. It's the year 2700 and the title character toils alone on abandoned planet Earth, packaging, sorting, reusing and recycling trash dropped on his doorstep by humans who've sought refuge elsewhere. Plants and lush greenery are a thing of the past and a bug serves as WALL-E's sole friend. For the most part, the film contains a trim amount of dialogue. Perhaps that’s why WALL-E’s eyes are so vivid; they speak volumes, whereas he doesn’t. The machine's rusty parts look as if they were manufactured over two

On T.O.S. (Terminate On Sight), G-Unit come out with knives drawn, guns blazing and rhymes sharpened. On the title track, 50 Cent announces, "I'm on that SSK shit: shoot, stab, kill," and it's hard not to believe him. G-Unit blast through the hood, like a sawed-off shotgun with T.O.S.. In fact, 50 hasn't sounded this fierce since his 2003 breakthrough debut Get Rich, Or Die Tryin'. It's good to see that 50 and Co. can still get asses shakin', but it's more refreshing to see that they still run the streets. T.O.S. is evidence that these lions are still kings of the block and on top of the game. After the high-gloss, pop production of last year's Curtis, 50 got the G-Unit together and released one of 2008's most incendiary mix-tapes, the Fat Joe dissin', hilarious and fresh Elephant in the Sand. It proved to be the perfect pre-cursor to G-Unit's sophomore full-length, which is about as "hood" as mainstream rap gets these days. 50 croons, "Find out what they about when the guns come

Emmylou Harris continues to justify her recent home on the forward-thinking Nonesuch label with an album that knows no musical boundaries, even if it's heart is still as country as can be. On her latest album All I Intended to Be, nearly every instrument that could be connected with roots music makes an appearance on one song or another—from banjo, to fiddle, to mandolin. What's most impressive is how artfully they're mingled with cutting-edge techniques like the computer-processing and glitching that rises out of the accordion-and-mandolin breakdown on "Moon Song" or the slow stereo panning of organ and steel guitar drones on the Merle Haggard cover, "Kern River." More often celebrated for her singing and selection of material than her songwriting, Harris's own compositions provide many of the best moments in this almost uniformly strong set, especially "Take That Ride," with its lovesick lyrics reaching toward a gospel-like resolution, and glorious interplay between bluesy

If a band isn't popular in America, does it still make a sound? In Supergrass's case, the answer is decidedly, "Yes." While the Manchurian foursome has been received stateside with general apathy, they are still justifiable rock stars overseas. Their sixth album Diamond Hoo Ha Man will do little to change that discrepancy. Whether they intend to or not, the band writes distinctively British music recalling The Jam, Franz Ferdinand, and everything in-between, and this punchy collection of glammed-up rockers (not necessarily the same as "glam rock"), like the previous two releases, will also probably get lost in customs. Thirteen years into their career, Supergrass still performs songs "Ghost Of A Friend" and "Rebel In You" as if Brit-Pop was still very much alive but alas, their early-'90s peers have all either progressed (Radiohead, blur) or disappointed (Oasis). Supergrass, as it sounds, are content with how things were. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's just that

Known by the mainstream, if at all, as the guy who lent George Clooney his pipes for O Brother, Where Art Thou?, and by bigger bluegrass fans, as guitarist and occasional mandolinist for Union Station, Alison Krauss's band, Dan Tyminski still hasn't dug his claws into most music listeners' consciousnesses. Maybe it's that much of his appeal comes from the quietness with which he delivers most of his fairly traditional songs (most covers; some original). Tyminski's not a belter, despite what you may remember of "A Man of Constant Sorrow." What he does is give the impression of singing loudly by infusing the sound he projects with effort from the boots up, honing his tenor like the sharp and delicate instrument it is. His voice is never as potentially off-putting as those of the Stanley Brothers, but he hasn't been puffed up and warmed over to take the edge off like many a nouveau bluegrass practitioner. Tyminski, as would be expected, has a weakness for the sentimental—as on the

There's a palpable boldness throughout My Morning Jacket's fifth album Evil Urges. Down south, they call them "balls." Unsatisfied with having dominated the jam-band circuit, the alt-country rock band turns up the weirdness to 11 with an album as unpredictable and experimental as their Birkenstock-toting fans would allow. Beginning with the titular song, singer Jim James' Prince-ly falsetto instantly positions this as an album intent on getting listeners in the mood. And with songs serenading sexy librarians ("Librarian") and soulful come-ons praising unprejudiced love-making ("dedicate your love to any woman or man/No racial boundary lines, no social subdivisions" from the aforementioned title track), the bedroom best not be far from the stereo. However, all this unrepentant soul is not to suggest that My Morning Jacket is targeting the R & B charts. This album does indeed have its sublime moments of pure classic rock—heck, "Aluminum Park" even sounds like vintage Springsteen—but

“I don’t know who I am!” wails a banged up and bloody James McAvoy somewhere in the first third of the new super-slick action flick Wanted. And while that existential admission—identity, the quest for self—may be the heart of this futuristic assassin tale, it’s certainly not the film’s soul. That, as it turns out, belongs entirely to flashy special effects and crunchy sequences of violence. Did somebody order another comic book movie? We can’t tell whether Wanted wants to have a message, a purpose above high-octane explosions and highly implausible mayhem, or if it really just aims to make the viewer say, “Wow!” The former is something it seems to attempt and then abandon; meanwhile, the latter it drives home with steely resolve. At the center of it all is good old Mr. McAvoy, last seen pining over Keira Knightley in 2007’s sensual epic Atonement. Here, he pulls a clever career 360 to inhabit Wesley Gibson, a nobody office drone with an anxiety problem, an overbearing boss, a

Flashback to the 1999 Academy Awards ceremony and you’ll remember the controversial presentation of an honorary Oscar to director Elia Kazan, who “named names” during the HUAC hearings. Though Hollywood blacklisting is not a prominent topic of discussion in contemporary times, that fated evening nine years ago reminds us of the weight that the loaded subject continues to carry. However forgotten blacklisting may be for the new wave of Tinseltown power players, it contributed to shaping the current moviemaking landscape and is all too relevant considering today’s sensitive political climate. In an age where the Patriot Act’s nefarious legality impinges upon the Constitutional rights of citizens, the parallels between Cold War politics and those of today are obvious. Trumbo, director Peter Askin’s documentary about screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, one of the famed “Hollywood 10” and the man responsible for penning Spartacus, is based on Christopher Trumbo’s epistolary play about his

Animation is often the most effective way to tell a satirical story. Just look at The Simpsons or Family Guy and their spot-on ability to fuse gut-busting laughs with searing sarcastic commentary about society, culture, and government. Persepolis isn't a cut and dry animated satire; it's a rich film that artfully twists many genres into one, fusing coming-of-age autobiographical material with reminiscences about a political revolution as seen through the eyes of a young, impressionable, and outspoken little girl. Persepolis is the engaging tale of Marjane Satrapi, an opinionated and imaginative youth who grew up under the intimidating shadow of the Islamic Revolution in the wake of the Shah's overthrow. Films about political revolutions are old hat, yet stories are rarely told from the reflective point of view of a child, infusing the subject matter with refreshing energy. The film is gorgeously adapted in black and white from Satrapi's graphic novel, with Satrapi herself

Aimee Mann may never escape Magnolia. The P.T. Anderson film was so thoroughly shaped by her songs that the feelings evoked by this new disc, years on, still resonate with the movie's air of a resigned approach to sadness and romance alike that results from the collision of reality with West Coast dreams. @#%&*! Smilers is a bit less mopey and introspective, but Mann's clear-eyed take on all that she addresses remains the same. It's not that these songs are simple exactly—they're full of trombones, Moogs, baritone saxophone, and even a little whistling from author Dave Eggers on one songs—but the occasional complexity of the instrumentation doesn't detract from the melodies at hand, which Mann writes to display the beauty of her not technically perfect voice. There's range on the album, too, although it's not particularly long. "Freeway," the opener, is breezy and catchy, dipped lightly in AM gold then roughed up with some exterior fuzz, while "Little Tornado" hums with quiet

Encounters at the End of the World is the cinematic antipode of March of the Penguins, a fact that director Werner Herzog underscores in the early beats of his latest documentary. He includes footage of the tuxedo-hued birds, but rather than emphasizing the creatures’ benign mating rituals, he interviews an eccentric scientist who discusses penguin prostitution and features footage of a lone bird wandering toward “certain death.” Suffice to say that Encounters… is tonally disparate from the aforementioned Academy Award winning film, and a departure from typical Discovery Channel fare. Herzog is no David Attenborough, though his sweeping shots of Antarctic landscapes are strong visual rivals to the breathtaking scenery in Planet Earth. In stark contrast to awe-stricken nature narratives, most of which emphasize the “wonder” of various terrains and nurturing ambiance of Mother Earth, Herzog turns his cameras toward what is chaotic, violent, and even ugly about particular settings, in

Can pop punk be mature? Well, Cute is What We Aim For make a good case for the genre's maturity on Rotation. In fact, the Buffalo, NY quartet have crafted a record packed with tight, catchy emo diddies about everything from drinking to relationships—minus the songs about prank calls and aliens that once made Blink 182 the genre's elite. In fact, CIWWAF provide the MySpace kiddies with an album that's far more than just filler for Hot Topic's in-store playlist. Kicking things off with the first single, "Practice Makes Perfect," the band show a musical progression from their debut, combining strange tonal textures with the catchy chord melodies that made them a success. "Doctor" has a hook that reaches Fall Out Boy-style heights of sardonic infectiousness, while "Loser" possesses a rhythmic shake and swagger. They've become emo's resident thinkers, on this record. The album's standout is the dissection of Los Angeles, "Hollywood." CCIWWAF tear apart the industry's emphasis on

"We bring you rock n' roll salutations, motherfuckers!" bellows Ted Nugent early on his latest live offering Sweden Rocks. The axe-slinging wild man brought more than just salutations to the cheering crowd. He was packing an aural neutron bomb of distortion and gain. It's hard not to eat that up, especially on CD. Of course, there's nothing like being there, that's why Sweden Rocks has also been released on DVD. However, for Nugent fans and newcomers, the CD serves up a healthy helping of bluesy guitar solos and rugged riff swagger. From the second, the show kicks off with "Stormtroopin,'" it's evident that Ole Uncle Ted is out to win still. He rips through each lick without flubbing a note, and every string bend feels like a battle cry. "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" features an extended solo, bound to make would-be Guitar Heroes cringe. "Wango Tango" channels a healthy dose of Detroit Soul through a filter of Tube amp distortion, and serves as the perfect representation of Ted's

The Hammer is not unlike last year's Artie Lange's Beer League, a comedy that has a successful stand up comic (who's also a former TV star and a morning radio show co-host) with a love for sports as its star. This is a genre-within-a-genre, and these types of films are vehicles that live and die by the strength of their leading funnyman. In The Hammer, the sardonic, sour, eye-rolling wit of its star, Adam Corolla, takes center stage and quickly asserts itself. Given Corolla's distinct nasal speaking voice, it's extremely difficult to disassociate the actor from his character, the lovable loser Jerry Ferro. However, Corolla tries his best to imbue Jerry, a former boxer turned construction worker trying to relive his youthful dream, with a sense of humor and a soul. The film provides Jerry with a toolbox of comedic go-to devices. He has a Mexican sidekick who constantly dimes him out and has a limited grasp of the English language, a cute and quirky lawyer girlfriend (the doe-eyed

Before the Internet, it would have been quite a chore keeping tabs on Spencer Krug (Sunset Rubdown, Swan Lake) or Dan Boeckner and the rest of Wolf Parade (Handsome Furs, Hot Hot Heat, Johnny and the Moon). But, if you like any of these bands, or this one, there is probably something for you in each of the others. Although elsewhere, the sound is more minimalistic (The Handsome Furs), dissonant and challenging (Swan Lake) or theatrical (Sunset Rubdown), Wolf Parade retain the central elements of Krug's style–rollercoaster rides of songs that feature strained vocal chords, cyclical progressions of piano and guitar, and healthy servings of cathartic histrionics. In fact, Zoomer sounds considerably most like Sunset Rubdown in this regard, forsaking the more compact indie rock sound of their 2005 debut Apologies to the Queen Mary for heaping helpings of bombast. The sound here is also expansive; a third of the album's tracks clock in at over six minutes, including ten-minute closer

The Gits are one of those bands that many have heard of, but few have actually heard. The Ohio-based band relocated, ultimately springing out of the burgeoning Pacific Northwest music scene during the fertile 1990s, when Nirvana was breaking. The future was blinding for the Gits, who shifted away from the region's unpolished grunge sound in favor of gnarly punk rock. Their charismatic singer, Mia Zapata, generated plenty of heat and friction with her smoky, bluesy pipes and her spindly frame, which earned her the nickname "Chicken Woman." Things were abruptly and tragically snuffed out when Zapata was brutally raped and murdered in 1993. The Gits is a documentary that attempts to capture the essence of the band from its zygotic stages to its untimely demise. The doc doesn't focus solely on sensational material, namely the mystery that went unsolved for 15 years regarding the gritty details of Zapata's death. Rather, director Kerri O'Kane takes a standard chronological look at the

The Dirty South is surely an inspiration for the ultra-cock,y yet super confident Plies and his latest thuggy and controversial platter, the cuss-laden Definition of Real. One thing's for certain on this disc; Plies makes no excuses, nor does he offer any apologies. In a scene where keepin' it real is a calling card, Plies is phoning home. Amidst a backdrop of laidback beats that were easily born of lazy, hot n' humid summer days, Plies takes aim at hoes and bitches in a smooth delivery that never conveys too much intimidation. In essence, the tough talker never crosses the line. It's as though his chill vibe belies his hardcore lyrical fodder, which ends up sounding like trash-talking, more than it sounds like actual threats. Make no mistake, though. His mouthy lyrics are like pointed warheads deployed at anyone who makes him mad. They'll ruffle more than their fair share of feathers, but that doesn't stop Plies. It's not to say that Plies—real name Algernod Lanier

It's been over six years since German indie rockers The Notwist released their 2002 genre-redefining, critically acclaimed Neon Golden. On The Devil, You + Me, the sound remains the same for the first time in nearly a decade—the band began as a post-hardcore punk outfit in the late '80s before it took several hard left turns to find its niche. Now, for their sixth LP, as they did for Neon Golden, leading men and brothers Markus and Micha Archer ground melodic pop songs in light electronics and simple, stuttering percussive tones. Though certainly less dynamic and fresh this time around, the band also mixes in layers of electric and acoustic guitar, plaintive melody, and moments of extended atmosphere, just as before. On Neon Golden, nearly every track was a realization. Not so this time around, as the effort places underdeveloped numbers like "Alphabet" and "Hands on Us" between soft ballads and return-to form tracks such as opener "Good Lies," the pulsating "Gravity," and

It certainly is a breath of fresh air to stumble across a British buzz band that isn't into dance rock–and is actually worth the hype. It's almost fair to call The Accidental a "super group." The foursome includes members of Tuung and The Bicycle Thieves, as well as Stephen Craknell, co-founder of Trunk Records, But all of their other projects pale in comparison to this debut, There Were Wolves, a touching blend of Americana style folk, roots and just a touch of psychedelia. This is where Iron & Wine meets The National, and they tour together on a yellow submarine. There Were Wolves explores a variety of emotions, but under the surface of everything is a thick layer of contentedness, as if the members of the band are slowly starting to find their place in the world, and they want everyone else to do the same. "Wolves" speaks of fear that "dissolves itself," while "Jaw of a Whale" plunges to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean, only to be described as "the beautiful silent."

The Offspring have done more than enough to earn their punk rock stripes, and just as much to ingratiate themselves in the worlds of rock and pop. They won't let any of the above down with new release Rise And Fall, Rage And Grace, where they storm the beach with breakneck waves of punk-rock riffing, vocal chants and melodic runs, rhythmic sprints, and even a tender moment or two. While that signature air of Offspring familiarity is ever-present, what’s truly surprising are the couple of obvious moments where other bands ring through. "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" jolts along with an infectious flurry of skanking riffs and pulsing beats that's more punk-pop than alt-rock, despite vocal melodies that share more than a passing similarity to Muse's "Time Is Running Out." The military-inspired lead single “Hammerhead,” meanwhile, careens like a humvee through open sand, kicking up dust at a blistering pace before falling into formation behind The Kinks' "All Day And All Of The

For a children’s film based on a popular franchise of books, dolls, and even furniture, Kit Kittredge: An American Girl broaches some unexpected topical matter: social inequities, class snobbery, life during a national recession, and breaking the gender mold. Not many family-friendly movies attempt the same task, pandering to thoughtless entertainment expectations instead. Kit Kittredge didactically preaches to young ones that we shouldn’t judge others, should be inclusive and charitable, and follow our dreams. Valuable lessons, no doubt, but for adults watching Kit Kittredge, the presentation may prove too saccharine for enjoyment. Little Miss Sunshine’s Abigail Breslin plays the title role of Kit, an animated and cheeky pre-teen whose greatest aspiration in life is to be a journalist. She makes repeated trips to the local newspaper, pitching Depression-era stories to the curmudgeonly editor (Wallace Shawn), who is seemingly incredulous toward the ideas of his entire staff, not

Billing is important, and if new husband and father Usher Raymond IV hadn't presented Here I Stand as some kind of important step into adulthood, it might be better received. As is, Usher's never been particularly sophomoric, and he's tended to come off as a nice guy even when trying to get your pants off, but he also hasn't presented a very thoughtful persona, and this album doesn't really change that impression. Nothing here is unlistenable in the slightest. The production is verdant, but it doesn't step into excess, considering the genre. The seduction songs, like "Trading Places," certainly play to Prince Charming fantasies, and Usher's voice is the same smooth instrument it's always been, but smoothness needs a little texture to distinguish itself from slickness, and there's no Lil' Jon on most songs this go-round to provide the necessary stubble. It's a relief to hear Jay Z's heavy touch at the beginning of "Best Thing," because it presents the possibility of weirdness,

Rev Theory deliver a radio-ready, modern rock juggernaut with Light It Up, a high octane blend of guitar-driven anthems, burning-heart ballads and head-banging heavyweights. "Hell Yeah" screams out of the gates with fist-pumping fury, "Favorite Disease" is ripe with lush, FM-dial goodness, and the title track swirls around a stripper's pole with reckless abandon before easing into the ubiquitous balladry of "Broken Bones." Rev Theory may not tread into uncharted territory with Light It Up, but their sophomore release (and first album since shortening their name from Revelation Theory) adeptly launches the New York City rockers into a sonic realm where their performances can ripple the airwaves alongside with the likes of Linkin Park ("Far From Over"), Daughtry ("Wanted Man") and Saliva ("Falling Down"). That's pretty convincing company, but Light It Up makes a pretty convincing statement. —Paul Gargano06.19.08

Say what you will, but it can't be easy being Gavin Rossdale. As the frontman of breakthrough '90s rockers Bush, his enigmatic lyrics and rich hooks took a backseat to his heartthrob looks. Then he falls in love, gets married, and overnight he becomes subjugated to significant other status, forever rendered "Gwen Stefani's husband." Well, hats off to Rossdale, because on Wanderlust, his first full-fledged solo album, he not only embraces his role as husband and father, but also explores his role as an artist. There are moments where the album's compelling array of heady hooks takes a backseat to flirtatious runs of lyrical syrup, but the album's split is so extreme, you have to assume it's deliberate. Ultimately, that's what makes it so compelling. Early-on, the songs seem heavily influenced by finding a sense of self amidst the selflessness of family, a weighty subject that Rossdale tackles capably. As adept at embracing irony as he is masking reality, the lyrics offer a sense of

Mike Myers does not create mere comedic caricatures, he develops nuanced characters alive with detail. Wayne Campbell had his idiosyncratic aghast facial expression, Austin Powers his lascivious sneer and host of quotable Austin-isms, and Guru Pitka, the bearded hero of The Love Guru, has Mariska Hargitay. The Law and Order actress’ melodic moniker is employed as a salutation among the self-help master’s followers, and it is only one of several eccentricities that Myers conceived of when he was road-testing Pitka at comedy clubs while co-writing the screenplay with Graham Gordy. What’s resulted is a cross between Dr. Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra, an East-meets-West spiritual wunderkind with a penchant for miraculously healing ashram attendees and spouting off suggestive acronyms (e.g., "Be Loving and Open With My Emotions"). Despite having a gaggle of celebrity followers and library of successful New Age tomes to his name, Pitka is still the Number Two guru Stateside, Number One

Too many classic television shows have fallen victim to colorless film adaptations. Think back to The Mod Squad, Bewitched, and The Avengers for proof. Er, on second thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea. Having your hallowed small screen favorites stripped of their luster, transformed into soulless interpretations of the originals, can often prove painful for perennial couch dwellers. Get Smart fans, however, should be adequately satisfied with director Peter Segal’s take of Mel Brooks and Buck Henry’s 1960s undercover agent spoof of the same name. The film version stays true to the show’s goofy spirit, yet stands on its own comedic merit, its humor and spy gadget wizardy updated for 2008 audiences. Of course, having a-one funny man Steve Carell—who might otherwise be called “The Man with the Golden Box Office Returns”—play lead Maxwell Smart certainly doesn’t hurt, either. His acting modus operandi, shades of which were first seen when he was a regular Daily Show correspondent,

The flesh and blood, human element of illegal immigration isn't often explored in films. Many movies that broach the subject often do so from the perspective of lawmen that battle and attempt to halt border hoppers. There's no deep excavation of the motives that drive immigrants to risk life and limb to get the hell out of Dodge. The overly sentimental Under the Same Moon approaches the delicate subject matter from the point of view of illegal aliens who've migrated from Mexico to California by telling the story of post-migration struggle. A bright, determined little boy named Carlos ( Adrian Alonso) and his serene, hard-working mother Rosario (a radiant Kate Del Castillo) are separated by economic circumstance, yet strive to reunite. Under the Same Moon aims for maximum weepiness and tear-jerking emotion and achieves it, thanks to the plight of a doe-eyed child and his beautiful, conflicted mother. The film juxtaposes scenes of the pair as they live life apart in the slums of

Bands like Florida's Shinedown have a purpose. That's to write hooky, yet crunchy songs that hover around the three-and-a-half minute mark and that take up prime real estate in the listener's brain for hours, days and weeks at a time. The Sound of Madness exacts a formula to dominate the commercial radio airwaves and that's certainly an understandable pursuit. No band makes music that they hope no one else hears. On The Sound of Madness, Shinedown just so happen to be talented at hitting their mark of writing memorable songs. The first single "Devour" resonates with a gritty, hard rock vibe that begs to be blared from speakers in rigs plowing down any US interstate, to be the soundtrack for kids ripping donuts in a field in Kansas or to be loved by coastal rawkers who aren't quite down with the bluster of metal, yet yearn for something a bit more bitchin' than what pop and urban radio offers up on a heavily rotated basis. The constantly repeated chorus of "Devour! Devour! Devour"

Weezer doesn't exactly break character for their sixth album, though certain surface-level changes do exist. The record, which has been dubbed The Red Album, finds Rivers Cuomo exploring yet again the good, the bad, and the ugly of his twisted genius; interestingly enough, it follows both Rivers' marriage and his summa cum laude graduation from Harvard, which both point towards a shifting value system and the related musical changes that would accompany such mile-marks, positive or negative. And the good is very good: lead single "Pork and Beans" is as fun and lighthearted as anything from the band's heralded 1994 debut album; Cuomo delivers the verse in his offhand sing-song before the chorus swings in full force, catchy, and anthemic, seemingly broadcast straight from the garage that spawned his masterworks. Album opener and third single "Troublemaker" plays like a lost Pinkerton demo with its crunchy, simplistic riff and punchy verse/chorus delivery. Then there's the six

Definitely, Maybe is one of those rare romantic comedies that's more about environment than action. In fact, the film's vibrant atmosphere almost usurps the romance at its core. The movie takes place in a time "Before cell phones and emails," as leading man Ryan Reynolds puts it with a snarky inflection early on. Will Hayes (Reynolds) is a divorced father faced with the task of explaining his complicated romantic relationships to his curious young daughter, an impeccable and wide-eyed Abigail Breslin. Breslin's character Maya wants to know how mom and dad met, and that simple question sparks the entire narrative. Will decides to satiate her curiosity by relaying his whole romantic history to her, changing all of the names so she has to figure out which woman is her mom. It's a playful twist that imbues the chemistry between Breslin and Reynolds with some big laughs. Take one scene, where Will is cooking his daughter dinner. Mid-conversation, with a sarcastic sneer, Reynolds quickly