Theatres at Mall of America

Picture Zero Dark Thirty with bright pullovers and laser guns and you’ll have Star Trek Into Darkness, whose heavy-handed political parallels just might feel smart in a summer of Vin Diesel crashing cars. In the opening minutes, Khan Noonien... More »

Picture Zero Dark Thirty with bright pullovers and laser guns and you’ll have Star Trek Into Darkness, whose heavy-handed political parallels just might feel smart in a summer of Vin Diesel crashing cars. In the opening minutes, Khan Noonien Singh (Benedict Cumberbatch) terrorizes London, then makes like Osama and flees to the mountains of an enemy planet, causing Starfleet Admiral Marcus (Peter Weller) to order his assassination, sans trial. Here justice will be served by the blubbering James T. Kirk (Chris Pine), who so bleeds his humanity across the Enterprise's deck that it's a wonder Chekhov (Anton Yelchin) doesn't slip. Again, the central conflict is between the Captain's swaggering impetuousness and the cold-blooded logic of First Mate Spock (Zachary Quinto). After setting up its War on Terror allusions, Star Trek Into Darkness becomes Paradise Lost in Space: It's a battle for the good captain's soul, as Kirk is torn between Spock's wisdom and Admiral Marcus's war-mongering. Can Khan destroy him simply by smashing his moral code? J.J. Abrams externalizes Kirk's turmoil by making him spend every second scene suffering unsolicited advice about what to do. The character feels neutered, despite an early romp where he beds twin hotties with tails. His only real love is for the Enterprise, that hermaphroditic ship shaped like three phalluses and a flattened boob. Abrams, meanwhile, lifts Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan's climax, thievery that will enrage the devout as it suggests the Star Trek saga is merely a game of Mad Libs in which he plugs characters and catastrophes. « Less

1:40 PM, 7:25 PM

Where has Robert Downey Jr. gone? There's no doubt he’s the star of Iron Man 3; he sprints through the picture like a neurotic panther. And yet he's curiously absent, detached in a Zenlike way from the whole affair. The nakedness that defines his... More »

Where has Robert Downey Jr. gone? There's no doubt he’s the star of Iron Man 3; he sprints through the picture like a neurotic panther. And yet he's curiously absent, detached in a Zenlike way from the whole affair. The nakedness that defines his best performances has become, paradoxically, a kind of mask, not unlike the sleek, airbrushed-looking one he wears as the superhero incarnation of cocky kajillionaire Tony Stark. Today, Downey could play Stark in his sleep. The jittery self-doubt, the look-at-me hubris, the Boy Scout cluelessness about women: He's become so proficient in his believability that you can hardly believe a minute of it. Maybe you don't need to believe much in Iron Man 3. This is the first in the franchise to be directed by Shane Black, and only the second picture the prolific action screenwriter has made. (The first was the marvelously nerve-jangling Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, also starring Downey.) On the plus side, Black has a puckish sense of humor, and shows a healthy resistance to the comic-booky self-seriousness of the Batman movies. The villains in Iron Man 3, for example, include the Mandarin, a pointy-bearded sage who’s half Osama bin Laden, half Ming the Merciless. He's played with bug-eyed hamminess by Ben Kingsley, and the movie is spooky, silly, or both whenever he's onscreen. But the big problems with Iron Man 3 are less specific to the movie itself than they are characteristic of the hypermalaise that's infected so many current mega-blockbusters-- too much plot, too much action, too many characters, too many pseudo-feelings. The mechanics of Iron Man 3 are complex and rambunctious, like Keystone Kops, bouncing off one another and ultimately canceling one another out. « Less

10:50 AM, 4:30 PM, 10:10 PM

Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel is a movie event with an actual movie inside, crying to get out. Despite its preposterous self-seriousness, its overgrown, CGI'ed-to-death climax, and its desperate efforts to depict the destruction of, well, everything... More »

Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel is a movie event with an actual movie inside, crying to get out. Despite its preposterous self-seriousness, its overgrown, CGI'ed-to-death climax, and its desperate efforts to depict the destruction of, well, everything on Earth, there's greatness in this retelling of the origin of Superman, moments of intimate grandeur, some marvelous, subtle acting, and a superhero costume that's a feat of mad mod genius. There's almost a story here. And the actors, including the picture's quietly dazzling star, Henry Cavill, do their damnedest to draw it out. But there's no stopping what comic-book movies have become, especially those bearing the royal seal of Dark Knight auteur Christopher Nolan. (He's one of Man of Steel's producers and also helped develop the story.) In Man of Steel, the titan in the red cape is almost a distraction from the movie's larger mission to impress us with its spectacle and vague, lofty ideals. And once Michael Shannon's General Zod shows up on Earth with his dumb little goatee, you know it will only get bigger and emptier. It's a relief just to watch the actors act once in a while, and thankfully, Snyder is astute enough to punch some breathing holes in this steel-clad colossus. Amy Adams is a fine, no-nonsense Lois Lane; she makes nosiness sultry. And Kevin Costner and Diane Lane, in their depiction of heartland parents, turn corn-pone dialogue golden. No wonder their pensive, angst-ridden kid grows up to be Henry Cavill, who grounds the movie. His Superman is more a listener than a talker. That’s probably what happens when you have X-ray vision, and you can see Cavill soaking it all in. « Less

11:45 AM, 12:45 PM, 3:50 PM, 6:30 PM, 7:15 PM, 10:20 PM

Much more entertaining than you might expect for one with "fast" or "furious" or "six" in the title, director Justin Lin's Fast & Furious 6 offers the series' most resplendent parade of chases and crashes yet, all shot and cut in that radical new... More »

Much more entertaining than you might expect for one with "fast" or "furious" or "six" in the title, director Justin Lin's Fast & Furious 6 offers the series' most resplendent parade of chases and crashes yet, all shot and cut in that radical new style, the one where audiences can apprehend in one viewing just what is supposed to be going on. In the most exciting sequence, there's a tank to be brought down, a hilariously high and long bridge, and winning business with a harpoon. That ridiculousness is topped by the climax, when the franchise's action figures must stop a cargo plane from taking off. Everybody races at what seems to be impossible speeds, for what seems to be 15 minutes, down what certainly is the world's longest runway. There's nothing to laud here in terms of storytelling, and the dialogue is all quips and exposition, but Lin aces something rare: the spirit of freewheeling play. His chases seem to take place in the mind of a 10-year-old, and there are few of the stiff dramatic scenes that in earlier editions suggested that 10-year-old's Hot Wheels had gotten stuck in the sandbox. Tyrese is given more one-liners than he's had since 2 Fast 2 Furious. Warheaded leads Vin Diesel and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson leaven their hulking by making it clear their characters relish the mayhem. And the non-vehicular action is ace, especially an extended womano a womano between Gina Carano and Michelle Rodriguez, and one sublimely dumb bit of tag-team ass-kicking from Diesel and Johnson. « Less

10:35 AM, 1:25 PM, 4:15 PM, 7:05 PM, 9:55 PM

Is calling a film's narrative structure "airtight" a compliment or a pejorative? Clockwork storytelling can entertain, yet such mechanisms can also seem overly constructed, like one of those essays that gets high scores from the SAT folks. If one... More »

Is calling a film's narrative structure "airtight" a compliment or a pejorative? Clockwork storytelling can entertain, yet such mechanisms can also seem overly constructed, like one of those essays that gets high scores from the SAT folks. If one of those essays became an animated movie it might be Epic. This rather average-scaled adventure concerns a young woman, MK (voiced by Amanda Seyfried), who visits her father, Bomba (Jason Sudeikis), with hopes of talking him out of his reclusive lifestyle. Bomba's life's work is attempting to prove that a fantastical society of miniature people lives in the nearby woods. MK's cynicism turns to belief when she is shrunken down to thimble-size and winds up a player in the battle between the forces of good and evil in the forest world. Christoph Waltz has tons of fun in his role as the chief baddie, surely the best-cast voice here. Epic, presented in 3D, is noteworthy for its depictions of characters flying (birds are the energy-efficient vehicles of this green society) and swinging through the woods, with image depth that practically hypnotizes. With its array of goofy sidekicks (Aziz Ansari as a slug almost runs away with the whole picture) and carefully crafted relationships, Epic certainly manages to tell a compelling tale. Yet in a post-Up era where animated films can pulse with profound truths, the question remains: Is mere entertainment enough? « Less

12:00 PM, 2:35 PM, 4:55 PM

12:05 PM, 2:25 PM, 4:50 PM, 7:10 PM, 9:35 PM

There's a scene in Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby in which Leonardo DiCaprio's hyperrich, super-awkward Jay Gatsby takes it upon himself to redecorate the bachelor pad of his less-prosperous friend, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire). Gatsby's old... More »

There's a scene in Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby in which Leonardo DiCaprio's hyperrich, super-awkward Jay Gatsby takes it upon himself to redecorate the bachelor pad of his less-prosperous friend, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire). Gatsby's old flame, Daisy Buchanan (Carey Mulligan), is coming to Nick’s for tea. Eager to impress her, Gatsby has brought in boughs draped with explosive white flowers, macaroons in every color of the paintbox, and tiered cakes straight out of Marie Antoinette's court. "You think it's too much?" he asks Nick. Nick offers the polite answer: "I think it's what you want." The Great Gatsby is both too much and what Luhrmann wants, less a movie version of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel than a movie version of Jay Gatsby himself. It’s polished to a handsome sheen and possesses no class or taste beyond the kind you can buy. And those are the reasons to love it. The performers often look lost, but the movie moves, breathes, and has color on its side. Though Fitzgerald couldn't have known it, he wrote a scene tailor-made for 3-D, the one in which Gatsby rummages through his collection of brilliantly colored silk shirts and tosses one after another toward his lady love. In Luhrmann's vision, they float down around Daisy like polychrome snowflakes. It's all so fake. It should all be so horrible. But really, all Luhrmann has done is build a crazy art deco Taj Mahal to the glory of The Great Gatsby. Like Gatsby, Luhrmann is a faker but not a phony. Fitzgerald knew the difference. Can we see it, too? « Less

7:20 PM

Something's misguided about a film built around magic in the digital era. When Georges Méliès transferred illusions to cinema his trickery was stunning, but with every DVD-extras documentary about CGI they see, contemporary audiences become... More »

Something's misguided about a film built around magic in the digital era. When Georges Méliès transferred illusions to cinema his trickery was stunning, but with every DVD-extras documentary about CGI they see, contemporary audiences become increasingly difficult to impress. Such considerations might have benefitted Now You See Me, Louis Leterrier's manic magic-heist film following the bank-robbing travails of a four-magician team (anchored by charming Jesse Eisenberg, whose talents extend beyond portraying the neuroses-riddled). Various magic tricks are demonstrated excitingly, if not convincingly—again, all those CGI wizards-- as the group teleports Euros from Paris to Las Vegas, makes safe-filled rooms appear empty, and instantaneously changes bank account balances. The bargain struck with Leterrier is a loan on credit-- the viewer will suspend disbelief if its clear the filmmakers will pay them back with a satisfying explanation. Here, problems arise. Whereas the purpose of a magic trick is its own entertainment, a film that raises crucial narrative questions is expected to answer them. When functioning like a magic trick, this breathlessly entertaining picture delights in its showmanship, but the more entertaining the trickery, the tougher the explanation, and when the truth is revealed the answer can't help but fail to satisfy. And like a magic trick, many of its visuals are captivating-- but the structure of a magic trick is ill-suited to cinema. « Less

11:55 AM, 2:30 PM, 5:05 PM, 7:40 PM, 10:15 PM

The unlikeliest of all the Hangover trilogy's comic implausibilities might be its four pampered, rich-boy leads unironically calling themselves the "Wolf Pack" without anyone ever making fun of them. In the old slobs-versus-snobs comedies, the... More »

The unlikeliest of all the Hangover trilogy's comic implausibilities might be its four pampered, rich-boy leads unironically calling themselves the "Wolf Pack" without anyone ever making fun of them. In the old slobs-versus-snobs comedies, the snooty rich kids were always the antagonists, bullying the nerds and cheating at cross-camp field days. We identified with the slobs because Americans like underdogs, and also because the slobs were so often played by Bill Murray. Now the snobs have seized the cultural momentum, and with The Hangover Part III director Todd Phillips continues casting frat dicks as underdog heroes beset by foreigners, shrewish women, and even animals. "So he killed a giraffe—who gives a fuck?" says Bradley Cooper, in what amounts to a candid articulation of the trilogy's worldview. Cooper's Phil is defending the sub-neurotypical Alan (Zach Galifianakis), who has, indeed, beheaded an adorable giraffe. Unlike its predecessors, The Hangover Part III doesn't open with the aftermath of a substance binge. Alan has quit taking unspecified meds, causing him to behave like an enormous bastard, so the "Apple Dumpling Gang"-- sorry, "Wolf Pack"--agrees to accompany him on a cross-country road trip to an inpatient psych facility. They're intercepted by the first film's crime boss, Black Doug (Mike Epps), and his boss, Marshall (John Goodman), who force the "Special People’s Club"-- sorry, "Wolf Pack"-- to undertake a quest for the psychopathic Leslie Chow (Dr. Ken Jeong), who has stolen $21 million in gold bars. The ensuing plot involves an elaborate housebreaking, Mexican jail, some dead dogs, some dead chickens, base-jumping over Las Vegas, and a lot of punching down at lower-status characters. « Less

10:25 PM

Any job that requires meetings involving a scary silent gunman laying plastic tarp on the ground in order to catch post-execution bloodletting is, by nature, stressful. For Colette (Andrea Riseborough), those anxious circumstances are the... More »

Any job that requires meetings involving a scary silent gunman laying plastic tarp on the ground in order to catch post-execution bloodletting is, by nature, stressful. For Colette (Andrea Riseborough), those anxious circumstances are the byproduct of being forced to work as a reluctant mole inside her close-knit IRA gang for MI5 agent Mac (Clive Owen) in 1993 Belfast, a scenario that’s handled with suspenseful precision by director James Marsh in Shadow Dancer. Working from Tom Bradby’s screenplay (based on his book), the former documentarian (Man on Wire, Project Nim) gives his material edgy life via his economy of style, with his framing exhibiting an unfussy, astute attention to spatial power dynamics—even in a seemingly simple shot-countershot sequence of advancing/retreating close-ups—that reveal him to be an assured classicist. Populated by a host of strong if somewhat underutilized supporting players (Gillian Anderson, Aidan Gillen, Domhnall Gleeson), the film rests on the desperate chemistry of a paunchy, weathered Owen and a tense, quietly ferocious Riseborough. Their relationship, marked by equal measures of need, desperation and exploitation, ultimately comes to a head during a walloping finale in which terrorism is carried out in the name of politics, and betrayal—and sacrifice—are performed in service of family. « Less

10:20 AM, 12:10 PM, 12:40 PM, 2:40 PM, 3:10 PM, 5:05 PM, 7:30 PM, 10:00 PM, 10:30 PM

11:35 AM, 2:15 PM, 4:55 PM, 7:35 PM, 10:15 PM

D-Box;DBOX 10:15 AM, 1:15 PM, 4:20 PM, 7:30 PM, 10:35 PM

The hook of this R-rated horror film would also work for a superior young-adult novel. A decade from now, the U.S. has mostly solved its crime and unemployment problems with one Hunger Games-style tweak: On one night in March it's perfectly legal... More »

The hook of this R-rated horror film would also work for a superior young-adult novel. A decade from now, the U.S. has mostly solved its crime and unemployment problems with one Hunger Games-style tweak: On one night in March it's perfectly legal for Americans to kill anyone they want to. With the wealthy locked down in their homes, it's the poor who tend to die on purge night, often at the hands of gangs of "hunters" shouting things like "Die, homeless pig!" The movie disapproves of this behavior but lends it ugly credence in the implication that the economy is booming thanks to the elimination of what Paul Ryan would call "the takers." As always in YA, one sensitive kid figures out that all of society is evil or phonies or whatever. In this case it's the excellent Max Burkholder, playing a likable inventor geek holed up with his family to wait out purge night. After some misadventures, he sees a black homeless man (Edwin Hodge) running down the street of their ritzy subdivision. The man screams "Help me!" Gunshots crack in the night. The kid, not up on his Ayn Rand, disables the elaborate security system and invites the man inside. Think Guess Who's Coming to Be a Moral Quandary? Soon, a lynch mob demands the man be surrendered-- or the family be killed. Writer-director James DeMonaco wrings this for some memorably tense scenes, but all this big-idea drama soon gives way to too many scenes of Ethan Hawke dispatching more faceless adversaries than is justifiable in a film committed to reminding us of the horribleness of violence. « Less

11:25 AM, 1:30 PM, 3:35 PM, 5:40 PM, 7:45 PM, 9:50 PM