To look back on the controversy circling around J.J. Abrams’ reboot of the “Star Trek” franchise is like trying to remember a distant dream: you vaguely recall that the fans of the long-running sci-fi franchise were freaking out about the idea of new actors slipping on the uniforms of James T. Kirk and the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, but so many Trekkies came to embrace Abrams’ “Star Trek” so quickly that it’s almost like the controversy never happened. Y’know, like pretty much everything that ever happened in the original “Star Trek” series and movies. Or have you forgotten how Nero (Eric Bana), the villain in the 2009 film, went back in time on a mission of vengeance and proceeded to change the course of history?

Of course you haven’t forgotten. And you can be damned sure the Trekkies haven’t, either. Ever since Abrams’ film effectively wiped the slate clean on “Trek” history, theories have been flying by at warp speed about whether the next film would find Kirk and company on an all-new voyage or if the storyline might feature new takes on more classic characters. The answer? A little from Column A and a little from Column B. Thing is, we can’t really tell you much about the bits from Column B. Or, rather, we could, but we don’t want to spoil the fun…even if at least one of those fun bits has been bandied about as a plot possibility for the sequel from the very beginning.

Like its predecessor, “Star Trek Into Darkness” more or less starts off at full throttle, with the crew of the Enterprise in the midst of a mission to a strange new world which hasn’t yet reached the level of technology as the worlds within the United Federation of Planets, putting it under protection of the so-called Prime Directive. If you’re unfamiliar with the “Trek” mythos, this basically means that the planet is supposed to be left alone to develop at its own pace, but even if you barely know “Trek” at all, you still probably know that Kirk’s never been a big fan of following the rules, and as a comparative youngster in Starfleet, he’s still learning that there are significant consequences when the rules are broken. What he’s also learning is that not every officer is cut from the same cloth as Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood); some tend toward the hard-ass method of command, like Admiral Marcus (Peter Weller).

Come to think of it, Kirk learns a lot of lessons in the film, most of them the hard way, but, hey, those are the lessons that tend to stick the strongest. In fact, the newly forged bonds between all the members of the Enterprise crew are tested profoundly over the course of the film, with Kirk and Spock struggling to find the friendship history tells us they are destined to have, Spock and Uhura still attempting to make their unlikely romance work, younger crew members like Sulu and Chekov trying to make their mark, and Scotty testing his boundaries as the ship’s engineer and learning how far his new captain is willing to trust him.

And then there’s the film’s mysterious villain, John Harrison, played by Benedict Cumberbatch of “Sherlock” fame. He is, to put it simply, a badass, and he’s definitely one of the most intimidating “Trek” villains since…well, gosh, I think you’d have to go all the way back to Khan. Harrison’s acts of terrorism unabashedly bring 9/11 to mind, but given the history of “Trek” paralleling present day events, this is hardly surprising.

“Star Trek Into Darkness” handily breaks the curse of every other “Trek” film being lackluster, with Abrams offering at least as much action, humor, and small character moments as he did the first time around. Mind you, it’s possible that diehard Trekkies could be split down the middle on their opinion of the film – torn between whether they like the various homages to past “Trek” adventures, some of which are extremely overt, or if they wish they’d left well enough alone and just created something completely new. In the end, though, the film proves so fast-moving and infectiously fun that they’d be better off just sitting back and enjoying the ride.

Baz Luhrmann was born to make “The Great Gatsby.” Dazzling excess, star-crossed lovers, and tragedy are the cornerstones to nearly every movie he’s ever made, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel has all three in abundance, wrapped in a searing indictment of the pursuit of wealth. All four of those elements of the story are on full display here, but there’s something missing in the execution. For a story with so much passion and longing and regret, it’s surprisingly bloodless. This is not to say that Luhrmann doesn’t hit the emotional buttons; he just doesn’t hit them hard enough. Then again, that may not be Luhrmann’s fault at all, but the source material. A bunch of clueless people ruining their lives by making bad decision after bad decision; it’s like a Mike Leigh movie, with money.

Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) is in a sanitarium for a laundry list of conditions (top of the list: morbid alcoholism), and soon begins telling his shrink about the summer of 1922. Nick had taken a job as a bond salesman during the Roaring Twenties, and found a small cottage in the village of West Egg, where he lived next to new-money millionaires. Nick’s cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan) lives across the bay from her, and is (unhappily) married to old-money millionaire and unfaithful thug Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton). The man who lives next door to Nick is a mysterious fellow named Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). Jay would throw massive parties every weekend, but his reason for doing so was surprisingly sweet: he hoped that one day Daisy would attend one of them. Daisy was Gatsby’s girl five years earlier, and once Jay discovers that Nick and Daisy are related, he asks Nick to invite Daisy over for tea. This sets in motion a chain of events that would change the lives of all concerned.

The first act ends with as big of a bang as I’ve seen in the movies in years. The party scenes were as lavish and intoxicating as anything Luhrmann’s ever done – which is saying something – and after conditioning us to hear people from the year 1900 singing modern-day pop songs in “Moulin Rouge!,” it’s funny how easy it was to accept people from the ’20s dancing to Jay-Z and dubstep. The second act, however, was problematic, for a couple of reasons. The pacing is awfully sluggish following the slam-bang first act – he rectifies this with a taut third act – but the real problem is that the characters start exposing their true natures, and with the exception of Nick, they’re all pretty unlikable. This is one of the main points of the book, of course, to wave a finger at pompous blowhards who think they’re important simply because they have money. Gatsby isn’t one of those blowhards, but he’s saddled with an equally distasteful flaw, which undercuts the love story at the movie’s core. Did I use the word tragic to describe this movie in the first paragraph? That’s inaccurate. They’re not tragic: they’re pitiful.

Carey Mulligan has ridiculously expressive eyes. Luhrmann does his best to make her look like the most irresistible woman in the world, while Mulligan does her best to reveal Daisy’s shallow nature. Neither, however, can overcome her limited presence in the book versus her significance to the main character. She’s more of an idea than an actual person, and there is nothing a faithful adaptation of the story can do to change that. DiCaprio does a good job of slowly revealing Gatsby’s obsessive nature, but Gatsby comes off as a supporting player here, so there is only so much DiCaprio can do to improve the film. Tobey Maguire, on the other hand, is a rock-solid narrator, and delivers his finest performance in years. It would be a stretch to say he stole the movie, but this is the best role he’s had in ages, and he makes the most of it. Friends have told us that the movie’s 3D was stunning, but we wouldn’t know: the screening we attended was out of focus and dark, and when a fellow critic talked to the manager about it, she responded by threatening to call the police. That is not a joke.

“The Great Gatsby” was a good idea in theory. Luhrmann clearly reveres the material, and there are some truly magical moments, but it just doesn’t work like one would think it should, and truth be told, it may never work on screen without some major revisions, which creates an entirely different set of problems. Perhaps it’s finally time we just leave this one alone.

When it was announced that Jon Favreau would not return as director of the third “Iron Man” film, the producers surely fielded offers from every name director in town. So how did Shane Black land this gig, again? The guy hasn’t written or directed a feature film since 2005′s “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,” and yet here he is, doing that Shane Black thing once again, only this time with superheroes, while trying his best to streamline his R-rated ways for a PG-13 audience. As it turns out, “Iron Man 3″ works, but just barely, and it’s more in spite of Black’s influence than because of it. At the beginning of the second act, Black begins to get in his own way, and for anyone familiar with his work, it’s not long before a strong case of deja vu sets in. He even set the movie during the holiday season, just like “Lethal Weapon.” And “The Long Kiss Goodnight.”

Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) is not handling the events that took place in “The Avengers” well. He can’t sleep, he’s experiencing panic attacks, and he’s neglecting his girlfriend Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow). The last thing he needs is a crisis, so of course he receives two, in the form of a think tank genius named Aldrich Killian (Guy Pearce) who’s trying to woo Pepper into funding some groundbreaking genetic research, and a stone-cold terrorist named The Mandarin (Ben Kingsley) who has launched a series of unusual bombings across the country. Tony dares the Mandarin to take him on; the Mandarin responds by destroying his house. Tony Stark, one of the richest and most famous men in the world, is at rock bottom.

Taking privilege away from those who have it, and forcing them to use their wits in order to survive: it’s a fun story device, but doing it with Tony Stark is unfair to the story device. He’s too damn smart and capable to be down for more than a few seconds, and any attempt to weaken him turns out to be in vain in a very short period of time. The one thing about the story that Black nails – and it’s a big one – is the execution of the Mandarin. In the comics, the Mandarin derives his power from 10 ancient rings powered by alien technology. That isn’t going to fly in the movie universe (it would feel like cheating), and Black comes up with a rather clever way of grounding the Mandarin while maintaining his deadliness, paving the way for a showstopping performance by Kingsley. Black also gives Paltrow the long-overdue opportunity to be something other than a damsel in distress, though at the same time, he uses her as bait for a good chunk of the third act.

Indeed, that third act will serve as the barometer for how people feel about the movie overall. For those unfamiliar with Black’s work, it will probably be a non-event. It’s action-packed and entertaining and fun. For the rest, it will feel dated and silly. When Downey and Don Cheadle sneak up on the Mandarin in the movie’s big finish, it’s hard not to think of Mel Gibson and Danny Glover. People dodge ridiculously large fireballs, and Downey spends time in a dungeon in a scene that looks like a mirror image of the one from “Lethal Weapon,” though without the torture (we’re assuming the torture wasn’t in the original script, but Gibson insisted upon it). When one takes the story and thinks of it in conjunction with the bookend narration and the obligatory teaser shot at the end of the credits, it all makes sense, but in a cynical way. It reeks of hand wringing, that they manicured the script for the sole purpose of paving the way for the launch of another “Avengers” franchise, knowing that it would weaken this film, but that’s all right, because this movie will make money regardless. That’s pretty damn cynical.

“Iron Man 3″ is a movie in conflict. Marvel obviously wants these movies to be as good as they can be, but there is also the “Avengers” big picture to consider at this point. Each of these films is designed to set up another film outside of its universe, and so far they have done very well with that, but they seem to have forgotten that what started this incredible wave of momentum that Marvel is enjoying right now is the fact that the first “Iron Man” kicked ass, and it did so by putting itself ahead of the Avengers as a whole. Every movie since then – “The Avengers” excepted, mostly – has played it much safer. Some have been very good, others less so, but all of them have been about the greater good. Tony Stark doesn’t give a shit about the greater good, so it’s painful to see an “Iron Man” movie toe the line.

He rides a sweet motorcycle, flies a badass futuristic stealth bomber, wears a cool NASCAR-like uniform, does a scene in zero gravity, and kisses two beautiful women. Needless to say, Tom Cruise had several reasons to sign up for “Oblivion,” and as an added bonus, writer/director Joseph Kosinski assembled a slick, compelling story around which to frame the riding and the flying and the floating and the kissing. Sci-fi fans will likely cry foul with regard to how much “Oblivion” borrows from a smaller film released a few years back (to say its name would give away too much), and rightfully so. Indeed, “Oblivion” is in many ways a souped-up, big-budget remake of the smaller film. The original is better, as is often the case, but “Oblivion” is quite good as well. It’s beautifully shot, it carries a palpable sense of unease, and it keeps its cards close to the vest. The poker face approach gets frustrating at times, but in the end it was nice to see a science fiction film that doesn’t patronize its audience.

In the years following a war that devastated Earth and killed the population, technician Jack Harper (Cruise) and his work/life partner Victoria (Andrea Riseborough) literally live in a penthouse in the clouds. Jack and Victoria take instructions from Sally (Melissa Leo) at Mission Control to keep a group of spherical drones functioning so the good guys can defend themselves against a group of alien scavengers who seek to undermine their efforts even though the war is long over. Jack has strange memories, though, of a woman he’s never met and a life he’s never lived. When the scavengers set up a beacon that attracts a ship, Jack investigates the landing site and is stunned to discover that the woman in his dreams is one of the passengers. Soon after, Jack receives a visit from the scavengers, and is forced to rethink everything he has ever known.

Kosinski showed with his directorial debut “TRON: Legacy” that he had a great eye for visuals, but he was hogtied by an underwhelming script. He’s in full control this time around – he actually wrote out a graphic novel of the story before shooting – and the difference in quality is significant. The drones, in particular, are beautiful and menacing, and they emit disorienting blasts of sound a la Hans Zimmer’s score for “Inception.” Eye-popping scenery and effects were a given, though; what sets “Oblivion” apart from “TRON” is how Kosinski handles the story. In an age where speed is king, Kosinski takes his good sweet time telling his story. In fact, when he finally decides to ramp up the action, it feels out of place with the rest of the film. Calling this thinking man’s sci-fi might be a bit of a stretch, but this is closer to that end of the spectrum than, say, any of the “Transformers” movies.

Alas, it is not without its flaws. The movie’s first act is in dire need of some tightening, and the fingerprints of focus groups are all over the movie’s bookend narration, which leads to the movie’s plot being explained twice in the first 30 minutes. Ironically, the film undercuts itself in the opposite way on the back end as well; once the story does its Big Reveal, it shines a light on doors that the movie never opens. There damn well better be a director’s cut on the Blu-ray that explores these avenues.

Tom Cruise doesn’t do science fiction very often, but he’s had good instincts when he picks his sci-fi projects (“War of the Worlds” notwithstanding), and the character of Jack in “Oblivion” is a good choice for him. It doesn’t demand a dramatic range – it just needs a hero, and Cruise has that down to, well, a science. It doesn’t hit all of the right beats, but it hits most of them, and gets extra credit for trying to raise the bar. We could use more movies like that, even if they don’t completely succeed.

Every time Hollywood releases another civil rights sports movie, it calls to mind comedian Bill Burr’s funny bit about white guilt, because audiences have been inundated with so many of these films recently that they’ve begun to lose the potency of their message. Of course, if you are going to make another civil rights sports movie, the story of Jackie Robinson is pretty much the definitive version, so it’s surprising that only one other film (“The Jackie Robinson Story”) has been made on the subject, and that movie starred the famous baseball player as himself. It’s probably because no matter how inspiring Robinson’s tale may be, he’s not a particularly interesting figure apart from his contribution to history, and that’s something that director Brian Helgeland constantly wrestles with in “42.”

Unlike most biopics, the film only covers three years of Robinson’s life, beginning in 1945 when he was still playing in the Negro league after serving in World War II. Spring training has just begun and Brooklyn Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford) has decided to make the bold move to break the color line and bring the first black player into the National League. Initially assigned to the Dodgers’ minor league team in Montreal, Jackie (Chadwick Boseman) must overcome immense racism from both the fans and his teammates, much to the concern of his wife Rachel (Nicole Beharie) and black sports journalist Wendell Smith (Andre Holland), who’s aware that there’s much more at stake than Jackie realizes. But instead of lashing out against his detractors like everyone is expecting, Robinson lets his talent do the talking on the baseball field, eventually earning a spot with the Dodgers and leading them to the pennant in his first year.

A conservative and slightly cheesy sports drama that feels like a product of its 1940s setting, “42” suffers from a remarkably dull protagonist who either didn’t have a very fascinating personal life (we don’t see much beyond his seemingly perfect marriage, and even then, Beharie isn’t given a whole lot to do) or whose estate prevented Helgeland from including anything that might have tarnished his legacy. Thankfully, the baseball scenes are much more enjoyable, due in part to supporting players like Christopher Meloni as Dodgers manager Leo Durocher and Alan Tudyk as Phillies manager Ben Chapman. In fact, the pivotal scene where Chapman heckles Robinson is one of the film’s best, as it perfectly portrays the level of bigotry that he was subjected to and his inner struggle to ignore the abuse. Tudyk is actually very amusing in the role, despite the fact that the unrelenting racist vitriol he launches at Robinson is appalling.

Boseman delivers some of his best work in the scene as well, and although it’s not quite a star-making turn, it is an impressive debut considering the paltry character development in the script. What Robinson lacks in personality, however, Harrison Ford more than makes up for with his standout performance as Branch Rickey. Though the grumbling GM is a bit cartoonish at times, I can’t remember the last time the actor has been this good, and Helgeland knows it too, turning to Ford whenever he needs to lighten the mood or deliver a rousing speech. It’s his involvement that just barely tips the scale in the favor of “42,” because while the movie is an enjoyable tribute to one of baseball’s biggest heroes, it’s not as memorable as the source material warrants.

After watching Derek Cianfrance’s “Blue Valentine,” it was clear that the writer/director would be one to watch for the future, even if the anti-romance film wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. His follow-up feature, “The Place Beyond the Pines,” reunites Cianfrance with his “Blue Valentine” star Ryan Gosling, and though the movie is hindered by its own set of problems, the multi-generational crime drama makes good on the potential he showcased in his directorial debut. While it’s difficult to talk about the movie without wading knee-high into spoiler territory, “The Place Beyond the Pines” is an impressive piece of American filmmaking that’s every bit as compelling as it is annoyingly flawed.

The movie’s triptych structure is like watching three separate but interconnecting films, and Cianfrance kicks things off with what is easily the best of the bunch as we’re introduced to Luke Glanton (Gosling), a motorcycle stunt driver who reconnects with a former one-night stand named Romina (Eva Mendes) at the local fair where he plies his trade. When he learns that Romina has given birth to his son, Luke agrees to quit his nomadic job and stay in town, even though Romina has already moved on with another man. Determined to do his fatherly duties and provide for his son, Luke decides to put his unique skills to use and start robbing banks, placing him on a collision course with rookie policeman Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper), an honest family man who gave up his promising career as a lawyer to serve on the force. After becoming privy to some dirty cops in the department, however, Avery must decide what’s more important: his integrity or loyalty to his brothers in blue.

Taking place 15 years later, the final act is predictable but nonetheless rewarding as Cianfrance’s story comes full circle to find Luke and Avery’s teenage sons (Dane DeHaan and Emory Cohen, respectively) become unlikely friends during a chance meeting, ultimately forced to deal with the actions of their fathers. The whole thing is incredibly ambitious, and unfortunately for Cianfrance, he seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. Though there’s not much to each story, everything that happens is necessary to telling the larger narrative, and that’s part of what makes “The Place Beyond the Pines” so frustrating. Cianfrance may be dealing with some familiar themes of fatherhood, consequences and destiny, but it’s such an epic undertaking that it ultimately becomes too much movie for its own good.

Gosling’s segment is the standout, not only because it lays the groundwork for the rest of the film, but because it provides the best balance of drama, action, and even a little comedy thanks to an entertaining turn from Ben Mendelsohn, who’s fast becoming one of the best character actors in Hollywood. The heist scenes are also well shot and add some much-needed energy to a film that moves at a rather leisurely pace, but the biggest reason for its success is Gosling’s magnetic performance. Covered from head to toe in tattoos, the bleach blonde bad boy may be a criminal, but it’s absolutely heartbreaking to watch as Luke grapples with Romina to let him be a part of his son’s life and give him the father he never had.

Cooper and DeHaan also deliver solid performances, but their segments are noticeably weaker. As a result, the movie feels a bit lopsided, although the first hour is so engaging (aided by a refreshingly unglamorous turn by Mendes) that it makes up for some of the more unflattering heavy-handedness that Cianfrance resorts to in the latter half. “The Place Beyond the Pines” isn’t perfect, but it’s a movie that demands a lot of respect for not only taking big risks, but the way that it resonates emotionally, because there just aren’t enough films that do that anymore.

Danny Boyle is one of the few directors working today whose projects are almost always met with fervent excitement, and that’s certainly the case with “Trance.” Though moviegoers were forced to wait a few years for Boyle’s much-anticipated follow-up to “127 Hours” – due to other engagements on stage (the National Theatre production of “Frankenstein”) and for his country (the London 2012 Olympics opening ceremony) – the delay seemed well worth it following the news that he would be reteaming with frequent collaborator John Hodge (“Shallow Grave,” “Trainspotting”). In retrospect, my expectations were probably set a little too high, because although “Trance” is an entertaining psychological thriller, it doesn’t quite live up to Boyle’s more recent, award-winning work.

The film’s whiz-bang opening sets the stage when art auctioneer Simon (James McAvoy) teams up with a group of criminals to steal Francisco Goya’s 1798 masterpiece “Witches in the Air” during an auction in progress. Everything is going according to plan when Simon suffers a blow to the head during the heist, only to awaken with no memory of where he hid the painting. When more conventional methods (i.e. torture) prove ineffective, the gang’s leader Franck (Vincent Cassel) hires hypnotherapist Elizabeth Lamb (Rosario Dawson) to dig deep into Simon’s psyche and help jog his memory. But as Simon starts to piece together his broken subconscious, he becomes increasingly suspicious of Franck and Elizabeth’s ulterior motives, reconfirming why he chose to stash the painting in the first place.

Adapted from Joe Ahearne’s 2001 TV movie of the same name, “Trance” is so thinly plotted and riddled with gaps in logic that it’s to the credit of Boyle and his cast that they’re able to keep things interesting throughout the bloated 101-minute runtime. James McAvoy has been slowly building a solid career as a reliable leading man, but his role here lets him explore a slightly darker side for once, and it’s a refreshing change of pace for the actor, while Vincent Cassel injects his cool and composed thief with enough humanity that he’s more than just your typical villain. The real surprise, however, is Rosario Dawson. Though the actress hasn’t done much of note since her debut in Larry Clark’s polarizing teen drama “Kids,” she delivers her best work yet with an outstanding performance as the movie’s femme fatale.

In that respect, “Trance” feels like a neo-noir of sorts, even if the mystery isn’t nearly as compelling as Hodge’s screenplay would have you believe. Boyle masks a lot of the script’s problems with some nifty visuals and the same kinetic energy that’s prevalent in his other films, but the frantic pace only lasts so long before the story grinds to a halt, suffocated by a never-ending series of twists and red herrings that makes it almost impossible to discern what’s real versus what’s happening under hypnosis. That’s obviously the point, but by the time the movie arrives at its climactic ending, it becomes one twist too many, and instead of a brilliant mind-bender, it feels like a cheap trick written by someone trying to outdo “Inception.” The film is ultimately saved by Boyle’s ingenuity and some strong performances, but for a movie with such a unique premise, “Trance” should have left a more lasting impression – one that would actually be remembered years from now. You know, like “Inception.”

It’s hard to watch “Evil Dead” after seeing “The Cabin in the Woods,” and not just because the movie takes place in a cabin in the woods. On the one hand, it’s admirable that director Fede Alvarez went to great lengths to keep this, a remake of Sam Raimi’s 1981 game-changing original, grounded in a style similar to the source material. (Case in point: there isn’t a single piece of technology used in this movie that didn’t already exist in 1981.) On the other hand, this type of movie has either been borrowed or parodied approximately six million times in the 32 years since its release, and as a result, the story structure seems less retro than it does arcane. No amount of blood can wash that away, though God knows they tried.

David (Shiloh Fernandez) and his girlfriend Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) meet up at his family’s desolate, run-down cabin with David’s sister Mia (Jane Levy) and old friends Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) and Olivia (Jessica Lucas) for the purposes of helping Mia quit heroin cold turkey. Mia swears the house smells horrendous, though no one else seems to notice but the dog (yes, the dog), and after some prodding, the group uncovers some ghastly atrocities in the cellar, along with a book wrapped in barbed wire. Eric pries the book open and, despite the fact that there are warnings etched into the pages advising the reader not to write, read, or say any of the words the previous owners tried to hide, proceeds to do all three of those things, which unleashes an unspeakable demon that possesses Mia, and then spends the rest of the evening toying with the others while slowly plotting to kill them all.

There are several reasons why people loved Raimi’s film, but chief among them were the innovative camera techniques Raimi employed (speed shot through the woods) and the dark, visceral nature of the material. Like it or not, that material seems much less dark today, which is why the decision by the filmmakers to pretend that the last 30 years never happened is a mistake. Alvarez made some changes to small details of the story, but they’re not enough; a 2013 “Evil Dead” should have a healthy dose of self-awareness and adrenaline. This movie lacks both, content to cover the movie’s problems with blood, but even that backfires on them, resulting in a film that isn’t gory so much as it is grotesque (the word ‘sinewy’ springs to mind). Also, the actors are pretty worthless, particularly Shiloh Fernandez as the protagonist, but in their defense, they’re given nothing to work with. The score has some memorable moments though; it uses the air raid sound, for one, to nice effect.

The catch-22 of horror films is that even the best ones lose their scare factor after a while (except, of course, “The Exorcist” and “Poltergeist”). Even the original “Evil Dead” seems like a product of its time today; how did they think a stone-cold serious remake of the film 32 years later would fare any better? For a movie that was at one point wildly ahead of its time, it’s sad to see someone remake it into something stodgy and slow. The Book of the Dead deserved better than this.

The British film industry is overflowing with a wealth of talent, which is what makes its poor output of quality movies so maddening. While there’s never been a short supply of stuffy period dramas and gritty gangster flicks, very few other genres have managed to find much success overseas. Evan Creevy’s sophomore effort, “Welcome to the Punch,” attempts to bridge that gap by delivering a Hollywood-style crime thriller on an indie budget, but although he’s landed an impressive cast of A-list British talent, it’s mostly squandered on a bland and overly predictable script. “Welcome to the Punch” displays a lot more potential than the recently released “The Sweeney,” but it still falls short due a lack of suspense and personality.

Ambitious young detective Max Lewinsky (James McAvoy) is hot on the trail of master thief Jacob Sternwood (Mark Strong), but after tracking him down to the scene of his latest heist in progress, Sternwood manages to escape and Max gets a bullet in the kneecap for his troubles. Three years later, Jacob is still coping with the events of that night (the scar and accompanying knee pain a constant reminder of his failure), but when Sternwood’s son is fatally wounded during a gun deal gone wrong, Sternwood emerges from his Icelandic hideaway to smoke out the men responsible. Convinced that Sternwood’s vendetta will lead him back to London, Max is given another chance to capture the elusive criminal, only to uncover a deeper conspiracy within his own police department connecting the two crimes.

“Welcome to the Punch” is slightly reminiscent of Michael Mann’s cat-and-mouse thriller “Heat,” but Creevy’s movie pales in comparison. While it boasts a similar visual style to a lot of Mann’s films – saturated in a slick and steely blue hue – the tension is almost non-existent, and although there’s an interesting dynamic at play between McAvoy’s cop and Strong’s robber, it’s never fully explored, nor does it have the same allure of seeing Hollywood heavyweights like Robert De Niro and Al Pacino face off against each other. All of the characters are fairly one-dimensional, and despite a supporting cast that includes Peter Mullan, David Morrissey and Ruth Sheen, they’re absolutely wasted in throwaway roles. British crime movie fixture Jason Flemyng’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-him appearance is perhaps the most egregious of the bunch.

This is a film in dire need of a better script, because not only does it lack punch (especially for a movie with the word in its title), but it’s too complicated for its own good. Creevy may have been aiming to create an intricate, politically-fueled conspiracy that would keep the audience guessing, but instead, he’s ended up with a tangled mess of half-baked ideas and telegraphed plot twists that doesn’t do a particularly good job of explaining anything. A generic crime thriller in just about every way, “Welcome to the Punch” looks great and features a couple of nifty gunfights, but it’s ultimately a case of style over substance, and one that its top-notch British ensemble is unable to rescue.

There was a time when Paul Weitz used to make great movies. After reviving the teen sex comedy with “American Pie” and adapting the Nick Hornby bestseller “About a Boy” alongside brother Chris, the eldest Weitz stepped out on his own, continuing his fantastic track record with underrated gems like “In Good Company” and “American Dreamz.” In recent years, however, the director’s career has been marred by a series of flops, and though “Admission” is probably the best of his cinematic failures, it’s a failure nonetheless. Not even Tina Fey and Paul Rudd, arguably two of Hollywood’s most likable performers, are able to do much to save Weitz’s latest effort, and that only makes “Admission” even more of a disappointment.

Fey stars as Portia Nathan, an admissions officer at Princeton University who spends her days diligently poring over student applications and her nights with her dull, longtime boyfriend Mark (Michael Sheen), who also works at the university as an English literature professor. When she receives a call one day from John Pressman (Rudd), a teacher at the alternative academy New Quest, asking her to visit the campus to meet a promising student named Jeremiah (Nat Wolff), she’s completely blindsided by John’s suggestion that the gifted teen is the child she gave up for adoption nearly 20 years earlier. Though Jeremiah is far from the typical Princeton applicant, he’s a prodigy and self-proclaimed autodidact who wants nothing more than to attend the university. But while Portia comes to appreciate Jeremiah the more time that she spends with him, she faces an uphill battle convincing her peers that he’s worth the risk, all while hiding the fact that he may be her son.

Based on Jean Hanff Korelitz’s 2009 novel of the same name, “Admission” had the potential to be a good movie, but it’s hampered by a major identity crisis. Weitz can’t seem to decide whether he’s making a comedy or a drama, and although it’s being marketed as the former, with the exception of a few chuckles here and there, the film is almost completely devoid of laughs. Michael Sheen is the only consistently funny character in the movie, even if it is a fairly one-note role, and it offers a glimpse at what “Admission” could have been. After all, Weitz has proven before that he can adeptly balance both genres, but the execution here is so poor that they just end up clashing.

The same could be said of its two stars. While Tina Fey and Paul Rudd sound like a comedy dream team on paper, they have zero chemistry as romantic leads, and it makes their inevitable hookup feel even more awkward as a result. Disney Channel graduate Nat Wolff shows promise as the eccentric teen, and veteran actors Wallace Shawn and Lily Tomlin add some nice color in supporting roles, but it’s not enough to make up for the film’s tonal inconsistency and tediously long 117-minute runtime. “Admission” is exactly the kind of predictable, rom-com drivel that Fey has spent most of her career defying, and though her undeniable charm and wit makes the movie a little easier to endure, she’d be better off if she stuck to writing her own material.