Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, the sequel to the modern stoner classic Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle, hit theaters last Friday. I sat down with the film's writer/directors -- Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg -- a few days after the release of their film. In the interest of journalistic integrity (and shameless name-dropping), I should tell you that the gentlemen are friends of mine, and all around great dudes.

Cinematical: How did the Hurwitz/Schlossberg magic begin?

Jon Hurwitz: Hayden and I became friends on the Randolph High School debate team and connected over a common love of comedy. We were both obsessed with the movies of the Farrelly Brothers and the Zucker Brothers. We loved Howard Stern. We thought it would be amazing if we could actually make movies one day. But it felt like it was the most unrealistic goal of all time for a couple of dudes hanging out in a basement in New Jersey. What changed everything for us was that in high school we were known for coming up with really funny "Would you rather?" scenarios. We came up with a list of 250 that we were going to try to get published.

Cinematical: What was the best one?

JH: "If you had to be sexually abused, would you rather it be by an android or a Muppet?"

Cinematical: Muppet. It's softer.

Hayden Schlossberg: Exactly. Plain and simple. It would hurt less. That is the correct answer.

Yet another movie withheld from press screenings, Pathology isn't exactly a horror movie, though it does contain a good amount of gore. It inspired me to coin a new subgenre: "secret underground club of life and death" movies. In these films, two or more young people get together and use logic and intellect to cut through the dreary, soul-deadening reality of life and get closer to something more metaphysical, usually involving death or sex or both. Alfred Hitchcock's Rope (1948) is an early example, in which two students kill a man for sport, and then throw a dinner party with the corpse hidden in the very center of the room, just to see what it would be like. Other examples might include Flatliners (1990), Crash (1996) and Fight Club (1999). (Am I forgetting any?) Unfortunately, in conjuring up these other examples, Pathology quickly collapsed in comparison.

Most conversations about Forgetting Sarah Marshall -- the new Judd Apatow-produced comedy about a devastating breakup -- are going to start with the penis shot. Sure, there have been willies in the movies before -- hell, there have been dongs in Apatow productions before (see Walk Hard). But a johnson this prominently featured, and in a mainstream romantic comedy? It breaks new ground. And not only is it funny, it's the perfect visual representation of what a guy goes through when he gets dumped. The film's star, Jason Segel, is stripped bare literally and figuratively -- exposed, embarrassed, emasculated. It's a comedy moment for the history books. I just wish I could say the rest of the film is as bold, as brave, as ... ballsy as that penis.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Sarah Marshall is a very funny movie. But its faults -- its sagginess, its tendency to let improvisation roll past the point of laughter, its relationships that often don't ring true -- are what separate this Judd Apatow production from a Judd Apatow film.

Recently, many remarks have been cracked about running times of movies and the title 88 Minutes. "Is it too much to hope for that 88 Minutes will actually be 88 minutes?" our own James Rocchi asked me not too long ago. 88 minutes is a great running time for a movie, especially for busy critics with lots of movies to see and too many deadlines. You're in an out well before the welcome has worn out. Orson Welles' The Magnificent Ambersons is considered a masterpiece at 88 minutes, even cut down from its original 132. Bill Murray knew the power of 88 minutes when he turned in his final cut of the classic Quick Change (1990). The Woodsman (2004) would have been unbearable at anything longer than 88 minutes. And whatever else you have to say about them, Scary Movie, Sexy Beast, Spy Kids, The Big Bounce, Transporter 2, Wristcutters: A Love Story and Horton Hears a Who! never seemed too long.

But, alas, 88 Minutes runs 108 minutes, and it's too long. Al Pacino (with a poofy, rooster-head haircut) plays high-profile forensic psychologist Jack Gramm, whose testimony was almost solely responsible for the conviction of accused murderer Jon Forster (Neal McDonough). Today, Forster is going to the chair, while maintaining his innocence, and while identical murders are still being committed throughout Seattle. At 10:17 a.m., Gramm gets a call, saying he has 88 minutes left to live. That call comes about a half hour into the movie, and the 88 minutes passes by in an awkward, compressed 70 minutes, give or take, followed by the expected conclusion and credits. Couldn't a cleverer filmmaker have set the movie in real time, and then used flashbacks to do all that boring preliminary stuff? Wouldn't the film have been much better if it just started with a bang, with that phone call?

Forgetting Sarah Marshall finds Jason Segel vacationing in Hawaii to forget the girl (Kristen Bell) who just dumped him. Alas, she's at the same resort with her new beau! It's the latest comedy from the Apatow camp, and it hits theaters this weekend. Cinematical spoke one-on-one with the film's director, Nicholas Stoller, regarding the movie, his upcoming Muppet project, and how much onscreen penis is too much onscreen penis.

Cinematical: Is it intimidating for you knowing that every movie associated with Apatow these days is such a comedy event? Does that put pressure on you as the director to live up to that standard?

Nicholas Stoller: Not really, I'm still excited I got to make a movie, so I'm not really thinking in terms of if it's going to be a big event. Our movie was cheap so we don't have to make up that much money. It amuses me, and I hope that it amuses more people.

Cinematical: It amused me, so there's one extra person anyway.

NS: We have you and me and we just need 30 million more Americans.

The Ruins opened on Friday like most horror films, with a single, late Thursday night "promo" screening, to which the press was gamely invited in full knowledge that it would be too late for review, even for any reasonable web deadline. What's different about The Ruins is that it's not a remake or even a copy of any horror film of recent years. We're talking first-class material, adapted from a novel by Scott B. Smith, who wrote both the mesmerizing 1993 book A Simple Plan as well as Sam Raimi's masterful 1998 film of the same name. It's a terrific airplane novel, surprising and gripping, and Dreamworks could have made an outstanding film of it. But they threw it away, perhaps deliberately, hoping for some of that fast opening weekend green, and little caring about making something worthwhile or lasting (like A Simple Plan).

Astonishingly, the master Taiwanese director Hou Hsiao-hsien and the brain-dead American comic Dane Cook now have only one degree of separation between them. Juliette Binoche jumped from her role opposite Cook in the awful Dan in Real Life to a starring role in Hou's new film, the wonderful, whimsical Flight of the Red Balloon. In 1999, the Village Voice critics' poll chose Hou as the director of the decade, and three of his films placed in the decade's top 100: Flowers of Shanghai (#3), The Puppetmaster (#16) and Goodbye South, Goodbye (#61). That same year, a touring retrospective of Hou's work had the critical community all abuzz, and apparently sold a great many tickets. But Hou's films never found U.S. theatrical distribution until 2004, when his Millennium Mambo opened, with little fanfare, three years after it was made. And then, it was probably due more to beautiful star Shu Qi (The Transporter) than to Hou. Yet I somehow doubt Hou's new brush with fame will help him become any less obscure.

It's a good thing Child Protective Services never saw Nim (Abigail Breslin) in action or there wouldn't be any movie. Nim would be quietly toiling away in school, perhaps going to the mall and texting her friends. But in the new PG-rated family film Nim's Island, she climbs trees (and volcanoes), swings through the jungle, cooks dinner using mealworms as a main ingredient, reads adventure stories and talks to animals. Nim's father, Jack (Gerard Butler), is a marine biologist who has set up residence on a remote, South Pacific island to study microorganisms. It's just the two of them, so when Jack goes off on a two-day expedition to find new samples, Nim insists on staying behind. But after a huge storm, Jack is left stranded in the middle of the ocean. And when "pirates" (really tourists) invade the island, and her father fails to return on schedule, Nim gets scared.

A man sits on his bed in the half-light, shirtless. On his back is a series of little bumps, perhaps scars, possibly cigarette burns, or buckshot wounds? His co-workers at the fish hatchery take secret bets as to their origin. But for Son Hayes (Michael Shannon), they are part of a hurtful past, one that he is forever trying to get beyond. Son's name, as well as those of his brothers, Kid (Barlow Jacobs) and Boy (Douglas Ligon), no doubt came from their awful father, a kind of branding that they can never escape. We never meet this father. He dies at the beginning of Shotgun Stories. Son, Kid and Boy attend his funeral, and that's when the trouble starts. If not for that, life in this Arkansas small town probably would have gone on as always, with Kid sleeping in a tent in Son's backyard, with Boy living out of his van, and with the three of them getting together for beers. (There is a lot of beer drinking in this movie.)

Today we speak with comedian/actor/writer/director Michael Ian Black. Black's hilarious credits include MTV's The State, Comedy Central's Stella, and the cult classic Wet Hot American Summer. He's probably best known to the general public as being the standout quipper on VH1's "I Love the (Insert Decade Here)" specials. Black's latest project is Run Fatboy Run. He wrote the original screenplay for the film, which was directed by David Schwimmer and stars Simon Pegg, Hank Azaria, and Thandie Newton.

Cinematical: Would you tell our readers a bit about Run Fatboy Run?

Michael Ian Black: Sure. It's a lovely and funny romantic comedy about a guy who has never finished anything in his life who decides to run a marathon.

Cinematical: What inspired you to write the film?

MIB: I wanted to write something a little more mainstream than what I am normally known for. I had just written two screenplays that were more left of center and I wanted to challenge myself to try to write something that I thought would be a little more accessible.

Cinematical: Are you a marathon man? Why do people do this to themselves?

MIB: I've never run further than a couple miles. I have no idea why somebody would subject themselves to the agony of running for twenty-six miles. Particularly if they've got a car.

Has anyone kept track of all the remakes of Asian horror films? It fairly numbs the mind to even begin counting, as soulless and derivative as they are. I know I've had to slog out to the Cineplex many an opening Friday to catch the latest one that was withheld from press screenings. Even the originals begin to blur together, following the same formula of a wronged spirit -- usually a ghostly girl with stringy black hair and hollow eyes -- entering into the lives of unsuspecting people, often through technology. Usually the heroes think they've solved the riddle at some point, but there's always one more overlooked step at the climax. Very often in the middle the heroes find themselves someplace like a library or an office building that's supposed to be brightly lit, but instead is illuminated only by a few buzzing gray lights. The original Shutter (2004) is different only because it originated in Thailand -- and is set in Bangkok -- rather than Japan. The new American remake squashes even that one unique factor by turning right around and setting the story among Americans in Tokyo.

Ben Shaw (Joshua Jackson) is a professional photographer newly married to blonde hottie Jane (Rachael Taylor), who apparently works as a 6th grade teacher and not a photographer's model. (Um... yeah. How did they meet again?) Just after their honeymoon, they land in Tokyo so that Ben can start his amazing new job, shooting colorful layouts of geisha girls. On the road, their car strikes a girl, though no evidence of her body is ever found. More strange things begin happening. White streaks appear in Ben's photos and Jane begins seeing the girl all over the place. With a little detective work, Jane discovers that Ben actually knew her. She was Megumi Tanaka (Megumi Okina), a shy, uncertain translator. Ben may have been her first love, but he didn't love her quite the same and things ended badly. So why, then, are Ben's buddies Bruno (David Denman) and Adam (John Hensley) suddenly dying?

(Funny Games opens in theaters this weekend; below is Cinematical's Review from the 2008 Sundance Film Festival.)

Michael Haneke's remake of his own Funny Games is a great movie. It's also a great film. It's also a great piece of commentary on film. It's hard to say which Funny Games stirs up more -- your guts, or your brain. There's a line about how the film criticism of Manny Farber "played both brows against the middle." Funny Games smashes lowbrow violent entertainment and highbrow thoughts about violent entertainment into each other, hard, over and over again until the resulting wreck of bone and flesh and blood glistens like a sharp-edged gem. It gives you what you want and asks why you want it in the first place, and it does both those things superbly. It is cruel, cold and darkly thrilling.

The Farber family (played by Naomi Watts, Tim Roth and Devon Gearhart) are getting away from it all to their lakeside vacation home. They're going to relax, meet friends, play golf and enjoy good food and good music. But they're not going to get to do any of those things. Two polite young men (played by Brady Corbet and Michael Pitt) drop by; they're guests of the neighbors, and the neighbors sent them over to borrow four eggs. Watts is glad to help. But the eggs break, and they'd like to borrow another four. Watts is less glad to help, but still polite. And then second set of four eggs are broken, and then it's not about the eggs at all, and politeness becomes irrelevant. Which, really, it is in the first place. Soon the Farber family is bound and frightened and hurt, and the two young men stay cool and courteous and curious, proposing games and posing probing questions. Roth chokes out a simple question: "Why are you doing this?" Pitt's answer is simpler: "Why not?" Pitt spools off a long series of complex and contradictory rationalizations for his associate's part in events that are rapidly going out-of-control for the Farbers, closing by noting that " ... he's jaded and disgusted by the emptiness of existence. It's hard." None of it is true, and what would it matter if it were?

One of the things I hate most about wannabe indie movies is the fallacy of the two-day scruff. That's when a male character wakes up every day with exactly two days' growth of beard, even if the movie takes place over the course of two weeks and even if he lacks the means to shave. That's a small thing, I know, but it indicates that the director is grasping at straws trying to come up with a visual look for his story, perhaps a kind of cool, grungy look. The new Sleepwalking, directed by Bill Maher (not the Comedy Central guy) is filled with such things, like a spookily serene shot of a girl swimming underwater with weird sunglasses on, or swirls of powdered snow wisping across a lonely highway. These images may fill out a 2-1/2 minute trailer, but they're out of place in Maher's feature film.

Nick Stahl plays the "sleepwalking" James, a dead-eyed slacker who works a construction job and goes home to a dreary apartment. One day his sister Joleen (Charlize Theron) disappears and his 11 year-old Niece Tara (AnnaSophia Robb) turns up looking for help. Even though he can't drive, James attempts to maintain a schedule, driving her to school in the mornings, before turning up at his job. One day he's late, and the next he calls in sick to look for his sister. On the third day, they oversleep, just as social services turn up. James loses his job and Tara is shipped off to a home. But the first chance she gets, she coaxes her uncle to help her skip town. Their money carries them only as far as James and Joleen's father's farm, which looks permanently chilled and dried and wind-blown (only scraps of paint remain on the outside walls).

Let me just say first that, I consider Bo Welch's The Cat in the Hat (2003) the worst movie I've seen in my more than ten years of reviewing movies, and Ron Howard's How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) is not far behind, and would no doubt rank somewhere in the bottom fifty. Jim Carrey returns from the title role in The Grinch as the voice of the title role in Horton Hears a Who! so I was skeptical at best about the quality of the new film. Not to mention that most CGI animated films not produced by Pixar tend to range from forgettable to awful. What a happy surprise, then, to see one of those rare animated films -- and an even rarer family film -- which ventures into that elusive middle ground, providing wholesome entertainment for kids as well as a few belly laughs for adults.

Directed by Jimmy Hayward and Steve Martino, both making their feature debut, Horton begins by effortlessly rendering in 3D space that familiar 2D world of Theodor Geisel (a.k.a. Dr. Seuss), with its curvy trees and oval-shaped hills and dales. We meet our hero, Horton (voiced by Jim Carrey), a pachyderm whose personality teeters between dutiful and lazy, helpless and self-reliant, goofy and dedicated. He teaches a class of young animals about various forms of jungle life, but not without a bit of inadvertent, entertaining slapstick. One day, a speck of fluff floats past his sizable ears and he hears a voice emanating from it. He rescues the speck, deposits it on top of a clover and learns that, living upon the speck, is an entire miniature society called Whoville (not to be confused with the Whoville in The Grinch) and run, more or less, by the Mayor (voiced by Steve Carell).

Rock 'n' roll in all its forms has always had an enormous power. As soon as white artists began adapting its catchy rhythms for the mainstream in the 1950s, conservatives began barking and howling, calling it "devil music" and trying to ban it and censor it every which way. Jerry Lee Lewis always believed that he was going to pay with hellfire and damnation, and played that much harder in spite of it. And each time the music grew too comfortable, someone came along with a louder, more ferocious idea, like Jimi Hendrix's feedback, or punk, or hip-hop. The musicians can seem godlike, with their simplified, direct line to poetry, sexual energy, anger, and overall physical, emotional release. Because of this, rock is self-propagating; there's no shortage of young, insecure musicians who yearn for this same kind of power.

This goes double for girls. There's a great list of girl rockers in history: The Ronettes, Patti Smith, Liz Phair, P.J. Harvey, Debbie Harry, The Pretenders, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Go-Gos, The Bangles, Kim Gordon (of Sonic Youth), Lauryn Hill, Sleater-Kinney, The Donnas and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, plus many bands of mixed sex (X, Talking Heads, Smashing Pumpkins, The Velvet Underground, etc.). But for some reason, girls still have a hard time getting into this boy's club. These days it helps if you have a body like Fergie's, but that doesn't exactly send a hopeful message to those same young, insecure, up-and-comers. And so the new documentary Girls Rock!, directed by Shane King and Arne Johnson, begins by taking a trip to the annual "Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls" in Portland, Oregon and comes away with something a bit more.