*There are spoilers here.*

I've been meaning to write this for a while, but wanted to wait until I could give The X-Files: I Want to Believe a second viewing, which I finally did yesterday, on beautiful Blu-Ray. I am a long-time X-Phile; the show, which I started watching around age 13, is one of my formative viewing experiences; I trace my current love for things ambiguous, fantastic and otherworldly squarely back to Chris Carter's brilliant creation. And I dissent in a big way from both the layman and fan consensus on I Want to Believe. I still think, as I did in the summer of 2008, that the movie is a fantastic X-Files episode. But more importantly, I still think it is a genuinely moving farewell to two beloved characters, and one of the most satisfying pieces of closure that any long-running series or franchise has ever given us.

One thing that I suspect threw people off was the movie's snowbound melancholy, replacing the apocalyptic terror of The X-Files' last big-screen outing, 1998's Fight the Future. There's some excitement here, and a few laughs, but the overall tone is more akin to "Beyond the Sea," the beloved, somber first-season episode that was more concerned with personal demons than actual ones. It's hard to fault moviegoers for expecting something bigger and louder out of what was, after all, pitched as the popular series' triumphant return. But it's also hard -- or at any rate it should be -- to fault Chris Carter and his team for wanting to take the movie in a different direction. Rather than have Mulder and Scully go out with a bang, they chose to put them to bed, give them a hug, and tuck in the covers.

Now rolling in New Moon millions, Chris Weitz is being more open about his troubles with New Line and The Golden Compass, a film that sank one studio and sent him into a tailspin. Rumors abounded as to what went wrong on that film, and as recently as last week, New York's Page Six was claiming that residual stress was causing him to leave the industry.

Weitz denied any such thing to Variety, and announced he was leaving the world of the supernatural behind with his next film, The Gardener. The film centers around a hard working Mexican gardener and his efforts to protect his son, and Weitz will be making it alongside his new best friends forever, Summit Entertainment. His new friendship enabled him to take a parting shot at New Line. Weitz praises Summit and Stephenie Meyer for trusting him with New Moon, an experience that was the polar opposite of the debacle that was The Golden Compass.

Weitz claims that New Line didn't trust him to handle the content of the book, that the film was taken from him in editing. Heavy-handed hacking resulted in losing nearly 30 minutes of footage from the film, and neatly exercised the edgy thrust of Phillip Pullman's book. "It was an utter violation of my status as a director and the worst thing that has happened to me professionally ... I was treated badly, it was almost like they never read the books. They seemed frightened of offending the right." Out of loyalty to the cast and crew, Weitz said he "bit through my tongue" when Compass was released.

As a fan of Pullman's His Dark Materials series, I'd love to see all that missing footage to see if it could salvage Weitz's film, and if New Line really neutered it.

Go below the jump for the rest

Fellow Cine-mite Peter Hall would have you believe that there are five good reasons to see New Moon. Don't believe the hype. You'll be doing yourself, and all of humanity, a huge favor by saving that money and channeling it into the economy in a far more beneficial way. Like buying an ice cream cone for a stranger or adopting a kitten. I'm going to give you five reasons why you need to steer clear of New Moon, and those pitchforks and torches that Peter was having you get ready might come in handy if you're a Twi-hard, because you aren't going to like this.

These Aren't Vampires. Or Werewolves, For That Matter

Creatures of the night. The undead. Nightwalkers. Nosferatu. Dracula. These are vampires, and they sure as hell don't sparkle in the sunlight. In fact, sunlight makes them burst into giant gouts of flame. They have fangs, an aversion to garlic and silver, no reflections, and they can't come into your house unless invited. Plus, you kill them by staking them through the heart or cutting their head off. They don't sit around looking emotional and pining for their loved ones. If mankind ever had a mortal enemy, it's a vampire. Not whatever Edward Cullen and his Flock of Seagulls haircut is.

And while I'm on the subject, werewolves are beasts who are slaves to the cycle of the moon. They can't control when they wolf out, and they don't sit around breakfast tables eating giant muffins. Plus you take them out with silver bullets, not by refusing to date them. Jacob is no werewolf, he's just a guy who loves running around without a shirt on and feeling angsty about Bella. We want our other creatures of the night back in style, not in denim jean shorts. Give a listen to Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London," and wonder where the werewolf cool went in this movie.

Comedies are, by definition, doomed to a certain, set existence. Quoting Oxford's Concise Dictionary of Literary Terms: "Its ending will usually be happy for the leading characters. In another sense, the term was applied in the Middle Ages to narrative poems that end happily." This was compounded by the advent of New Comedy, which "abandoned topical satire in favour of fictional plots based on contemporary life: these portrayed the tribulations of young lovers caught up among stock characters such as the miserly father and the boastful soldier."

So here we sit, doomed to repeat ourselves over and over because some dudes from way back when made laughs of a certain path. There will be an outbreak of shenanigans, some goofy stock characters along the way, and then the almost inevitable happy ending with cheek-pinching smiles, swelling music, and feel-good moments. A lot of the time, it works. We giggle, the credits roll, and we leave the theater feeling happy and refreshed.

But just as often, I find myself dreading the second half and that inevitable tonal shift. The film will begin to swell into a picture-perfect happy ending, characters softening and getting just what they need for the desired conclusion, whether that be saccharine sweetness, uncharacteristic responsibility, or Meet the Parents type chaos. The personalities and paths of the characters become second-fiddle to the need to wrap up the story. Rather than simply enjoying the world that's been set up, soon we must watch it wrap into a pretty bow.

In 1939 the Academy gave an honorary Oscar to Edgar Bergen for creating a funny puppet. Some people may have thought that was silly. They also may have found it silly that a strange little "cartoon" called Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs earned itself an honorary Oscar. The legendary Bob Hope was given a fistful of honorary Oscars over the course of his amazing career ... and I don't remember anyone calling Bob Hope a brilliant actor or influential filmmaker.

In other words, these "honorary" awards that are handed out by the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) can be given for any old reason they feel like -- and I for one am thrilled that they've decided to give one to Roger Corman this year. My illustrious colleague Eric Snider clearly doesn't feel the same way, and I'm here to tell Eric he's dead wrong. Wonderfully funny and a snappy dresser, sure, but on this position ... dead wrong.

One day George Lucas will receive a similar award from the Academy. At that time you'll have film fans who say "Absolutely. For just the technical advances that he and his colleagues have created, and for his massive influence on modern-day film exhibition, he's certainly deserving of an Oscar spotlight." You'll also have film fans who say "The director of Star Wars, THX-1138, American Graffiti and The Phantom Menace? Really? The guy who produced Radioland Murders and Howard the Duck? I don't believe it! Typical Hollywood politics!"

Anyone who covers a film festival has dealt with it at one point or another. (More likely they deal with it several times a year.) You go to Sundance, to SXSW, to Toronto, etc., and see a film you really like. At this point the movie is just one of 250 at the festival, although maybe it has some "big names" or something to it. A few other writers end up agreeing with you that the film is quite good, and then the audiences have their say ... and mostly everyone is in agreement: good movie! And then ... it happens: Not just a handful of contrary-yet-insightful opinions, but a full-blown backlash.

"Dude, I just read your rave on Juno. You overhyped it! It freaking sucks!" --or-- "Martyrs isn't so great. The horror guys always over-praise the stuff they see early." --or-- "Did all the Sundance critics get together and just blindly pick a movie to rave over?" --- and stuff much nastier than that. I was one of the first film critics to see Juno, which at Toronto was just another comedy with a cool cast, until everyone saw it, that is. Then it was the darling of the festival, and I was thrilled to play along. Because I sincerely adore that flick. So did I contribute to the "overhype" on Juno? What about Waitress? I fell in love with that flick at Sundance as well, it came and went without finding a massive audience, and nobody accused me of overhyping the movie.

As much as we all fervently and loyally love Joss Whedon, it's time to face facts: His mojo is off. It's not gone -- I'd never suggest such a thing. One look at Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and the better episodes of Dollhouse prove that the magic is still there. However, it has lost its focus, writhing in the ether, struggling to gain the fame of his earlier television work -- fame that while never massive, was solid, loyal, and passionate.

With Dollhouse canceled, the question on everyone's mind is how can he get back to the success of Buffy? How can he shrug off the pain of two battles for ratings and second seasons, and present a show that ushers in a fandom rivaling what came before with Buffy, Giles, Willow, and Xander?

Let's say you're watching a horror film in which six or eight people get skewered in relatively explicit fashion. By all accounts, that film should be Rated R: Adults only, unless a parent decides different. That's an example of how a ratings board does good work: They see that a flick called "Saw" has "graphic, extreme violence" and they decide that their 12-year-old can live without that sort of stuff for a few more years. And obviously the same holds true for rampant profanity, nudity, sexual situations, or drug abuse. Some stuff simply isn't meant for kids, period.

So obviously I have no problem with a "ratings board," in theory, but in practice? Sheesh. The one we currently have (the MPAA) is so broken, so twisted, and so confused that I'd like to call for a complete do-over. Fire the whole staff, raze the whole damn building if you have to, and start over from scratch. Because I say the MPAA is either A) monumentally clueless, B) stunningly corrupt, or C) a combination of both. Hell, this is a group that created an "adults only" rating, and then did all it could to make it into the new "porno" label. I can hear your eye-rollings already, and I can't really blame you: Serious film fans have been complaining about the MPAA's blatant hypocrisy for years now, and if you thought that Kirby Dick's ballsy documentary This Film is Not Yet Rated was going to usher in a new era for the MPAA ... sorry to say you were dead wrong.

We've all lamented the way that Christmas decorations, candies, and wrapping paper start appearing on store shelves between fake pumpkins and cheesecloth ghosts. In some stores, the Christmas stuff appears as early as July or August. But when it comes to our local multiplex, we're generally safe from holly and plum pudding until it's actually cold outside. Not this year.

Being entertainment fiends, I'm sure that the last week found most of you were tuning into AMC, IFC, and other assorted channels to check out their horror selections. You were also undoubtedly watching your favorite television shows, football teams, and following the World Series. I'll bet that you saw the tv spots for A Christmas Carol around ten times a day. Possibly more than that given all the games. Did you feel a cold chill run down your spine?

I did, and it wasn't caused by a pocky Jim Carrey or the possibility of Robert Zemeckis' mo-cap dead eyes. It was the fact that my jack o'lantern was flickering on my kitchen counter, bell jars of bones were decorating the top of my television, and Shadow of the Vampire was beckoning from my DVR. It was Halloween weekend. Even after October ticked down to its last gasp and we fell back, it was still autumn. It's harvest time. It's heartwrenching drama time, the real start of the Oscar race. It's time for The Road, The Men Who Stare At Goats and the Coens. It is not Christmastime. I don't care what the Three Spirits try to tell me, or whether Tiny Tim wants God to bless us, every one. I'm not going to listen until December 1. Perhaps I'll miss a great 3D thrill ride and the velvet voice of Colin Firth, but I'm not ready for snow and Dickensian morality just yet. Are you?

As you may have seen, Nicole Kidman is the focus of some ridiculous headlines today, with everyone from the AP to The Hollywood Reporter and E! blaring that Kidman "conceded" to Washington that Hollywood contributes to violence against women. It's the kind of headline I hate: Attention grabbing, anti-entertainment, and completely misleading.

Kidman is a Goodwill Ambassador for UNIFEM, and was testifying before a House Foreign Affairs committee. Her goal was funding and resources, and to discuss violence against women overseas. The committee is currently debating whether to pass legislation for humanitarian relief. In true government fashion Rep. Dana Rohrabacher ( R-Calif) decided having A Real Hollywood Star was a chance to shift the discussion into shallow ground, and ask Kidman whether or not the movie industry had played "a bad role." Kidman, who probably came prepared to actually discuss humanitarian efforts, gave a fairly bland answer: "Probably." She hastily added that she didn't feel her own roles had, that she was through with roles that portrayed women as weak or as sex objects. "I can't be responsible for all of Hollywood but I can certainly be responsible for my own career," she added, and argued that Hollywood had also "contributed to solutions."

Undoubtedly, many will blame Kidman for making a shallow statement, and poke fun at her poorer script choices, but surely the blame falls on Rep. Rohrabacher for such an inane question. While Hollywood's portrayal and treatment of women is hardly stellar (if you read Cinematical regularly, you know we complain about it on an obsessive basis), and is certainly harmful socially and culturally, I would hardly blame it for violence. That's just the usual government claptrap that loves blaming the big, bad movie industry for glorifying sex and violence, and would now attempt to dodge humanitarian obligations by blaming Moulin Rouge.

It all started out so well. Timothy Olyphant is the man of the law, the local townsfolk are enjoying the start of the baseball season, and everything is sunny. When one of their own hits the field with a gun, however, he has no choice but to shoot the guy and save the rest. And then more folks start acting strange, things get eerie, people die, the government flies in, and the fight for life begins. It's the classic horror setup.

Then there's a quick cut and the music starts with f minor. Softly but surely, the '80s song that was slowed down and made infamous through a montage of tears plays as people run through burning streets, as the military moves in, as people are strapped to gurneys, as they all fight to stay alive. Yes, it might be a "Mad World," but Gary Jules is not suited for it. In Donnie Darko, the song was beautiful, gut-wrenching, and perfect for the tone at hand.

Taking a cue from the song: I find it kinda funny that they decided to go with the recent hit rather than going back to the original. Why? It actually fits. The low, electronic notes that carry the Tears for Fears version are eerie, and if you watch this trailer for The Crazies over at Apple, and start the original song at roughly 1:40, it lines up. Suddenly the increasing chills of the beginning are made creepier. Even some of the action is perfectly synched.

The town fighting The Crazies might be a "Mad World," but there's no room for somber melancholia in a horror trailer -- especially when it's a song already made famous with a perfect cinematic fit.

Admittedly the news that Paramount has abandoned their remake of Paranormal Activity in favor of releasing an original film for a change is interesting news, but within the same Variety profile of Steven Schneider (one of their "10 Producers to Watch") baring that particular revelation is even cooler news. Oddly enough what has me all a flutter is not even buried deep within the article, it's in the opening sentence, "With "Paranormal Activity" readying to open via Paramount and a raft of projects poised at other venues -- including "The Colony" at Participant, "Sacred Prey" at Warner Bros. and "13: Game of Death" at Dimension -- Steven Schneider may become the dark genre's warlock of choice."

Wait a sec. "13: Game of Death" at Dimension"? Apparently I'm the only one who cares about the accidental announcement that a remake of the coolest genre movie to come out of Thailand in years is no longer just hypothetical. I know the rights to 13:GOD were purchased by the Weinsteins well over a year ago, but such behavior is not out of the norm (buying the remake rights to obscure foreign films is a morning ritual for those two). As expected, there has been zero visible movement towards making the film a reality until now. And considering one of Variety's "10 Producers to Watch For" is involved, I'd say it finally has a fighting chance to see the light of day.