Bollywood media firm Reliance Big Entertainment, which is run by Anil Ambani – the sixth richest man in the world, has announced that it will be making 10 Hollywood movies for one billion dollars. In order to do this, Reliance has signed deals with the production teams of the Hollywood stars Nicolas Cage, Jim Carrey, George Clooney, Tom Hanks and Brad Pitt.

However, it is unlikely these films will be traditional Bollywood titles. Rajesh Sawhney, who is the president of Reliance, said: “We want to make Hollywood movies that have a global audience. We are not inserting Bollywood into Hollywood just yet.” He also added that his team would be choosing films for their content, rather than their genre. He said: “I think Indian movies get stereotyped as all singing and dancing in the same way as Hollywood gets stereotyped for sex and violence. We are looking for good content regardless of genre.” Ultimately, Mr Sawnhey said that the company are hoping to make some huge films that will make them money. He said: “We are looking to make big-budget, live-action movies in Hollywood that make money for us.”

Hollywood has been looking for funding from Indian film producers for a while, as the American economy is struggling. In recent years, Disney, News Corporation and Sony have all made big-money deals with Bollywood companies, although none of the deals were as big as the Reliance one.

Mr Sawhney said that the deal signified the beginning of a long relationship between Bollywood and Hollywood. He said: “The aim is to look at 30 film scripts under this deal over the next two years, out of which 10 will go to screen. This is just the beginning of our relationship with Hollywood.”

Many film experts see this deal as a real marriage of two cultures. Komal Nahta, editor of Mumbai trade paper the Film Street Journal, labelled the deal as a “major” one. He said: “Reliance is making a major move in putting Hollywood and Bollywood together. The key will be whether you can make Indian movies that sell abroad and at the same time sell foreign stars in India.”

Many people believe that deals like this could teach Bollywood much about filmmaking. At present, the Indian film industry releases around 1,000 movies a year, but only makes about £1 billion annually. In comparison, Hollywood produces half this number, but has 10 times the sales. The reason that is often given for Bollywood’s relative lack of commercial success is that traditional Bollywood studios are generally family-run affairs that rely on star talent to carry a film, rather than good scripts.

It’s 1966 and the young people of Great Britain are less-than-happy with the domestic radio situation, which is almost all talk and news (with a little jazz thrown in for good measure). Into this breach come the offshore pirate radio stations, the most infamous of which is “Radio Rock,” a 24/7 rock-and-roll operation that saturates the airwaves from a ship anchored in international waters and boasts a listening audience north of 20 million. Radio Rock is the brainchild of Quentin (Bill Nighy) and features some of the best known disc jockeys, including an American known only as The Count (Philip Seymour Hoffman); the world-renowned Gavin (Rhys Ifans); Bob (Ralph Brown), the 3-6 a.m. guy whom almost no one has seen; and Simon (Chris O’Dowd), who’s convinced no one likes him. Into this setting comes Carl (Tom Sturridge). After being kicked out of school, Carl’s mom (Emma Thompson) sends him to spend some time on the Radio Rock ship under the watchful eye of his godfather, Quentin. Life aboard the ship is all sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll (although the sex only arrives once every two weeks when a boatload of women arrive for overnight stays). Carl, a virgin, is at something of a disadvantage when it comes to the opposite sex, but various members of the crew set out to help him remedy the situation. Meanwhile, on land, cabinet member Sir Alistair Dormandy (Kenneth Branagh), announces his determination to shut down Radio Rock. Since what they’re doing is breaking no current laws, he hires the unfortunately named Twatt (Jack Davenport) to find a loophole that he can turn into a noose.

For the most part, Pirate Radio, called The Boat that Rocked during its U.K. run, is a series of poorly connected vignettes about life aboard the ship during a time when the social views of the government were at odds with those of its younger citizens. As Dormandy and Twatt seek to stifle Radio Rock, we are shown a cross-section of British people enjoying the music in different settings. Some of the episodes work (such as the visit to the ship by Carl’s mother); others exhibit forced comedy that really isn’t funny (Carl’s attempts to lose his virginity, the “duel” between The Count and Gavin). The characters are mostly likable but none exhibits much depth. The best comedic elements derive from Kenneth Branagh’s satirization of ’60s stuffed shirt politicians. At times, it’s as if he’s channeling John Cleese in the way he sends them up. He also has some great lines about the role of government.

Ultimately, however, Pirate Radio is more about the music than it is about anything else. Hardly a scene goes by without at least one classic rock song being played. There are reportedly about 60 clips (ranging from a few bars to full singles) in the movie, which makes it a pretty comprehensive survey of the music of the era, with artists ranging as far and wide as Dusty Springfield, Herb Alpert, Cream, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Beach Boys, and The Moody Blues. Without such a rich and diverse soundtrack, there’s little doubt that Pirate Radio would have been considerably less endearing and enjoyable. Of the features on Richard Curtis’ resume (he wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral and Bridget Jones’ Diary and wrote and directed Love, Actually), this is arguably the least substantive.

Some of the marketing material is hyping the “based on a true story” aspect of the movie although, in fact, this was always intended to tell the tale of a fictional pirate radio boat. Some aspects are loosely based on historical events and some of the characters are composites of real people, but Pirate Radio should not be mistaken for anything other than a creation of a writer’s imagination. The distributors apparently would like us to believe these people actually existed and Radio Rock occupies an almost mythical position in recent British pop history.

Films with large ensemble casts rarely afford opportunities for individual standout performances, and this is no exception. Bill Nighy is amusing but hardly reaches the heights he scaled for his small role in Love, Actually. Philip Seymour Hoffman is very good in what may be his most limited non-cameo since Twister. Tom Sturridge, who is the closest Pirate Radio has to a lead, is a little on the limp side. Those who appreciate trivia will note that this is the first movie in which both Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson have both appeared since the dissolution of their marriage (although they do not share any scenes).

Two obvious cinematic references came to mind while I was watching Pirate Radio. The first, Pump up the Volume, also deals with issues of censorship and free speech over the public airwaves and, as is the case here, it sets up a radio pirate as the champion of a group of individuals whose voices and opinions are often ignored by those in power. The second and more unfortunate reference is Titanic. The scenes with a boat sinking in the North Sea are simply too familiar for the association not to be made.

One of the biggest complaints about the U.K. release of the film was that it’s too long and, even though the American version is shorter by 15 minutes, it still seems like there’s too little content for such a robust running time. Nevertheless, the music is great, the comedy provides occasional laughs, and there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the movie. Distilled to its essence, it represents a respectable diversion.

That title – The Men Who Stare at Goats – is, in and of itself, an indication that this movie is not directed squarely at mainstream multiplex-goers. It’s hard to imagine an army of 14-year old boys and their dates lining up to see this movie, which is designed with a more sophisticated audience in mind. The film is more than a little odd but it has fun with its offbeat premise and moves along breezily until it gets bogged down in the third act. (Watch out for the appearance of Kevin Spacey – that’s when the momentum starts to flag as a more direct focus on narrative undermines some of the wit and comedy.)

The Men Who Stare at Goats opens with the following caption: “More of this is true than you would believe.” But isn’t truth always said to be stranger than fiction? We are introduced to Ann Arbor journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor), who is looking for the story of his life; he wants to impress his wife, who has unceremoniously dumped him. His quest leads him to Kuwait, where he hopes to become embedded with a group of troops entering Iraq. There he meets Lyn Cassady (Clooney), an ex-Special Ops military officer who claims to have been part of the “New Earth Army,” a covert group of “psychic spies” who use their “Jedi mind powers” to influence others. Cassady agrees to take Wilton with him on a mission across the border. Along the way, he tells him about the New Earth Army’s history and its commanding officer, Bill Django (Jeff Bridges), who ran a very different kind of unit.

The first half of The Men Who Stare at Goats is superior to the second half. For about 45 minutes, the film is content to play with the absurdity of the concept of having a covert group of “psychic spies.” It also works brilliantly as a parody of the military and its rules and structure. Unfortunately, past the midpoint, the movie begins to pay more attention to plot and, when it does this, the humor erodes. The more The Men Who Stare at Goats focuses on developing and advancing the narrative, the less enjoyable it is because Cassady’s “mission” turns out to be rather uninteresting.

The director of The Men Who Stare at Goats is Grant Heslov. This is his feature debut behind the camera, but not his first opportunity to join forces with Clooney. He co-wrote (with Clooney) and produced Good Night and Good Luck and filled similar producing duties for Leatherheads. The two men clearly know each other and work well together, and it shows in the easy way this movie unfolds. Heslov is not performing without a net. Who better than Clooney to lend a helping hand – a man who has learned from Soderbergh and the Coens and directed three films in his own right (two of which he collaborated with Heslov)?

The movie contains one of the best in-jokes of recent times. The psychic spies go by a number of different names, among them the “remote viewers” and the “Jedis.” This allows for multiple references to Star Wars. Of course, it will be lost on no one in the audience that Ewan McGregor played none other than the young Obi-Wan in the prequel trilogy. So this creates a little amusement every time McGregor and Clooney discuss the Jedis and Jedi powers. McGregor provides us with this quote: “What’s a Jedi Warrior?” He then ends up pursuing the path of the Jedi in the end. It would be interesting to know whether Heslov and screenwriter Peter Straughan were aware of McGregor’s pending involvement when those lines were written. If they were, it was an amusing way to work in one of the actor’s most (in)famous roles. If they weren’t, it was a case of an eyebrow-raising coincidence.

Fans of The Big Lebowski, which has achieved a major cult status since its theatrical release, will note similarities between Bill Django and the “The Dude” of the earlier film. Both are played by Jeff Bridges, who has apparently drawn from the same wellspring of inspiration for these laid-back, New Age-y parts.

The Men Who Stare at Goats is enjoyable to watch “in the moment,” but it doesn’t leave a powerful or lasting impact, at least insofar as the comedic elements are concerned. (Re-watching it a second time after initially seeing it a month earlier at the Toronto Film Festival, I was surprised how fresh the humor was – mainly because I didn’t remember most of the jokes.) As entertaining as the production is, however, the fact that it contains a kernel of truth reminds us of one damning truth: This is the kind of thing that American tax dollars are being spent on. The Men Who Stare at Goats is a comedy, and I laughed quite a few times while watching it, but that sobering reality almost makes me want to cry.

When it comes to Christmas stories, none is more ubiquitous than A Christmas Carol, which has been adapted in just about every imaginable permutation. The two most beloved are arguably the 1951 version starring Alistair Sim and the 1984 made-for-TV one with George C. Scott. According to IMDb, the first time A Christmas Carol reached the screen was in 1901. Since then, there have been countless “straight” editions, a musical with Albert Finney (1970’s Scrooge), a parody with Bill Murray (1988’s Scrooged), and even a loose romantic comedy adaptation earlier this year (Ghosts of Girlfriends Past). Patrick Stewart has done a fabulous one-man stage show. The Muppets have gotten into the act, as have Mickey Mouse, Mister Magoo, and The Flintstones. And dozens of TV shows have used A Christmas Carol as the skeleton for a seasonal episode. So, although Robert Zemeckis’ use of motion capture may be the first to apply this technique to Scrooge and company, he has entered a very, very crowded field.

For anyone who improbably doesn’t know the story, here it is in a nutshell: Money lender Ebenezer Scrooge (Jim Carrey) is the most miserly of skinflints – he complains about giving his clerk, Bob Cratchit (Gary Oldman), a paid day off for Christmas. When it comes to celebrating the holiday, his one-word refrain, spoken to his nephew, Fred (Colin Firth), say it all: Humbug! One Christmas Eve, however, he receives four supernatural visitors whose goal is to affect a fundamental change in Scrooge. The first ghost is that of his old business partner, Jacob Marley (Oldman), now seven years dead. He arrives weighed down by the chains forged through long years of coldness and avarice. Next to arrive is the Ghost of Christmas Past (Carrey), who takes Scrooge on a tour of the Christmases of his youth. The Ghost of Christmas Present (Carrey) allows Scrooge to glimpse how Fred and Bob Cratchit are spending their day tomorrow. And The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, a voiceless specter, points a finger at a lonely tombstone in a bleak cemetery.

This is Zemeckis’ third motion capture animated film, and it tops what he has previously achieved with Polar Express and Beowulf. It’s available in 3-D, but even in 2-D, it’s easy to see that a lot of stuff is rushing by and being tossed at the audience. The figures in A Christmas Carol look almost real – pretty much on par with those I saw last weekend in a new PS3 game, Uncharted 2, which once again reminds me of the narrowing gap between high-end video games and animated movies. The voice work is uniformly excellent, with Jim Carrey and Gary Oldman essaying a variety of roles, and Bob Hoskins, Robin Wright Penn, Colin Firth, and Cary Elwes lending not only their vocal stylings to their parts but their physical likenesses as well. The design of Victorian London is masterful. During the opening credits, I felt like I was undergoing an aerial tour of the long-ago city. Of all the great A Christmas Carols, this one may be the most visually stunning.

The production lacks a certain heart, however. It hits all the notes but, despite playing them with technical proficiency, there’s a lack of emotion. I didn’t care about Scrooge’s transformation in this version the way I have in some of the others. Perhaps it’s because things are a little rushed. Or perhaps because there are some weird interludes, like the sequence when a miniature Scrooge, sounding like Alvin the Chipmunk, is involved in an action chase. I found myself groping for my PS3 controller until I remembered that this was a movie, not a video game. Maybe this sort of thing is necessary to keep younger children from becoming restless during what is essentially a character-based story. Then again, there are enough disturbing images that it’s questionable whether any child under 10 should be taken to see A Christmas Carol in the first place. This is as “hard” as a PG rating can get.

Alan Silvestri’s music merits a mention; it’s possibly the most “Christmasy” score I can remember, incorporating cues from about a dozen popular Christmas carols (in particular, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, “Joy to the World”, and “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”) with his own seasonally appropriate compositions. None of the tunes are anachronistic, so they fit with the setting and represent an effective complement to the film’s impeccable visuals.

In the ever-expanding pantheon of adaptations of Dickens’ beloved story, Zemeckis’ A Christmas Carol is the most technically adept and probably the most sumptuous, but it’s not the most engrossing or endearing. It replaces charm and depth with spectacle and bling. It’s far from essential but it’s also not unwelcome, especially at this time of the year when an accomplished version of A Christmas Carol is preferable a half-baked new holiday story. There’s something to be said for the power of a classic, even if it has been given an imperfect makeover.

Reitman brings the same mixture of comedy and drama to this movie that he brought to Juno. There’s some funny, laugh-out-loud material here, but the characters and their situations are well-developed. None of the three principals ever veer in the direction of caricature and Clooney is especially convincing as the lead. Playing a role 180 degrees opposite to the one he essays in The Men Who Stare at Goats, Clooney reminds us why he is among this generation’s most consistent and reliable actors.

It helps immeasurably that Clooney’s supporting female duo is in top form. Vera Farmiga, who, not unlike Tilda Swinton, has the uncanny ability be entirely credible as a sultry siren or a frumpy housewife, provides Clooney’s perfect foil. She’s in “upscale” mode here; their verbal jousts are memorable and the sexual chemistry between them sizzles. No less impressive is Anna Kendrick, whose performance as the ingénue getting some hard life lessons allows us to forgive her appearing in the Twilight series. She’s easily dismissed in those; here, she shows that she has acting chops and knows what to do with them.

Clooney plays corporate layoff officer Ryan Bingham, a man whose most salient quality is his impermanence. He spends his days traveling from city-to-city and, for a fee, he delivers news of layoffs to soon-to-be-departed employees. He lives his life in hotels, airplanes, and airports, saying “All the things you hate about flying are warm reminders I’m home.” In the past year, he has spent 322 days on the road and 43 “miserable” days in the one-bedroom unit he rents in Omaha. He has no time for relationships or possessions, and his one goal in life is to collect 10,000,000 miles so he can become the seventh member of that oh-so-rare club.

Two events add chaos to Ryan’s ordered existence. The first is a chance meeting with fellow traveler Alex (Vera Farmiga), who expresses herself this way: “Think of me as yourself, only with a vagina.” In Alex, Ryan finds someone with whom he might actually be able to develop a semi-normal relationship, even if it is predominantly in hotels and airports. Meanwhile, at home base, Ryan’s boss, Craig Gregory (Jason Bateman), has decided to implement a radical new strategy proposed by new hire Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick) – using teleconference technology to allow remote layoffs. Determined to prove to her that this is not the way to go, Ryan brings Natalie on the road with him with unexpected results.

Up in the Air is one of the best movies to deal with the inhumanity of the way corporations cut work forces. The parody is razor-sharp and unflinching. Reitman nails his targets one-by-one and drives home each spike with resolute force. Ryan represents a fascinating specimen – a product of modern technology and today’s culture – whose goal is almost the exact opposite of the “American dream.” He doesn’t want the house, the wife, or the children. He is almost estranged from his two sisters. And his relationships consist of one-night stands in airport hotels. He’s a master at what he does yet, because of the way Clooney plays him, we sympathize with this guy, even though he thrives on the misery of others. All of the charisma and intelligence and wit almost make his lifestyle seem bizarrely desirable until those moments when the curtain is peeled back and we see the chilly loneliness that resides within Ryan’s cupboard.

At times, Up in the Air looks and feels a little like a romantic comedy, but that’s illusory. Ryan’s relationship with Alex is a secondary plot – a way to illustrate things about him and to provide some tightly-scripted dialogue. (There is a brilliant sequence in which Alex and Natalie detail their very different expectations of the ideal mate.) The movie earns its ending; it may come as a surprise to some viewers, but it is foreshadowed and makes perfect sense in hindsight. Up in the Air never cheats and delivers an almost perfect mix of humor, satire, and underplayed drama.

(By the way, the first trailer for Up in the Air is excellent. It’s extremely well put together and gives a sense of what the film is about without giving away specific plot elements. The second trailer is more conventional and not nearly as impressive. I have linked to the preferred one below – hopefully, the link stays active.)

The film starts out juicily enough. Victoria (Emily Blunt) is a year shy of her majority and her mother, the Duchess of Kent (Miranda Richardson), and the head of her household, Sir John Conroy (Mark Strong), are already plotting how to control the youthful monarch once she ascends to the throne upon the death of King William (Jim Broadbent). They want her to sign papers making them regents, but she refuses. They continue to scheme but at this point the movie loses interest in them. They show up from time-to-time during the rest of the film but in marginalized roles. The story shifts to the romance between Victoria and Prince Albert (Rupert Friend), who has been sent from Germany by his uncle to gain influence over the young soon-to-be queen. Meanwhile, on the home front, Victoria has fallen under the spell of Lord Melbourne (Paul Bettany), the Prime Minister, who wants to shape her opinions and use her as a political trump card.

Historically, The Young Victoria is reasonably accurate, although its portrayal of King Leopold of Belgium (Thomas Kretschmann), Victoria’s uncle and one of her principal advisors, is in a negative light. The film covers only the period from 1836 (a year before she became queen) until 1841 with a couple of brief flash-forwards at the end. As the title implies, it is not a comprehensive look at Victoria’s reign. A more dramatically compelling film about the queen, which chronicles her later years, is 1997’s Mrs. Brown. A better rendition of the segment of Victoria’s life covered in this movie can be found in the 2001 TV mini-series, Victoria & Albert, which is available on DVD.

The most fascinating elements of films about rulers relate to the behind-the-scenes politicking, backstabbing, and influence peddling. There’s plenty of that going on in The Young Victoria – Conroy’s failed attempt to strong-arm his future liege into making him a regent or personal secretary, Melbourne establishing “control” over her, and Albert’s shaking off the leash placed upon him by Leopold. None of the various plots, however, are strongly developed and the screenplay, credited to Julian Fellowes (who has written a number of classic adaptations for British TV), keeps them mostly in the background. Those who enjoy movies about royalty for the delight of seeing the monarch outwit and overmatch his/her opponents will find little to appreciate in The Young Victoria.

The romance between Victoria and Albert is intended to be the film’s emotional centerpiece, but it comes across as tepid. There’s not much of a spark between Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend. The film’s attempts to spice up their sex life (to the extent that anything can be considered to be “spiced up” in a PG-rated movie) raises an eyebrow when one considers that Victoria’s lasting legacy may have been her strict code of morality. Ultimately, one almost feels more affection from Victoria for her pet spaniel than for Albert.

Emily Blunt, normally known for fiery performances (as in My Summer of Love and The Devil Wears Prada), is surprisingly bland here, never really bringing Victoria to life. Her task isn’t made easier by an equal lack of animation evident in Friend’s work. Paul Bettany is solid but his role is secondary. The same can be said of Miranda Richardson. Mark Strong has the makings of a good villain but, after his early attempts to force Victoria into signing a regency agreement, he disappears into the background. (He gets a chance to be a more substantive bad guy in Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes.) Jim Broadbent is in fine form, but he’s in so little of the film (about three scenes before his character dies) that his participation is easily forgotten.

As is almost always the case with British period pieces, The Young Victoria is a visual treat. The coronation scene, with its colorful palette and rousing rendition of “Zadok the Priest,” offers a mesmerizing cinematic moment. Vallée displays an excellent eye for the time period if not for the characters inhabiting his drama. (There are also instances in which the dialogue sounds jarringly modern.) For those who are students of the British monarchy, the film represents a curiosity – a chance to see how a group of filmmakers have chosen to represent this phase of history on the screen. For the average movie-goer, however, the film lacks the verve necessary to make the tale engrossing in the way Elizabeth did. (To be fair, the 1500s make for more rousing cinema than the 1800s.) The result is a well-mounted production that comes across as a little dull, rambling, and undercooked.