I like the original Gambler better. The honest reason? Because the ending is ambiguous and grim. Neither movie is all that exceptional, nor are they excessively lousy. But, if you're going to build the house around a nihilist beating the drum of his own demise, screw it; let the house come down around him. 

I'm not really commenting on the end of the remake, I'm just saying the end of the original was better. And outside of Shakespeare versus Dostoyevsky, the ending is the only meaningful separation point between the two...

Read more after the jump! 

I feel as if I should begin this with a bit of a caveat: I genuinely do enjoy musicals. I love Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Cry Baby, A Nightmare Before Christmas, and The Blues Brothers.

As a narrative form, the musical is a great way to give us an insight into the motivations of a particular character. It provides us an inner monologue without having to contrive a reason for them to orate to another character, or force us into a voice over. The character is simply overwhelmed and breaks into song, giving us all the exposition we need. The musical form creates the context at the outset, and in and of itself answers the question of “Why?” We accept it because it is a musical.

That being said, I felt Into the Woods failed to tell a good story and was mired in its translation from stage to screen. Bogged down rather than enhanced by its narrative form, the film left me cold.

Into the Woods shows us a different story interwoven with traditional fairy tales. Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Bean Stalk and Rapunzel all tie into the new story of a baker and his wife. A witch has cursed the baker's house, declaring that no child shall ever be born within those walls. The witch gives the baker an out, and tells the couple that they can remove the curse if they bring the witch four items: a cape as red as blood, a cow as white as milk, hair as yellow as corn, and a slipper as pure as gold by midnight of the blue moon. It's essentially a new spin on old stories.

Unfortunately for the narrative of Into the Woods, this is not something new. In recent years there have been numerous times where the traditional fairy tale has been updated and modernized, told from a different angle, and/or “re-imagined,” (a phrase I particularly loathe.) Between Wicked, Maleficent, Once Upon a Time, and the new Hansel and Gretel, we have been given new angles on the villains of the old tales, a new world where they all co-exist in the same world, and a world where they are turned into action heroes. The new take on the old fairy tale is no longer something interesting and unique, it has become common place. Now I acknowledge that Into the Woods was originally performed in 1986 on Broadway, and at that time it may have been a little more unique. But by this time even if the audience hasn't read Bill Willingham's Fables, they have seen more than enough fairy tale re-treads.

Read more (there's even a wrestling reference) after the jump! 

On paper Wild sounds like it has the potential to be a predictable Lifetime made-for-TV movie. A woman goes on a journey of self-discovery and redemption, embarking on a hike alone on the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canad... ah... I'm already asleep. But like any good journey, what we actually take away from Wild is unexpected. 

Wild opens with Cheryl Strayed, played by Reese Witherspoon, at this point already hundreds of miles into her solo journey in the wilderness. As we take in a majestic establishing shot, we hear Cheryl — out of frame — rapidly breathing and moaning. Is she in pain? Ecstasy? And... she's ripping off a bloody big toenail. To illuminate the dark path that brought Cheryl to this point, Wild slides breezily between past and present and into Cheryl's psyche like a carefree hour-long hike on an autumn day. 

With no previous backpacking experience, Cheryl plods across desserts and snowy mountains with a hulking 60-pound backpack loaded with a small library's worth of literature and superfluous camping provisions. After quickly setting up camp on the first day a couple miles in, Cheryl repeats a bit of a poem by Adrienne Rich about Nobel Prize–winning radioactivity research pioneer Marie Curie. It's a line that serves as a good summary of the lesson Cheryl is traveling 1,100 miles to learn: "She died... denying her wounds came from the same source as her power."

Jurassic Park, The Newsroom and profanity after the jump...