Ill-Informed Gadfly

Among the many astonishing sequences in “Oceans,” several got me thinking about military history. A school of sardines endures its own Pearl Harbor, getting dive-bombed by kamikaze birds and swallowed whole by dolphins, sharks and whales. Newly hatched sea turtles are massacred from above, Omaha Beach-style, during their sun-baked journey from sand to surf. And in the strangest scene, thousands of spider crabs re-enact the battle of Agincourt, clashing like armored knights in close-quarter combat. I wish we got to find out why the crabs fight each other, but “Oceans” is merely an introduction to weird and wonderful marine life, not an advanced course. This French-made documentary begins with a contrived image of a boy staring out to sea, and it regards the creatures therein with childlike wonder. Even a kid-friendly movie could stand to be more honest about the damage humans are doing to the seas. Overfishing, pollution and climate change are mentioned briefly, then followed immediately with bromides about the resilience of marine life or the growing awareness of the need to protect our waters. The movie aims to soothe and reassure, not to inform or provoke. The filmmakers don’t clutter up their images with titles on the screen, leaving narrator Pierce Brosnan to provide all the factual information. It’s a reasonable aesthetic choice, but a few signposts would be helpful. Eventually “Oceans” gets a bit repetitious as it hopscotches around the globe, showing off the fantastic creatures of the deep. But you’ll still spend plenty of time with your mouth agape.

“The Losers” is nothing special and, really, with a title like that, how could it be? This mildly anticipated comic-book adaptation is likely only to satisfy devoted fans — and perhaps not even them. It wants to be some kind of jaunty, stylized romp, yet it’s relentlessly violent and frequently maudlin. Sylvain White directs in a generic Tarantino-meets-Tony Scott style and dials back the gore just enough to get a PG-13 rating. He’s not incompetent — he stages a few moments of pleasing action. But he has little control of tone, and he’s stuck with an embarrassing screenplay. Peter Berg and James Vanderbilt garnish their wisp of a story with tired, bland dialogue. Characters utter things like “am-scray” and “get the hell out of Dodge” like they’re clever coinages and not musty cliches. “The Losers” of the title are five special-ops veterans who get double-crossed and left for dead in the Bolivian jungle. They’re led by Jeffrey Dean Morgan, a tiresome brute who struts around like he’s some kind of macho icon, as he did in “Watchmen.” The rest of the cast is more talented, if not always well-used. Zoe Saldana enlivens a formulaic tough-girl role with her irrepressible charisma. Pretty boy Chris Evans is cast against type as a goofball computer whiz who strikes out with the ladies, but he’s still an underrated actor who brings energy and commitment to the screen. Finally, the typically humorless Jason Patric has fun playing a fey, dandyish sociopath. It’s ironic that Patric, of all people, would understand that “The Losers” should be an action comedy and not just an assemblage of halfhearted mayhem.

If you pay attention to the Swedish-language credits of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” you may suspect that the title has been changed for English-speaking audiences. Indeed, the actual title translates as “Men Who Hate Women.” Sure, it’s not as evocative, but moviegoers unfamiliar with Stieg Larsson’s mega-selling novel would at least have an inkling of what they’re in for. The first hour alone features three graphic rapes, one of which we’re supposed to be OK with because it’s a rapist getting raped by his former victim. Larsson’s 600-page book is said to expose the corruption and misogyny of contemporary Sweden. But the lugubrious two-and-a-half-hour movie version is nothing but cheap exploitation wrapped in superficial female empowerment. It appeals only to our basest desires for revenge and vigilantism. The book may be a page-turner, but “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” has little verve on screen. The title character is an antisocial computer hacker. It takes 75 minutes for her to pair up with her co-protagonist, a disgraced journalist who’s investigating the 40-year-old disappearance of a teenage girl. There ought to be some amusing friction between our two heroes, but neither develops much of a personality. They are slaves to the plot, which devolves into a humorless, self-important “CSI” episode. “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” finally generates a chuckle with a moment of unintentional pop-cultural synergy, when an enraged Swedish woman swings a golf club at a sexual deviant. Tiger Woods’ wife — now there’s someone who might enjoy this ghastly movie.

When Pixar makes an animated movie, it gives a director the freedom to achieve his lyrical vision. When DreamWorks makes an animated movie, it conducts a marketing survey, then follows it with lockstep precision. The new DreamWorks production “How to Train Your Dragon” is taut and entertaining, sure to enthrall 7-to-12-year-olds and give everyone else value for their dollar. But like the “Shrek” series, it’s also soulless and cynical, written and directed not only on computers but, as far as I can tell, by them. No doubt the frequent violence was a calculated move, designed to satiate bloodthirsty older kids. The central idea is a lowbrow crowd-pleaser: that dragons are nothing more than scaly dogs that haven’t been housebroken and bark and bite out of fear. Sure, they can lay waste to a village with a sneeze, but they’d rather bat their big green eyes and melt your heart. Only a bottom-line-oriented studio would make a movie about Vikings where the adults talk in broad Scottish brogues and the kids sound like American teenagers. The hero is a scrawny misfit with Daddy issues and an exactingly shaggy $70 haircut. His love interest is tough and athletic and accessorizes like a 9th-century Hannah Montana. “How to Train Your Dragon” was conceived and shot entirely in digital 3D, making it a good primer for the way movies are going to look for the next 10 years. But because it’s so beholden to the whims of the marketplace, it will be hopelessly dated a decade from now, while movies like “WALL-E” and “Up” remain justifiably beloved.

“Greenberg” is another nearly great movie from writer-director Noah Baumbach, who also brushed against greatness with “The Squid and the Whale.” Among observational, naturalistic storytellers, Baumbach has few equals, and he’s evolved into a quietly efficient manipulator of image and sound. While his dialogue has a slightly affected eloquence, the behavior he chronicles is consistently plausible. That’s in part because he’s so comfortable in his chosen milieu: among the moneyed, intellectual elite. But that limited worldview may be what holds him back. He makes movies for the same niche his characters occupy, and it’s hard to imagine him pulling off a risky or trenchant work of art. Ben Stiller stars as Roger Greenberg, a neurotic musician-turned-carpenter who reconnects edgily with old friends while housesitting for his brother in Los Angeles. It’s a darker, more nuanced riff on the mortified persona that made Stiller an unlikely romantic lead. Greta Gerwig, a veteran of the microbudget film movement known as mumblecore, mumbles appealingly as Roger’s awkward love interest. The true revelation in the cast is Rhys Ifans, the gangly Welsh actor who’s often cast as zany eccentrics. As Roger’s longtime friend, he’s beautifully guarded: a bit sad, a bit proud, empathetic but resentful. It’s a top-notch performance from an actor who rarely gets such opportunities, but it’s not showy, a testament to Baumbach’s control. Even if a masterpiece eludes him, “Greenberg” solidifies Baumbach as a filmmaker who demands the attention of serious movie lovers.