More quickie reviews, cooled from weeks of neglect:

The simple appeal of the first Hellboy can be found in its paradoxical protagonist: a demon with a gentle spirit who fights on behalf of the good guys. In Hellboy II: The Golden Army, director Guillermo del Toro does almost nothing with this conceit, showing little interest in the interiority of its characters while fanning his obsession with elaborately designed monsters. Like his overrated Pan’s Labyrinth (whose fairy tale atmosphere was patronizing), there is a lot to distract the eye, but little to engage the head or heart. Briefly, fleetingly, the film will seduce you with its majestically dark vision of a supernatural underworld, but this vision is undermined by the silly comic book plotting, which basically comes down to a lot of martial arts-style skirmishing. Still recommended for the memorable appearance of a legless Irish troll, a butt-ugly creation that finds the right balance between humor and terror.

Tell No One is a tricky thriller from France, drawing its scenario from an American suspense novel, about a doctor who learns, eight years after losing his wife to a serial killer, that his wife may in fact be alive and well and nearer than he thinks. Under the patient hand of director Guillaume Canet, the film is evenly paced, meticulous, engrossing, and maintains a mood both suspenseful and sensual (or “suspensual,” as a friend of mine might say). As the doctor and husband, Francois Cluzet gives an intensely focused performance—his muted anguish and steely determination is so deeply felt that it nearly atones for the incredible convolutions that come to light during the final scenes. Still and all, the last few shots are genuinely moving—the benefit of all the patient craftsmanship.

Meet Dave is a sugary comedy for the young and/or undemanding, concerning a man-sized extraterrestrial robot in the shape of Eddie Murphy, and the tiny crew inside the robot, including a doggedly courageous captain (Murphy again) determined to save his dying planet. More silly than funny, the film doesn’t assault the senses or upset the stomach like Norbit—it’s merely pleasantly mediocre.

I’m a bit relieved to report that The Dark Knight no longer occupies the #1 spot on IMDb’s chart of the greatest films ever made (it currently rests at #3, between The Godfather and The Godfather Part II). While Batman Begins marked vigorous steps toward realism and dramatic heft within the superhero genre, The Dark Knight overdoses on terrorist spectacle and moral ambiguity. This makes it great for post-movie discussion but agony to sit through (can a film suffer from too much gravitas?). A gripping opening scene depicts a bank robbery in which the participants are whittled down like the Ten Little Indians from the famous nursery rhyme, but the remainder of the film is surprisingly talky (although perhaps not “surprisingly,” considering Nolan’s penchant for verbiage). The scenes with the Joker are good for a disgusting, creepy thrill (Ledger’s whole hog performance is galvanizing), and there’s at least one altercation between him and the caped crusader, photographed from low angles for maximum impact, in an emptied city street that gets the adrenaline pumping. On the whole, though, a step backward for the Batman franchise. Its orgiastic reception by the culture at large speaks less of the film’s quality than of the impressionability of the moviegoing public.