3.5 stars

Starring: Alden Ehrenreich, Alice Englert, Jeremy Irons, Viola Davis, Emma Thompson, Emmy Rossum, Thomas Mann

Rating: PG-13, for carnal behavior, violence and occasional profanity

Popular teen-lit series makes a thoroughly absorbing jump to the big screen

By Derrick Bang
Enterprise film critic

Fantasy fans mourning the departure of the Harry Potter and “Twilight” series will find plenty to enjoy in director/scripter Richard LaGravenese’s lush, well-mounted adaptation of “Beautiful Creatures,” the first novel in Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl’s “Caster Chronicles” tetralogy.

The contemporary Southern Gothic setting is irresistible, right from the start, and production designer Richard Sherman has a ball with Ravenwood Manor, the mysterious estate that looms at the fringes of this small South Carolina town. The atmosphere borrows slightly from both Stephenie Meyer (“Twilight”) and Charlaine Harris (the Sookie Stackhouse novels that led to HBO’s “True Blood”), but you’ll also detect elements of “Dark Shadows” and “The Addams Family.”

Along with, I’m delighted to report, a fairly strong echo of Ray Bradbury’s various tales of the supernatural Elliot family, introduced in the 1945 short story “The Traveler” and, ultimately, earning a novel, “From the Dust Returned,” in 2001.

Quite a delectable collection of ingredients.

As we’re informed by 17-year-old Ethan Wate (Alden Ehrenreich), his hometown of Gatlin never quite made it to the 21st century, and many of the town’s small-minded, Bible-quoting citizens seem unwilling to embrace the modern world.

Ethan endears himself to us immediately, thanks to his fondness for reading everything on the community’s copious banned books list. The film begins at the advent of a new school year, with Ethan plainly having outgrown the holier-than-thou conceit of former girlfriend Emily (Zoey Deutch). He’s much more intrigued by new student Lena Duchannes (Alice Englert), whose presence immediately scandalizes Emily and her equally stuck-up, self-righteous best friend Savannah (Tiffany Boone).

Because, as everybody knows, Lena lives in Ravenwood Manor.

Matters aren’t helped by freakish lightning strikes and other strange events that seem to have coincided with Lena’s arrival … at least, that’s the way the sanctimonious Mrs. Lincoln (Emma Thompson) sees it. She demands that Lena be expelled from school during a town meeting that turns livelier with the unexpected arrival of the reclusive Macon Ravenwood (Jeremy Irons).

Macon points out, gently but firmly — with every word weighted by Irons’ marvelously sweet but threatening gaze — that he owns a good portion of Gatlin. Incur his wrath by expelling his niece, and, why, who knows how he might respond.

Check and mate. Much to Mrs. Lincoln’s simmering fury.

In truth, though, there is something unusual about Lena, as Ethan knows better than anybody. He has suffered the same recurring dream for months, about a dark-haired young woman whose face never quite reveals itself, and a Civil War battlefield where a young soldier is shot while trying to reach his own beloved.

Lena, Ethan now realizes, is — literally — the dark-haired girl of his dreams.

LaGravenese takes his time introducing the primary players and establishing all these details. He’s an elegant, intelligent writer with a flair for piquant dialogue laced with subtle connotations: just right for this material. We’ve enjoyed his work on films as diverse as “A Little Princess,” “The Bridges of Madison County,” “The Horse Whisperer” and “The Fisher King,” the latter bringing him a well-deserved Academy Award nomination.

Macon does his best to keep his niece away from Ethan, starting with a casual conversation that turns disturbingly grim (a scene that Ehrenreich plays perfectly). But young love is not to be denied, mostly because Lena is just as captivated by Ethan, as he is with her.

Eventually, then, Ethan meets more members of Lena’s extended family: the prim Gramma (Eileen Atkins) and often flustered Aunt Del (Margo Martindale), and the quiet cousin Larkin (Kyle Gallner).

And cousin Ridley (Emmy Rossum). Particularly Ridley, a voluptuous free spirit with a fondness for scanty clothing and decidedly malignant behavior.

At which point, we and Ethan learn the truth: Lena and her clan are “casters,” a term they prefer to the pejorative label of “witch.” All casters have powers, particularly the women, who face a “claiming” on their 16th birthday: the point at which they’re “taken” either by Light or Dark forces.

Ridley, once a sweet girl and Lena’s best friend, was claimed by the Dark; she became a siren, doomed — and delighted — to toy with men of any age. The Dark forces are ruled by Sarafine, an unseen (but hovering) figure of pure wickedness who hopes that Lena, as well, will embrace evil upon her upcoming 16th birthday.

Quite a pickle. And rather a lot for a small-town boy to absorb.

But Ethan’s up for the challenge, and not merely because he has grown to adore Lena. Ehrenreich gives the young man just the right blend of intelligence, spunk and mule-stubborn determination; he’s a captivating young hero, even though he tends to be acted upon, rather than act. He is, after all, the helpless mortal in this heady brew, much like frustrated young Timothy, the only normal member of Bradbury’s Elliot family.

We’re charmed both by Ehrenreich’s broad smile and affable behavior, and by the sly, tart dialogue LaGravenese grants him, both as narrator and during exchanges with all these strange people.

Englert’s Lena is equally captivating: initially aloof, having learned to be wary of “normals,” and then every inch the winsome young woman won over by Ethan’s unwavering pursuit. Englert is far more interesting and engaging, and has a more vibrant presence, than Kristen Stewart’s dull, pouty Bella Swan in the “Twilight” films.

Irons lends these proceedings an aristocratic flair as the rather complicated Macon, a character we can’t nail down for quite a while; Irons handles that duality sublimely. And Rossum is a hoot as the vampish Ridley, who relishes her own depravity and then worries us — big time — when her attentions turn to Ethan’s best friend, Link (Thomas Mann) … who happens to be Mrs. Lincoln’s son.

Viola Davis delivers another of her rich, dignified performances as Amma, the town librarian and a longtime friend of Ethan’s family, who has her own unexpected place in these events.

The film is pretty much stolen, though, by Emma Thompson. She’s spot-on as the sort of intrusive, self-righteous busybody who fancies herself the town’s unofficial Christian soul: a meddling do-gooder convinced that she knows what’s best for everybody. But Thompson really goes to town once things kick into gear, thanks to a plot twist I’d rather not reveal here. Suffice to say, Thompson truly knows how to deliver a line. All her lines.

“Beautiful Redemption,” Garcia and Stohl’s fourth and final (?) book in the series, was just released in October. LaGravenese has done a lovely job with this adaptation of the first book, and all the elements certainly are in place for an ongoing series. The question is whether the fantasy faithful will embrace this cinematic interpretation, where so many other efforts — “The Golden Compass” and “The Lightning Thief” come to mind — have perished after only one film.

Fingers crossed, then … because I hope to see more of Ethan and Lena on the big screen.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at http://derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

‘Wreck-It Ralph’

Four stars

Starring (voices): John C. Reilly, Sarah Silverman, Jane Lynch, Jack McBrayer, Alan Tudyk, Mindy Kaling

Rating: PG, for kid-level rude humor and mild action/violence

I haven’t had this much fun since 1988’s “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” blended classic Disney and Warner Bros. cartoon characters in a similarly madcap adventure.

“Wreck-It Ralph,” like numerous fantasies before it, concerns the activities of playthings after pesky humans have gone to bed (or otherwise departed the scene). Pixar owns this sub-genre most recently, with its “Toy Story” franchise, but the concept is much older, dating back to Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Ballet” and Victor Herbert’s 1903 musical, “Babes in Toyland.” Both have been staged and filmed many, many times.

To my knowledge, “Wreck-It Ralph” is the first such storyline set in the world of arcade gaming. It boasts a sharp script by Jennifer Lee and Phil Johnston, the latter responsible for writing last year’s delightful “Cedar Rapids.” Most crucially — and as is the case with the “Toy Story” films — “Wreck-It Ralph” takes place in a colorful world that is laden with goofy characters, but includes plenty of droll and clever dialogue.

The result: It will delight both youngsters and their parents, and the latter also will recognize all sorts of inside jokes and familiar references.

The action unfolds at Litwak’s Family Fun Center & Arcade, where kids reserve next-play status by lining up their quarters. Game choices include everything from the cutesy-poo, animé-flavored Sugar Rush, where players race adorable girl avatars through a track bordered by gumdrops, cotton candy and all manner of sweet stuff; to the hyper-realistic, first-person shooter thrills of Hero’s Duty, a nightmarish story line right out of “Starship Troopers,” where a combat platoon battles scary cy-bugs that threaten to annihilate the universe.

Somewhere in between is the retro appeal of Fix-It Felix Jr., a 1980s game mildly reminiscent of Nintendo’s original Mario Bros. (whose characters, perhaps tellingly, are not in this film). The game’s villain, Wreck-It Ralph, is a 643-pound man monster who is determined to destroy the apartment building that the game’s Nicelanders call home. Players (in our real world) control plucky little Felix, whose magic hammer repairs all the damage. Successfully completing the level means that Ralph gets tossed into a nearby mud puddle.

Unhappily, Ralph (voiced by John C. Reilly) is a sensitive soul, and has grown tired of always being the bad guy, and of living his off-duty hours alone in a brick pile. He even joins a support group, Bad-Anon, where familiar villains from various games (Street Fighter, Altered Beasts) share their tales in sessions hosted by Clyde, the orange ghost from Pac-Man.

The gimmick here is that — after hours, when the arcade is closed — these characters both enjoy the companionship of their regular colleagues, and can visit other games via the central power strip hub known as Game Central Station. The latter also has become the sole refuge of homeless characters, such as the weird little critters from Q*bert, whose games have been unplugged.

With his uncomplicated approach to life — when in doubt, break stuff — Ralph decides that earning a game medal would make him a more desirable after-hours guest with the Nicelanders. He therefore pays a visit to Hero’s Duty, and immediately runs afoul of Sgt. Tamora Jean Calhoun (Jane Lynch), the baddest space marine in all of gamedom. One klutzy skirmish later, Ralph crash-lands a hijacked spaceship into the frosting-laden, 1990s-style cart-racing realm of Sugar Rush.

Now stuck in a realm where everything is too soft to be pulverized, Ralph runs into scrappy Vanellope von Schweetz (Sarah Silverman), a pixelating programming “mistake” who often fuzzes out in an excited electronic glitch. Like Ralph, Vanellope is a misfit who desperately wants to be accepted by the other characters in her game; alas, this realm’s King Candy (Alan Tudyk, doing a perfect imitation of the long-gone Ed Wynn) and rival racer Taffyta Muttonfudge (Mindy Kaling) want nothing to do with her.

All this chaos is well orchestrated by director Rich Moore, a longtime veteran of TV’s “The Simpsons” and “Futurama.” Animation is all about timing, and Moore and editor William J. Caparella deftly alter their game, depending on setting. Time spent in Hero’s Duty has the frantic, scary intensity of a horror film, while events in Sugar Rush display the soft edges of Smurf and Care Bear cartoons … a sickly sweet atmosphere that Vanellope mercilessly lampoons, in Silverman’s hilariously snarky tones.

Indeed, the voice talent is sensational throughout. Silverman is simply perfect as the impish little Vanellope, but Lynch blows everybody off the screen. Lee and Johnston give Sgt. Calhoun the same sort of waspishly caustic dialogue that has made her such a standout on TV’s “Glee,” and the fit is perfect; we expect a bug-hunting soldier to behave in such hard-bitten fashion.

Reilly is appropriately woeful as the forever put-upon Ralph. Although most frequently known for slapstick comic turns, we must remember that Reilly snagged a well-earned Academy Award nomination as the cuckolded Amos Hart in “Chicago.” That character’s solo lament, “Mr. Cellophane,” could apply equally to poor Ralph here; Reilly delivers just the right blend of angst, wounded pride and — eventually — heroic determination.

Jack McBrayer, well known as NBC page Kenneth on TV’s “30 Rock,” is a stitch as Ralph’s goody-two-shoes nemesis, Fix-It Felix. As is the case with Kenneth on “30 Rock,” McBrayer gives Felix an overstated wholesomeness that never wavers, no matter what the danger (or insult).

The animation style cleverly varies, depending on game and activity. During arcade hours, Ralph, Felix and the Nicelanders are depicted with the primitive, 8-bit pixelation typical of 1980s games; during down time, their animated selves are more rounded and dimensional … but the Nicelanders still walk with jerky staccato movements and turn at perfect 90-degree angles.

The sight gags and one-liners frequently are to die for. Pretty much everything Lynch says is side-splitting, but you’ll also laugh over quick bits such as King Candy’s Oreo cookie guards, who assemble outside their castle in a scene lifted right out of 1939’s “The Wizard of Oz,” complete with ominous chanting (albeit with slightly different words!).

Veteran gamers also will chuckle when King Candy enters a secret vault by hitting a button sequence well remembered as the infamous “Konami code” that gave players power-ups and unlimited lives in all sorts of video games.

And, needless to say, it’s fun to see familiar characters such as Sonic the Hedgehog, Frogger, Dig Dug, Peter Pepper, Root Beer Tapper and cute li’l Q*Bert, the latter able to “talk” only in punctuation marks.

Composer Henry Jackman wraps everything up with a dynamic orchestral score that riffs many of the classic sounds and themes from much-loved arcade games.

The smart script, well-cast vocal talent and rich animation notwithstanding, “Wreck-It Ralph” gets most of its appeal from the excellent use of its clever premise. In that respect, it follows the long-successful Pixar model, and no surprise: John Lasseter serves here as executive producer.

Like a great arcade game, “Wreck-It Ralph” will encourage repeat business; I predict a long and happy run, both in theaters and (later) in home libraries.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

“Ruby Sparks”

Four stars

Starring: Paul Dano, Zoe Kazan, Chris Messina, Annette Bening, Antonio Banderas, Steve Coogan, Elliot Gould, Alia Shawkat

Fresh, provocative concepts are one of cinema’s great treasures: unexpected delights — often in quiet, unassuming packages — that catch our fancy because they deserve to.

They’re usually script-driven, sometimes a debut screenplay by a young actor flying beneath the radar … but not for long. Think of Sylvester Stallone, stubbornly shepherding 1976’s “Rocky” to the big screen as a starring vehicle for himself. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, and 1997’s “Good Will Hunting.” Sofia Coppola, and 2003’s “Lost in Translation” (not her first script, but certainly the Academy Award-winning effort that made her career). Michael Arndt, and 2006’s “Little Miss Sunshine.”

The latter also marked the directorial debut of Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, a filmmaking team who cut their teeth on music videos and the MTV series “The Cutting Edge” before turning their deliciously quirky sensibilities to full-length features. They’re obviously selective, having waited six years before embarking on their sophomore effort.

And while “Ruby Sparks” certainly benefits from their capable guidance, this wonderfully idiosyncratic charmer will be immortalized as the film that transformed Zoe Kazan from a little-known young actress — you might remember her from supporting roles in 2008’s “Revolutionary Road” and 2009’s “It’s Complicated” — to a multi-hyphenate: star, writer and producer.

“Ruby Sparks” is Kazan’s tart, unapologetically preposterous update of the ancient Greek “Pygmalion” myth, which concerned a sculptor who fell in love with a statue he created, after it came to life. George Bernard Shaw turned this concept into a 1912 play that eventually begat the acclaimed 1956 Broadway musical “My Fair Lady,” which has remained famous — as a film and stage production — ever since.

In Kazan’s hands, the sculptor becomes novelist Calvin Weir-Fields (Paul Dano), a former literary wunderkind who sold his acclaimed first novel while still a teenager. But like other first-time author celebrities before him — Margaret Mitchell, J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee come to mind — the subsequent fame has proved stifling and artistically crippling. Now, a full decade later, Calvin still rides on the fame of his debut book, but he hasn’t been able to write anything new.

His brother, Harry (Chris Messina), figures that everything would get better if Calvin could move beyond the still-festering break-up of a longtime relationship, by dating again. Oddly, though, Calvin’s dreams have been pleasantly invaded by a personable young woman who first appears, missing one shoe, as a back-lit apparition on a beach. She continues to pop up when he sleeps, her presence becoming more tangible. More in self-defense than anything else, Calvin starts to write about this young woman, both recording his dreams and layering her with back-story and character traits.

Including a name: Ruby Sparks.

Novelists often discuss this very phenomenon: the enchanting allure of creating characters who become so real that they seem to leap off the page. In Calvin’s case, this is precisely what happens: He descends the stairs of his luxurious Hollywood Hills home one otherwise ordinary morning, to find Ruby (Kazan) asking if he’d like breakfast.

Thus far, Dano has held our attention as a bruised, socially inept and mildly idiosyncratic recluse: a guy with no friends, who’s more comfortable with his books than with the folks next door. What happens in the next 10 minutes is the make or break point for the rest of this film, as Calvin struggles with the ludicrous insanity of what seems to have happened.

Kazan (the writer) doesn’t shy from the absurdity of it all; she simply plunges forward and demands that we accept the impossible, just as Calvin insists that Harry do the same. Dano is note-perfect during this brief transitional stage — his efforts to evade Ruby in his own home are hilarious — and, rather quickly, we simply go with it. Why not?

And how could Calvin resist? Ruby is the epitome of his frustrated, yearning imagination; she can’t help but be the living, breathing personification of his ideal soul-mate. And, in truth, Kazan (the actress) imbues Ruby with a giddy, irresistible effervescence: She’s charismatic, appealingly flawed — bad taste in men, up to this point — and attuned to Calvin’s every mood.

Calvin adores her; she, in turn, mirrors that love. Everything is perfect.

For a time.

Novelists also discuss another phenomenon: the character who refuses to move in intended directions according to a pre-planned plot, who exerts a will of her own and behaves the way she desires, thank you very much. And so it is with Ruby, who eventually begins to transcend the details Calvin thought to grant her.

What happens next … ah, but that would be telling.

Dano and Kazan share marvelous chemistry: no surprise, since they’ve been an off-camera couple for five years. And while real-life couples sometimes don’t display the all-essential, meet-cute spontaneity of fictional on-screen lovers, Dano and Kazan — no doubt with help from directors Dayton and Faris — obviously worked their way around that issue. They share the necessary magic and, ah, radiant sparks; their antics — particularly early on, during montages set to French pop anthems such as “Ça plane pour moi” — are deliriously, impishly romantic.

Messina successfully navigates a very difficult and delicate role as Harry, the one person taken into Calvin’s confidence, who knows about Ruby’s actual origins. Harry becomes our surrogate: the cynical, dubious guy who initially believes that his brother needs to be committed, but then is forced to acknowledge the evidence of his own senses. Messina also delivers his barbed one-liners with panache, as Harry struggles to re-define his entire understanding of God’s universe.

Progressing through the buoyant introduction and increasingly unsettling second act, we simply can’t imagine where Kazan’s script will take us … although we also can’t shake the disturbing feeling that events will spiral out of control, and in the worst possible way. Regardless of such concerns, though, we’re truly, madly and deeply hooked, probably from the moment we meet Calvin, and certainly from the point Ruby enters his life.

Kazan’s screenplay is witty, clever, occasionally snarky and unerringly perceptive in its analysis of relationships, and how they’re sustained … or not. On top of which, she uncorks a final scene — two deft lines of dialogue — that is every bit as memorably exquisite as Shirley MacLaine’s insistence that Jack Lemmon “Shut up and deal,” as “The Apartment” concludes. No small feat, that.

Like “Little Miss Sunshine,” though, “Ruby Sparks” — however delightful — is a “small” film that may not bear the weight of the media tsunami destined to overwhelm it. Do yourself a favor: See it now, quickly, before the hype raises expectations too high.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

“Beasts of the Southern Wild”

Four stars

Starring: Quvenzhané Wallis, Dwight Henry, Levy Easterly, Gina Montana, Lowell Landes, Pamela Harper

“In a million years, when kids go to school, they’re gonna know that there was a Hushpuppy, and she lived in the Bathtub with her daddy.”

Children create their own reality, defined by what they observe and experience, filtered through what they’ve been taught. Circumstances that adults would find dire, instead become great adventures. Absent any education — any sort of training by parents or other mentors — kids will concoct the wildest explanations for the simplest things … and the most fanciful reasons for the horrific.

The 9-year-old boy of director John Boorman’s semi-autobiographical “Hope and Glory” views the London blitz as a time of great excitement — an abandonment of discipline and decorum — with each day bringing a new shattered ruin to explore. This viewpoint never is presented as callous or insensitive; the beauty of Boorman’s 1987 drama — the message to be extracted — is that the human spirit triumphs and endures.

The same is true of director Benh Zeitlin’s debut feature: the challenging, opulently mesmerizing and almost defiantly unconventional “Beasts of the Southern Wild.” Its protagonist — a 6-year-old girl known as Hushpuppy — is a wild child forced to confront our randomly cruel world on her own terms. She is, nonetheless, resourceful, stubbornly proud and unexpectedly perceptive in the manner of children, who often see through the artifice and social barriers erected by adults.

Hushpuppy (played with astonishing ferocity by Quvenzhané Wallis) lives near but not with her father, Wink (Dwight Henry), in a ramshackle southern Louisiana bayou community known as the Bathtub, situated below a levee that separates them from everything. Hushpuppy resides in her own dilapidated home, cooking herself meals of soup and cat food, firing up a jury-rigged gas stove with an acetylene torch.

Wink lives close enough to summon her for chores and the occasional fried chicken dinner, with leftover scraps distributed to a shared dog and stray livestock mostly left to fend for themselves. Wink’s friends and neighbors congregate at a nearby bar: a building held erect by spit, baling wire and prayer. These adults are falling-down drunk most of the time, their hard-scrabble lives little more than seeking food, eating it and then drifting into an alcoholic stupor.

Hushpuppy is by no means the only small child present; she and her peers get bits of local lore and fanciful legend from Miss Bathsheeba (Gina Montana), a blend of teacher, medicine woman and local matriarch. One incredible tale concerns huge, mystery-laden prehistoric creatures called aurochs, known only from Paleolithic cave etchings, and believed — by Miss Bathsheeba, at least — to have been frozen in glaciers long, long ago.

The relationship between Wink and Hushpuppy is tempestuous at best, alarmingly perilous at worst. She is, after all, merely a little girl; in one fit of pique, she burns down her house in a defiant “I’ll show you” response to his unwillingness to explain why he has been absent for days. Now forced to reside beneath the same roof, they treat each other even more warily.

Reflexive labels such as “benign neglect” and “child abuse” miss the point; of course this is a horrific environment for a little girl. But it’s the nature of their existence, and Wink understands this; his haphazard approach to tough love is the only way he knows how to prepare Hushpuppy for the harsh realities of their poverty-stricken world.

Daily routines are set aside by an explosive storm; we can assume this is Hurricane Katrina, while Hushpuppy believes that climate shifts have melted the polar ice and released the aurochs, now free to march toward the Bathtub and destroy it. In the harsh light of morning, their entire community is under water, or very nearly so. Only the bar remains, improbably, and so all survivors gather within its rickety walls.

Defiance takes them only so far, however; eventually, nature twists the knife past the point of endurance. Surviving the storm leaves a thrill of triumph, but it’s ephemeral; the true catastrophe arrives more slowly, in the aftermath, as the bayou begins to die.

And so Hushpuppy undertakes an odyssey of Homeric proportions — not always by choice — as she swims to an ancient, barge-like boat; descends into the candy-colored finery of a floating brothel; and gets dragged into the so-called civilized world, where her view of conventional medicine is insightfully ironic: “When an animal gets sick here, they plug it into a wall.”

Zeitlin populates his film with local nonactors, although he cast the net far and wide, interviewing some 4,000 little girls before settling on Wallis. The choice is inspired; she anchors this film with levels of intensity, intelligence and ferocity far beyond her pint-size frame. Hushpuppy is one of cinema’s immediately striking figures: a character who makes a memorable entrance and holds our attention — nay, demands it — every second she’s on camera.

Henry, equally memorable as Wink, is played by the man who ran the bakery across the street from the abandoned school where Zeitlin and his team auditioned everybody else. Montana, briefly memorable as Miss Bathsheba, is local Mardi Gras Indian royalty. The remaining adults are played by locals drawn from New Orleans and the bayou; to say they look and sound authentic would be needless understatement.

The prickly dynamic between Henry and Wallis couldn’t feel more real if they were actual father and daughter. They fight, squabble and fall into each other’s arms with an intensity that builds as this story progresses, reaching a climax that could wring tears from a stone.

All this said, however, Zeitlin’s film is … well … challenging. Ben Richardson’s ground-level cinematography jitters and jiggles, and can be hard to endure: not as vertigo-inducing as the shaky-cam in “The Blair Witch Project,” but in the same ballpark. This visual affectation is deliberate, of course; it augments the story’s gritty verisimilitude.

Zeitlin’s pacing is leisurely to the point of somnambulance; the editing — by Crockett Doob and Affonso Gonçalves — is similarly inert. At times, it feels as though Zeitlin and Richardson simply aimed the camera, left it running, and waited to see how their untrained cast would behave.

The story’s fantastic elements — the aurochs — are integrated clumsily, at times betrayed by Zeitlin’s micro-budget. I can excuse this; it makes sense that a child would envision these beasts in such a fashion. But the real and the imaginative ultimately slide together in an awkward manner that doesn’t quite gel with the dictates of point of view; Zeitlin may have pushed the metaphor a bit too far.

Such issues do nothing, however, to diminish young Wallis’ raw intensity, and our many memorable images of Hushpuppy, defiantly challenging the universe to do its worst. “Beasts of the Southern Wild” is unapologetically weird and eccentric, but it’s also vividly memorable: a genuinely unique vision.

And we don’t see enough of that these days.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at http://derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

‘The Dark Knight Rises’

4 stars

Starring: Christian Bale, Tom Hardy, Anne Hathaway, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Gary Oldman, Marion Cotillard, Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman

Rating: PG-13, and somewhat generously, for intense sequences of violence and action, along with some sensuality and fleeting profanity

Unlike the cinematic Superman — always portrayed as the true-blue Boy Scout, as honorably American as baseball, motherhood and apple pie — Batman’s on-screen image has changed, depending on whose hand has pulled the strings.

The 1960s Batman was known by his colorfully campy TV series; Tim Burton went operatic and kinky for the late 1980s re-boot.

A generation later, Christopher Nolan’s take on the dark night detective has focused on psychology: the seriously dysfunctional variety. Following the obligatory origin story in 2005’s “Batman Begins,” Nolan then explored the depths of depravity with 2008’s “The Dark Knight.” Nobody, but nobody, could fail to be mesmerized by the chilling, capricious evil represented by the late Heath Ledger’s magnificent portrayal of the Joker.

“The Dark Knight” also displayed a disturbing undertone, with its notion that regular folks, if backed into a corner and frightened badly enough, would squabble and tear out each other’s throats with the ferocity of mad dogs. Nobility, self-sacrifice and God’s grace are granted only to the shadowy warrior heroes of Nolan’s Gotham City; her civilians apparently don’t warrant such lofty virtues.

This is a dreadfully cynical view of humanity, although Nolan — along with frequent scripting collaborators David S. Goyer and Jonathan Nolan — made it play reasonably well in “The Dark Knight.” Ledger’s memorably scary presence was balanced by glimmers of the good and gentle, notably from Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Rachel, Aaron Eckhart’s Harvey Dent and Gary Oldman’s honest Police Commissioner Jim Gordon.

Surely, then, Nolan would move in a different direction for his wrap-up, with “The Dark Knight Rises.”

Well … no.

This storyline is even more dystopian, its view of humanity even more depressing; Nolan and his same two collaborators have populated Gotham City with folks who apparently couldn’t survive without their superheroic totems, and probably don’t deserve to survive, regardless. When things get bad in this saga — and they get very, very bad — the common herd turns ugly and every bit as depraved as Ledger’s Joker.

I’ve always been an optimist, viewing the glass as half-full, when it comes to humanity’s behavior during a crisis; Nolan’s glass apparently is 7/8 empty. If this is his commentary on how the 99 percent would “handle” the 1 percent, we should be grateful he’s not likely to hold public office.

Grim undertone notwithstanding, “The Dark Knight Rises” is another riveting, fast-paced, edge-of-the-seat thriller that tries, really tries, to envision life in a world populated by masked heroes and villains. Nolan has developed a well-deserved reputation for his stylish, imaginative and jaw-droppingly audacious action sequences, and this film boasts plenty.

But it’s also laden with deep, dark despair, at times overwhelmingly so. All that negative energy likely won’t matter a whit to the hoards of fanboys and fangirls seeking popcorn thrills, but it’ll be a total turn-off to viewers with more optimistic sensibilities.

The second film in Toby Maguire’s “Spider-Man” trilogy was defined by the moment when Spidey saved the runaway train laden with people who saw the valiant young man behind the mask, and then promised to preserve his secret, never mind how newspapers had branded him a menace. That scene never would happen in Nolan’s Gotham City.

More’s the pity.

Eight years have passed since Batman took the public rap for killing the noble Harvey Dent, whose murderous rampage as Two-Face remains unknown by Gotham’s public. During that time, Gordon and his police force have maintained a firm control on the city’s criminal element: perhaps too firm — and fascistic — a level of control, as this script subtly suggests.

During that time, Batman has remained unseen; so has his playboy alter ego, Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale). Still nursing injuries from his battles against Two-Face and the Joker, and still mourning the loss of Rachel, Bruce has become a virtual shut-in.

And so what? As Bruce insists to his faithful butler, Alfred (Michael Caine), Gotham no longer needs a Batman; “civilization” has triumphed over the Joker’s notions of anarchy. Ah, Alfred counters; Gotham may not need a Batman, but Bruce Wayne most definitely needs a life.

A society event at Wayne Manor grants access to a maid who turns out to be a black-clad cat burglar; she has a brief encounter with Bruce before successfully escaping with a family heirloom … and something else. This piques his curiosity enough to fire up the Batcave computers, where he learns that his visitor was Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway). Longtime Bat-fans will recognize the name.

But the “something else” Selina took remains a puzzle.

Elsewhere, a brutal masked terrorist known only as Bane (Tom Hardy) allows himself to be “captured” by CIA agents solely to orchestrate the amazing escape we’ve all seen for the past few months, in this film’s trailer. Although total nonsense from the standpoint of plot logic, it’s a bravura mid-air action sequence that the folks at the James Bond franchise must envy.

Bane winds up in Gotham, clandestinely, where he mounts an army of the city’s homeless, dispossessed and disenfranchised: people who, because they’re wholly down on their luck, will die for him. (More of Nolan’s grimly pessimistic psychology. Not sure I buy it.) Alerted to Bane’s presence, Bruce resurrects Batman — and his technological toys — long enough for a stylish chase through Gotham’s streets, before unwisely locating and facing off against this huge adversary.

Longtime Bat-fans know what becomes of that encounter, as well; to their credit, Nolan and his scripters hold true to established comic book lore.

When the dust has settled, Bane and his minions have destroyed all bridges and other access points to Gotham, holding millions of civilians in a state of siege. For months … which allows a depressing number of people to slide into brutality, anarchy and chaos. Which, of course, delights Bane.

Us, not so much.

Try as he might, Nolan can’t get this extended timeline to play. I don’t buy the breakdown of civilized behavior, and I sure as hell don’t buy the notion that the U.S. government would abandon the equivalent of New York City; the gung-ho Marines and Navy SEALs we’ve seen in countless other films would mount infiltration expeditions on a daily basis … and there’s no way Bane’s rag-tag “army” would be the devastating force depicted here. Guns or no, they’d fall like scythed wheat.

So, from its second act onward, Nolan’s film becomes a comic book scenario, a tonal shift rather at odds with the realistic approach taken in this trilogy’s two earlier entries, and at the beginning of this one. We’re now in fantasyland territory: admittedly nasty and vicious, but certainly not credible.

Despite the cartoonish plot, though, the performances are resolutely persuasive and as realistic as possible. The standout — even better than Bale’s angst-ridden Bruce Wayne — is Joseph Gordon-Levitt, as John Blake, a former kid from the wrong side of the tracks who has grown up to become an honest and noble cop.

It’s a rich, nuanced performance; Gordon-Levitt soon functions not only as Bruce’s conscience and Lt. Gordon’s trusted ally, but also as our surrogate: the character who draws us into all these fantastic events.

Bale remains more credible as Bruce Wayne than as Batman, where the exaggerated gravel in his “disguised” voice often sounds a bit … well … silly. But Bale still is our go-to actor when it comes to anguish and torment; Mel Gibson once had that market cornered, but Bale gives him a run for his money.

Marion Cotillard is charming and feisty as the intelligent and resourceful Miranda Tate, who becomes Bruce’s Wayne Enterprises boardroom ally against a hostile takeover attempt. (This is, you must have realized by now, a very busy script!) Hathaway is appropriately slinky, seductive and sassy as Selina Kyle, and she looks fetchingly sultry in her black cat-suit.

Oldman’s Jim Gordon once again is the epitome of a stalwart police commissioner, who is nearly — but never completely — beaten down by Gotham’s horrors. Caine, as always, is spot-on as the pluperfect butler, and Morgan Freeman reprises his welcome role as the tech-savvy Lucius Fox.

Hardy’s performance as Bane has been the subject of controversy, after folks complained that they couldn’t understand a single mumbled word the actor spoke during the aforementioned preview. Happily, that serious miscalculation has been cleaned up a bit in post-production, although Bane’s words remain hard to distinguish at times. Otherwise, Hardy really isn’t able to “act” much through his mask, although he certainly turns the hulking villain into a figure of dread.

Matthew Modine is memorable as Gordon’s feckless deputy commissioner, and you’ll get geek cred by recognizing other familiar faces in brief roles: Burn Gorman (from “Torchwood”), Reggie Lee (“Grimm”) and Will Estes (“Blue Bloods”), among others.

Director of photography Wally Pfister — an Academy Award winner for “Inception” — augments the mood of every scene, varying color, grain and composition; we go from the sewer-level grit of Gotham’s underground to the Big Apple-esque grandeur of the city skyline, and also to the hopeless dread of “the pit,” a setting that leaks futility like the sweat that pours from the shattered faces of its inhabitants.

Close to half of this 164-minute film was shot with large-format IMAX cameras, so — trust me on this — you’ll definitely want to experience this third Dark Knight outing on a giant screen, with Han Zimmer’s frequently ominous score literally vibrating every cell in your body.

Nolan builds his narrative to a suspenseful climax that delivers both a visceral and emotional wallop: a distinctive directorial sign-off that nonetheless holds the promise of … well, that would be telling.

We haven’t seen such a well-integrated trio of films since Peter Jackson’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy; there’s no question that Nolan’s farewell to Batman’s world will play even better when we’re able to watch all three at a single sitting. And while I still wish this film had a more optimistic world view, there’s no denying the singularly stylish vision at work.

“The Avengers” may have been more fun, but “The Dark Knight Rises” definitely is more ambitious.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at http://derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com