PAN

Not long into director Joe Wright's origin fable Pan, the 12-year-old Peter (Levi Miller), newly captured by pirates descending from bungee cords, surveys the World War II fighter planes striking his kidnappers' airborne pirate ship and shouts, "Oh, come on!" Roughly an hour later, in the midst of another aerial attack, Captain Hook (Garrett Hedlund) - a heroic American boasting Indiana Jones' wardrobe and two functional hands - gazes at the melee involving enormous CGI birds of prey and shouts, "Oh, come on!" What does it say about a movie when even its leads can't believe in the on-screen nonsense?

There have been verified reports of patrons vomiting during the last half hour of The Walk, director Robert Zemeckis' big-budget take on Philippe Petit's famed 1974 high-wire trek between Manhattan's Twin Towers, a tale previously recounted in James Marsh's Oscar-winning documentary Man on Wire. The response of those patrons is understandable; as a lifelong sufferer of vertigo - especially when those vertiginous heights are around 1,368 feet above street level - I did have to look at the cineplex floor a few times to steady my nerves. But in the end, my senses of profound terror, anxiety, and euphoria at Zemeckis' cinematic feat proved worth the discomfort. I only wish I could say the same for the movie's first 90 minutes, which could easily provoke vomiting among those, like myself, who gag at the mere thought of revisiting Amélie.

BLACK MASS

There's a scene in the gangster thriller Black Mass that should sound bells of recognition for all fans of the genre. In it, legendary crime lord James "Whitey" Bulger (Johnny Depp) and some friends are enjoying a dinner prepared by one of Bulger's associates: FBI agent John Morris (David Harbour). Bulger compliments Morris on their steaks and asks what seasoning was used, to which the agent replies that it's a secret family recipe whose ingredients, upon further pressing, he genially reveals. That's when Bulger seems to snap.

Friday, September 11, 10:25 a.m.-ish: This millennium has already delivered 18 screen hours of J.R.R. Tolkien, our first female Oscar winner for Best Director, and, astoundingly, two Fantastic Four reboots. Why, given such miracles, can't we be treated to even one stalker thriller that doesn't suck?