Indeed, the kids are all right, they’re actually pretty great, but that donor Dad is kind of a douche.

The critically acclaimed film “The Kids Are All Right” by Lisa Cholodenko is an interesting mix of characters, a pretty solid and humorous drama that hits some tired notes — and some questionable ones — but mainly offers up a quality, modern American drama (albeit the bar has been set really low over the last few years).

The film won me over the last half, when mistakes are made, people are hurt and an unconventional family unit is stretched to the brink. The family is a lesbian couple (Annette Bening as Nic and Julianne Moore as Jules), their two kids (Mia Wasikowska as Joni and Josh Hutcherson as Laser) and the sperm donor (Mark Ruffalo as Paul). Just after Joni turns 18, her brother urges her to use her newfound rights to set up a connect with Paul — she does, and a happy family dynamic is thrown way off course.

What I appreciate about the film is that the party I watched this film with all walked away with different feelings for the characters, proving that the dramatic layers and crossfire between all of the characters definitely worked. Questions were raised: How do you feel about this interloping sperm donor acting like a father? Well, he didn’t ask to be involved, someone could argue. What about the kids, are they too hard on the parents? They’re young and confused. Is Nic too strict and overpowering? No, Jules is weak. No, Jules is misunderstood.

As you can tell from the lead of this post, I don’t side with donor Dad. I actually found Ruffalo’s character to be really tough to swallow. He’s such a pretentious look at “cool,” a restaurant owner not afraid to show off chest hair, getting his hands dirty in the co-op garden and dating an insanely attractive woman at his restaurant (she’s like a polished Erykah Badu and I’m told was on “America’s Next Top Model”). I think the director was trying to present him as a charming phony. I just didn’t get much of the charm.

In fact, I felt a lot of the characters were somewhat hackneyed archetypes. Nic is a ball-busting, wealthy doctor. She drives the Volvo, while her partner Jules is an eco-friendly hippie driving a gardening truck. I had a hard time buying them as a couple for most of the movie. They were two actresses playing gay, felt a little like a very funny line said in the film about lesbian porn.

We also have the smart daughter, the athletic son, his mental-case of a skater friend and her sex-crazed friend. But, I don’t want to come down too hard on this point, because it’s not that important. What is important is that the emotions of these characters are developed with a lot of depth and honesty. The issues they deal with as a couple are relatable to straight and gay couples. The kids are wonderful kids, well adjusted. Any parent would kill to have them. And the family dynamic takes a hazardous turn when Paul, the donor father gets involved. It probably gets pushed too far, but it makes for a good story.

Finally, I just want to say that I thought the acting by Bening was excellent and that Wasikowska and Hutcherson are really two young actors to watch. They are excellent.

The Sundance Film Festival hit “Winter’s Bone” really amounts to one great scene. Three-fourths of the film slowly plods along at the pace of a girl in heavy boots trudging through a dead forest, but it’s all a set up for the climax — an unflinching and pretty staggering dramatic moment that I think is an instant classic.

Written and directed by Debra Granik, who won awards at Sundance for a previous movie called “Down to the Bone,” “Winter’s Bone” is a gritty look at a filthy, incestuous, impoverished and drug-running circle of hill people in the Ozark Mountains (which is a pretty awesome idea). More specifically, it follows Ree Dolly; a 17-year-old girl stuck raising her brother and sister on squirrel meat and potatoes. Her mother has gone nuts and her father is missing. Ree must find her drug-dealing father to save their house, the only thing the family has, or she’ll be put out in the cold woods. It’s a great set up, and “Winter’s Bone” is expertly written (adapted from the novel).

Concept aside, it isn’t the most riveting 100 minutes set to screen. The majority of the film is Ree on the hunt for her father, Jessup Dolly. The film is Ree approaching some nasty people, sometimes with brutal consequences, and asking, “where’s my father?” When the law comes around, it’s her saying, “I don’t know where he is.”

There is enough to keep you interested somehow, largely because it does have a unique, raw and realistic feel. You also want to find her damn father. Of course, this leads to the climactic, memorable scene. It’s powerful, hard to imagine, and after being entrenched in the journey with Ree, knowing it comes to this, makes for an instant classic of a scene. Along the way, Ree gets sweet help from her best friend and some support from her uncle Teardrop (played phenomenally by John Hawkes from “Me and You and Everyone We Know”).

Ree is played by newcomer Jennifer Lawrence, already making rounds in “Esquire” and other lad mags. She is a beautiful girl, but she is also excellent in the movie. She definitely has a presence on screen; she’s tough, pretty and has the motherly qualities needed for the character. It’s no surprise Granik found Lawrence for this role, the director is also pretty much responsible for Vera Farmiga, who starred in “Down to the Bone.” Not sure if Lawrence is deserved of awards talk, but she is fresh and striking and I’m interested to see what she’ll do next.

John C. Reilly has ironed out quite a comedic reputation, thanks to films like “Walk Hard” and work with Will Ferrell and Adam McKay (“Stepbrothers,” “Talladega Nights”). The dude demographic certainly approves of him — he most recently piled up Web hits for his hilarious sketches of the Brules Rules.

In “Cyrus,” he squares off against another dude favorite — Jonah Hill, one of the very funny cast of characters made famous by Judd Apatow. However, dudes — essentially guys in backwards caps — beware . “Cyrus” is an unusual, dark comedy, more representative of its indie roots than its mainstream stars. The trailer almost leads you to believe it’s a warmhearted comedy, giving Hill and Reilly a stage to trade improvisational barbs. There are laughs, just not of the Steve Brule or “Get Him to the Greek” variety.

Think of “Cyrus” as a cousin to “Greenberg,” albeit a more happy-go-lucky version of that downer indie comedy with Ben Stiller. And for this, it’s a more interesting movie.

The set up: Reilly plays John, a recently divorced, lonely guy, over-eager in a new relationship with Molly (Marisa Tomei), and who wouldn’t be? Well, it turns out she’s pretty strange and way too attached to her adult son Cyrus (Hill). As the relationship progresses at a feverish pace, Cyrus plays it cool, and he’s seemingly very accepting of his mother’s new beau. But John’s not buying it and gets embroiled in a passive-aggressive chess match with Cyrus. They each torment the other under Molly’s nose. John seeks advice from his ex-wife (Catherine Keener) and her new husband (Matt Walsh) during the relationship, too, but these characters are flat, human sounding boards, and that’s about it.

Watching Reilly and Hill work really drives the success of “Cyrus.” The two actually act in this movie. They display a keen sense of dramatic improv that is really interesting to watch. And none of it felt forced or stilted, I thought, like in some movies, mainly Christopher Guest films. At times, those feel like the actors are constantly thinking of what to say next and how each joke can top the next. Here, it seems Reilly and Hill are more concerned with the performance and keeping their characters dry, odd and weak. The words are second to the emotions and any comedy naturally spills out of the weirdness of the characters.

In this respect, “Cyrus” is very much a Duplass brothers movie. Written and directed by Mark and Jay Duplass, who have become indie film icons with “The Puffy Chair,” “Baghead” and other movies, notably the ones Mark has acted in like “Humpday” and “Hannah Takes the Stairs.” He also has a bit part in “Greenberg.” This is their first studio film, produced by Scott Free (Ridley Scott’s film house).

A Duplass brothers film has a charming realistic tone. Their movies are very much talkies with an active camera — it shifts all over the place during a conversation and uses claustrophobic, heavily aware zooms to build conflict. It’s funny — when watching their earlier films, it felt like amateur camera work. Here, because you have stars like Keener in the frame and a more polished look, it feels truer. An even more artful touch is how they edit the montage sequences. There are three, dividing the film into three acts. They film the classic romantic comedy montages in a natural tone and the dialogue is off-screen.

Combined, the indie-style directing and excellent performances of “Cyrus” make this a movie worth seeing. It’s a unique way to watch a relationship comedy, and it nails a sweet-natured tone amidst all of the crazy behavior. I mean, both guys are pretty pathetic people, and Molly is a sad piece of work, too. Cyrus is an odd synth musician. Hill plays him perfectly holding back just enough to maintain a creepy vibe. In one scene, John runs into him in the kitchen. He’s in T-shirt and no pants, holding a butcher knife. He looks like he just ate Norman Bates.

I will say that I get a little tired of John C. Reilly. I’m not quite sure he carries the entire full length of the film. Don’t get me wrong, he’s very good in the movie, but I do get fatigued of his quirky appearance. Also, there is a fatal flaw in the storyline. Molly is such an overbearing mother, coddling her boy in the middle of the night when he has terrors, that she would never just let him leave home without doing some serious due diligence in house-hunting and meeting roommates and what not. In the film, he leaves in the night.

It’s a minor criticism. I really want “Cyrus” to do well. More major Hollywood studios should tap indie talent like the Duplass brothers to make bigger, polished movies with big stars. It’s a good formula. “Cyrus” is better than most of the crap they’re putting out this summer.

It’s not horror. It’s not science fiction. “Splice” is one big ol’ pile of WTF?

That said, it’s kind of an interesting movie, once you let the shock and awe of the ending settle in. The film is essentially a “Frankenstein”-like, mad scientist tale. Sarah Polley and Adrian Brody play hipster nerd scientists, too brilliant for their own good, and they go outside the rules to clone and create some human/animal creature that grows up at a rapid pace to look a little like Britney Spears when she went nuts and shaved her head.

The early part of the movie is more of a commentary on parenting and natural reactions and urges to creation. It’s clever and even kind of funny as you watch them react like new parents around this pretty disgusting thing. Then the film takes a really strange turn. A turn so harsh that my wife has still not forgiven me for taking her to this movie. It’s bad, so bad that I will probably be seeing “Step Up 3-D” just to make it up to her.

Now, to be clear, the twist is not scary or anything. I actually laughed my butt off at it and can almost, almost buy it as some psychosexual babble. But the truth is, anything really good in “Splice,” and there is some good stuff, most notably the best board meeting scene ever, is wasted on the ending. It just makes you feel gross.

Minutes into “Robin Hood,” I twitched with fear. I saw men with swords and armor, men in tights with bows and arrows. I feared this movie would be like being trapped in a Renaissance Fair for two hours-plus.

It’s true. I think because of those fairs, and movies like “Role Models,” and Medieval Times— the restaurant — the whole period is incredibly mockable, but eventually that all wears off in “Robin Hood” and a skilled filmmaker takes over. “Robin Hood” is a by-the-numbers adventure movie, you can check off the story devices as they come at you, but the look, the editing, the pace and tone is so well done that you feel like you’re getting quite a bit more with this movie.

For example, a final beachfront battle scene is more than shaking cameras, faking their way through the action of a sword fight. There’s a rhythm and weight to the action. Directed by Ridley Scott, he plays with wide and tight angles with purpose. He’ll go wide and show two armies pursuing and then mix in snippets of intimate sword slashing. Then it’s out to sea, in tight, as boats collide, and then dancing back out to the hills as men pursue on horseback. The scene caps off with a hero’s gritty maiden kiss, as blood drips down his face from an open gash on the forehead. (It’s about the only blood I recall in this movie, and the shot is really beautiful.)

Honestly, every year we see new action and adventure films and the fighting is fighting. I can’t say Scott is doing anything all that different, but the execution feels right. The action has ballast, something a lot of summer blockbusters miss. They throw at you big explosions, big everything, but it’s all air and tech visuals and whizbang CGI. There’s no real substance or cinema behind it. Now, I’m not saying “Robin Hood” is a cinematic masterpiece. It’s laughable that it’s opening the Cannes Film Festival, but there are pros behind it that just make it fulfilling.

This latest rendition of “Robin Hood” is a prequel to what we know about the legendary tale, like stealing from the rich to give to the poor, yada, yada. We see the rising of a hooligan warrior become a banished hero. Scott teamed once again with Russell Crowe to play that hero Robin Longstride. Crowe and Scott have worked together five times, forgettably with the recent and awful “The Good Year,” and memorably in the “Gladiator,” which pretty much everyone wants to compare to “Robin Hood.” It’s a fair assessment. They have much in common.

Crowe is serviceable in the movie, gruff and on point. Actually, all of the acting is solid, except for Cate Blanchett as Maid Marion, who for some reason decides to be funny and feisty and far too good for a movie of this caliber. It’s award-worthy work in an adventure pic.  Max von Sydow is also good as Robin Hood’s replacement Dad, which is kind of a classic movie trick.

As I said, the entire film is loaded with movie clichés. We have our villain get marked with an unforgettable scar by Robin Hood — the actor looks like Billy Zane meets Andy Garcia. We have our weasel, effeminate king, who goes for laughs as a rookie on the battlefield. We have a boomerang line between Marion and Robin, it starts out as a diss, but comes back around just before their first kiss. Robin’s merry men are drunkards who find themselves in a bar outnumbered by desperate women. The clichés are countless, but it’s not an issue too much, at least for me, because this story is already tired. I don’t know how many times it’s been remade, Kevin Costner, Errol Flynn, Walt Disney. Secondly, as I said, it’s well done.

What makes this film work isn’t originality, it’s an appreciation for craft.

Nicole Holofcener is the most underappreciated filmmaker working today. She is the closest thing to modern American literature on screen — it’s a Lorrie Moore book or McSweeney’s in motion.

She doesn’t present a raw truth, a near documentary-like realism that you’ll see in some films, largely foreign. No, you’re aware you’re watching a story — a plot not even all that original (relationship drama standbys of adultery and suicide make an appearance). But, like the best modern fiction, it’s witty, candid, and most importantly, entertaining.

“Please Give” is her fourth movie and in the vein of her other works, which means, it again explores the low self-esteem of women. It also means it’s an excellent film that will sadly fade from a handful of critical praise into obscurity. See, kinda sounds like modern lit.

Holofcener’s previous movies include her debut “Walking and Talking,” “Lovely & Amazing” and “Friends With Money,” all quintessential viewing. Each picture stars the brilliant Catherine Keener, who clearly shares a vision with Holofcener. Perhaps next to “Lovely & Amazing,” this could be her best Holofcener work. She stars as Kate, a Manhattan mother of a spoiled, whip-smart daughter toiling in those awful teen years of bad skin and zero confidence. She’s the wife to a friend and business partner (they both own a vintage furniture store, stealing from the children of dead people and selling at markup). She’s also the guilty neighbor of a dying old woman and her caregiver granddaughters. She’s waiting for grandma to croak so she can buy up the apartment.

They sound like pretty shallow people, and they are, but Holofcener handles characters like humans with equal parts fault and lovingness. She also allows for a lot of space to let her actors flesh out these characters, making them complex and genuine.

The supporting cast is fantastic, notably Sarah Steele as Abby, Kate’s daughter. You may remember her from “Spanglish,” where she played a similar character. Because she may not be Hollywood-pretty, she’ll continually be pegged as a “real” teen, but she’s a fantastic actor. There is a lot going on with this character, envious of beautiful neighbor Amanda Peet but spoiled and bitchy to her mother. She is embarrassed by her mother’s constant worrying and whining.

Steele has an excellent scene with her father, Alex, played by Oliver Platt. He’s consoling her in bed, and she suspects he’s been adulterous, but typical for Holofcener, you don’t get an overblown fight or courtroom accusations. No, the emotions and the truths hover just beneath the scene. It’s fragile to watch and works wonderfully and truthfully. Platt adds light comic touches, as he often does throughout the movie, but he carries some brilliant, modest emotional scenes, too. (One confessional scene, guilty for his cheating, he doesn’t sob or act out. He sadly tries to convince himself out of denial the benefits of his actions.)

Rebecca Hall and Ann Morgan Guilbert, as a classic curmudgeon old woman, turn out nice roles, too. No one is better than Keener, though. She harbors so much guilt throughout this film that when it hits a breaking point, it’s quite touching. It is skillful how she restrains throughout the movie, again an example of the fragile nature of it. We know where these scenes can go emotionally, how the story can let loose into melodrama, but it walks the line, putting on a good face, having a few laughs.

I admit that “Please Give” isn’t perfect, but I’m a Holofcener fan. Keener’s Kate may be a bit too much of a sad sack. She visits volunteering opportunities to help her overwhelming guilt but can’t handle it, but I think this character, as fragile as she is, can handle shooting hoops with down syndrome children. She also never really grows much as a character, sort of a downer from the get go and hardly turns the corner in the end. I also can’t believe this family is that rich from a furniture store.

Audiences may have a hard time accepting Oliver Platt hooking up with Amanda Peet, too, but this is well executed in the film. Peet’s character is crude and empty, a low self-esteem of a different kind, one even more dangerous and sad. It’s never about who she’s sleeping with, just that there is someone there and that it’s hurting someone.

To appreciate a Holofcener movie is to appreciate women. If you can’t understand the complexity behind that, yes, sometimes a pair of $200 jeans do wonders and go beyond price, well, then God help you. Just the same, “Please Give” and all of Holofcener’s movies are ripe for people who go to movies and say things like, “the characters aren’t likable,” or “there’s no plot.”

Well, I can’t help you either, but at the risk of absolute corniness that Holofcener would never sink to — please give it a shot. Cinema needs her making more movies.

I don’t have the heart to write this review.

In “The Good Heart,” Brian Cox plays a sonofabitch bar-owner, one of those characters who we think is funny when he’s racist toward Asian nurses or mean toward barbers. He meets a suicidal, homeless kid (played by Paul Dano) in the hospital, and they instantly become the odd couple. When they’re released, they take up a student/teacher relationship, as Cox preps Dano to one day take over his bar.

Of course, this isn’t a realistic bar that people go to. No, at this establishment, walk-ins aren’t welcome, because, then, we wouldn’t be able to get to know the dive bar’s degenerate cast of characters. (The best character is a struggling, blocked writer, a blood descendent of Jules Verne.)

Frankly, the film’s set up could work — if “The Good Heart” had style, an authentic whimsy or laughs with less effort. It could’ve been on a quirky and joyful plane of an “Amelie.” I really believe it has the foundation to be a film of that quality. Rather, we get a by-the-book quirky indie film that pushes a slight coming-of-age tone but largely lays flat. Oddly, the film is written and directed by an Icelandic filmmaker.

In the end, the problem with “The Good Heart” is none of it’s all that memorable. It’s a weak movie, not the worst I’ve seen. There are moments that are funny, moments that are warming, scenes that whiff, and emotional turns that patronize us. It floats along and then desperately throws at us a cloying, ridiculous ending that leads to an agonizingly long and graphic surgery sequence that ultimately ties everything, title and all, into a nice bow.

If you’ve seen the 2007 “British” original, don’t bother here. If this is the first you’re hearing of a movie called “Death at a Funeral,” you might get a few laughs. That’s all either version is, really, and they’re pretty much the same movie, despite appearances.

For the most part, this remake is the same film (same writer wrote both). The characters are largely the same, the story is the same and the laughs are the same. Both versions are dependent on a few big gags (one including poop that’s taken a bit further here). The story goes: Two competitive brothers host their father’s funeral, which of course goes horribly wrong, beginning with one guest dropping acid and ending with an unwanted guest (a male dwarf who happens to be their father’s secret lover) rolling out of a coffin.

The problem for me, with both films (British or black), I just can’t do madcap. It’s not my favorite brand of comedy. A bigger problem with the remake is I know all of the gags, so I know all of the main laughs, whereas I had hoped they go further and take a fairly bland comedy and give it some bite, especially with the quality of talent on board.

Despite the excellent and unique cast of Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence, Tracy Morgan, Luke Wilson, Zoe Saldana, James Marsden, Danny Glover and Peter Dinklage (a powerhouse dwarf actor of stage and screen) returning to his nothing role, the differences of anyone (height, race, sexual preference) are scarcely mentioned, definitely not teased, because that’s the message of the film — let’s all love one another.

But that’s the problem, with this lineup, I’m expecting some bite, go after one another, get dark, tear each other apart, that would really add something to a comedy that is pretty much just a bunch of madcap events. And it doesn’t have to be exploitive, you can still finish strong with a message of “let’s all love each other,” even though its 2010 and that message is tired. We’ll see it coming and embrace it. I just want some laughs at our own expense on the way.

It’s just a shame because Rock and Lawrence are wasted here. They’re terrible, stiff actors when they have to be serious, something they’re tasked with way too often in this movie. Go R-rating and race, you have Neil Labute (“In the Company of Men”) directing the film. He’s been labeled controversial most of his career. We’re expecting it. Instead, this remake is as soft as they come.

Frankly, I’m perplexed this remake exists. The 2007 original isn’t an obscure British comedy, as you may think. Hell, my Dad saw it and liked it, and he’s a pretty good barometer of mainstream. The original uses a predominantly British cast and is directed by Frank Oz, but he’s a Brit known for American comedies (“What About Bob?,” “In & Out,” “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels”). The point is, this isn’t some British classic like “Withnail & I” done with a black cast. So it doesn’t even have a gimmick to lean on.

I understand the original “Death at a Funeral” isn’t widely known, especially to black audiences, so it’s obvious this remake is simply a moneymaker. You grab some monster stars (Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence), film it over a weekend at a house for pretty cheap, and you cash in on the marketing. That’s the easy way out, if you ask me.

While I don’t understand it, those who are not out to compare it to the original and who just want to take in a standard, safe comedy, you will have some laughs. Marsden as the acid dropper is really funny, much funnier than Alan Tudyk in the original. He has the funniest part of the movie, when he breaks into a rendition of “Amazing Grace.”

Tracy Morgan is also good. More and more, he seems like a solid comic actor, whereas Rock and Lawrence still feel like stand-ups who can’t act. If it’s not that, they just don’t look comfortable in this type of crazy situation-based comedy. And I can’t blame them, I’m not comfortable around it.

Noah Baumbach’s new movie “Greenberg” is a tricky one. While jaded, the lead characters carry an airy sense of realism; you get a look at Los Angeles that you don’t normally get on screen; and the acting by Ben Stiller, Rhys Ifans and Greta Gerwig (known only to hyper indie movie buffs) is as good as it gets.

But, “man,” as Stiller and Ifans often say in “Greenberg,” I just don’t buy it.

The skill of Baumbach as a filmmaker gets you through this movie. It’s enjoyable to watch, and the characters are worth following, but it’s not until later, during your post-mortem, that you begin to realize that things just don’t add up. Baumbach made the superior “Squid and the Whale,” the dark “Margot at the Wedding” and the typical slacker first feature, albeit a great one, “Kicking and Screaming.” So, naturally, with that background, “Greenberg” is going to have spoiled characters that you hate, lively dialogue, some bitter laughs and Baumbach’s unique smarmy but likable pitch (likable to me at least).

Stiller stars as Roger Greenberg, a social failure fresh out of the hospital who returns to Los Angeles from New York to house-and-dog sit for his successful brother. He reignites tension and friendship with his past mates — Ifans (his best friend), Jennifer Jason Leigh (his ex) and Mark Duplass (ex bandmate). He also strikes up a relationship with his brother’s assistant Florence. (Gerwig’s presence as this awkward girl is really what drives some of the realism in “Greenberg.” If you’re one of the few to have seen her early films, then you already know this, but she has something special. I do encourage you to check her out in “Hannah Takes the Stairs.”)

But, it’s the relationship between Florence and Greenberg that you will have the most trouble accepting. The two just happen, and when they happen to the point of lovemaking, it couldn’t look more unromantic and awful, which makes you wonder why either one would have any lasting feeling for one another. Seriously, these are some depressing sex scenes. Beyond that, Greenberg is a dick of epic proportions and twice her age. Even a character with low self esteem of epic proportions, like Florence, wouldn’t give Greenberg a second or third chance.

“Greenberg” is the story of a doomed relationship from go, trying to give it a go. I can respect that, but too much adds up, and I can go on with examples.

It’s too bad, too, because Stiller really is dynamic in this movie. He’s flat out brilliant in a heartbreaking scene where he meets his old flame for lunch. He’s caring and rude at the same time, desperate for a reconnection, and Leigh’s wonderful, playing it ice cold. In a fall out scene with his best friend Ivan (Ifans), he uncorks a lot of the bottled tension we feel him carrying around the entire movie but swiftly falls right back in line as a jerk. It’s quite skillful how Stiller plays it. He’s pouring out his feelings and Ivan confesses he wished Greenberg made an effort to know Vic. Greenberg has no idea who Vic is, but he does, because it’s Victor, Ivan’s son. Stiller in a sad and dark delivery says he was thrown by the “diminutive.”

The moment is funny, as are the scenes when he’s writing letters of complaints to Starbucks and pet taxis. Greenberg is a selfish and uncaring person, the ultimate bad listener. His idea of a comfort gift in a hospital is a cheeseburger (another funny scene). Honestly, I love characters like this. I wanted to watch his movie, see his story unfold. We’re just pushed too far.

Actually, for most of the movie, I was prepared to look the other way and argue in favor of the greatness of “Greenberg” until a climactic scene near the end, in which a roadside inflatable tube man flailing its arms and bending at the wind’s command becomes some sort of prophetic image of reason for our emotionally scarred and hateful hero. It wreaked of the floating garbage bag in “American Beauty,” and at that moment, I realized I cannot defend you “Greenberg.” You ask too much.

Set in the future, in a place that resembles Tokyo but with American backyards and ominous underworlds, and where people speak in multiple accents that go unnoticed, we have the film “Repo Men” (not to be confused with the 1984 movie “Repo Man”). And Jude Law and Forest Whitaker play the two best damn repo men in this undefined and uninteresting futuristic world.

However, what they’re repossessing are mechanical organs, something that, I have to say, is pretty sweet. They work for an evil company (reminiscent of my Skokie Toyota dealership) that sells organs to desperate people in need, sets them up with impossible payment plans and ultimately sends Law and Whitaker out on cold-hearted missions to kill and recover iron livers and mechanical hearts.

Honestly, it’s a great concept, but what this film needs is directors David Fincher (“Fight Club”) and Alfonso Cuaron (“Children of Men”) to be hired as repo men to repossess this movie and give it much needed life. There is a tone in the film that recalls Fincher’s “Fight Club.” The opening scene attempts to give us a snarky narrator and there is a bit of flash that builds up to the title sequence. Later, satiric elevator music plays in a corporate organ factory and there are other elements that try to be darkly comedic. It doesn’t work.

Then, in the underbelly of this futuristic town, the sets are very gray and black like Cuaron’s “Children of Men,” and there is a feeling of outsiders being chased and exterminated much like that movie. Except, here, the film lacks any thrill whatsoever. Please, don’t get excited by these comparisons, “Repo Men” isn’t a tenth of what Fincher’s and Cuaron’s movies are. It isn’t even all that similar, but there is just an influence from these movies that I feel I picked up.

The concept though (based on the novel “The Repossession Mambo”), I maintain has promise. I like the idea of repo men out for unpaid organs. Later, our hero (Law) finds himself in need of a new heart and ends up fighting for the organ debtors on the run from Whitaker and his boss (Liev Schreiber). While on the run, Law’s character falls for a terrible lounge singer with fake eyes, knees, organs, and the list goes on. (She’s actually played in a kind of alluring way by Alice Braga.)

That said, the execution of this film lacks any ingenuity, energy or consistency. Early on, I found it moving the plot along too fast; then it churns at an unbearable pace, and finally it ends with a wild sex scene of sorts and tacks on an indulgent plot twist. The “sex scene” is truly the highlight of the movie — Law and Braga play “Operation” with scanners. It is a bizarre but enigmatic scene that shows filmmaker Miguel Sapochnik does have potential. The movie in as a whole, though, only made me appreciate the art of better directors.