The praising of Hollywood summertime cinema is the pastime of pale critics who, come late July, start to wonder what the strange yellow orb is hanging in the sky. Hence the gallons of kind ink spilled over some of the season's sequels, which shipped spoiled but were guzzled nonetheless by parched writers who too often mistake hollow, cynical diversions with actual entertainment--it go boom, me like, in other words, and even better if there's some hottie... More >>>