Craig and Bardem in Skyfall.

The big question the pessimists are asking about Skyfall, the 23rd entry in the James Bond franchise: Does 007 still have a license to keep an audience alert? The answer: And how! Some of the exhilaration faded when Sean Connery lost his hair and took a powder, but 50 years after Ian Fleming’s super-cool agent from Her Majesty’s Secret Service was shot from a cannon into movie history, Bond is back, and so is high-octane entertainment.

Skyfall may not reach the sophisticated heights of Casino Royale, but it’s better than the lollygagging Quantum of Solace.With buff, camera-ready Daniel Craig lending fresh fisticuffs to the role, and acclaimed director Sam Mendes adding more realism and fewer jokes than in most Bond pictures, it’s a satisfying entertainment that delivers a kangaroo kick from start to finish. Despite the less showy Saul Bass-inspired titles and a stupid theme song behind the credits screeched by Adele (“We will stand tall and face it all/You may have my number but you’ll never have my heart”) that reminds us all how much we owe to Shirley Bassey, Skyfall signifies a new 007 style. The series is beyond gimmickry now. You just look at the toys, try to follow the plot and count the bikinis. But the best thing about Skyfall is the way it maximizes the great Judi Dench as M. It’s her best outing in the series to date, and she chews it like taffy. With six you get eggroll, but with vibrant, chromatic cinematography by Roger Deakins (The Shawshank Redemption), anda distinguished assembly of supersonic talents headed by Javier Bardem, Ralph Fiennes, Ben Whishaw and Albert Finney—you get box office platinum.

The film opens with the obligatory chase—007 wrecking an entire bazaar in Istanbul, scaling rooftops on a motorcycle and destroying as many civilians, buildings and moving vehicles as possible, cars that never run out of gasoline, on roads that never end, posing no threat to maintenance. Bond is knocked off the top of a speeding train into roaring rapids and plunges over a waterfall. When the dust settles, a plot emerges; M loses her computer hard-drive, and on it, a file containing the name of every NATO agent in the world’s terrorist zones. Hackers then unleash cyber attacks on secret service headquarters in London. Bond is believed dead, M is threatened with dismissal and the series seems in danger of grinding to a halt. When Bond resurfaces, M snarls through clenched teeth, “You know the rules of the game. You’ve been playing it long enough.” Which means no loyalty, no apologies and anything goes. While he was enjoying some badly needed R and R and taking a shower with sexy Bérénice Marlohe, the bombed-out secret service relocated its headquarters to an underground bunker used by Churchill during the Blitz. Bond’s unlikely new quartermaster is a wimpy fop named Q (Ben Whishaw) who dispatches him to Shanghai to locate and liquidate the thief who is using M’s files to destroy the world. The mega-villain is an epicene bottle-blond fiend played with exotic pansexual delight by Javier Bardem. A renegade agent who used to work for M, he’s droll, cynical and seductive. In the film’s funniest scene, he straps Bond to a chair, runs his hands lasciviously across his crotch and hisses “There’s a first time for everything.” Good ol’ 007, unfazed, counters with “How do you know it’s the first time?”

The movie moves from a casino in Macao, approachable only by boat and surrounded by giant man-eating Komodo dragons, to an endangered London tube station at rush hour, to a hunting lodge in Scotland where M gets a chance to show off some of her own operative training. Mr. Bardem munches a lot of whatever scenery is still standing and Dame Judi employs her icy blue eyes and matching steel reserve with terrifying authority. Bond is floppier and less buttoned-down than usual; he’s given up smoking, and the psychology of his traumatic background is explored for the first time. Bond relies less on naked girls and state-of-the-art gadgets than before, but as played by Daniel Craig, he’s both a teddy bear and as rugged as ever. So much so, in fact, that when his trusty old Aston Martin makes an appearance at last, the audience bursts into applause. Like the pieces of an elaborate jigsaw, everything falls perfectly into place, and there is overwhelming evidence that James Bond will rise again. Is there life after Skyfall? Stay tuned.

rreed@observer.com

Skyfall

Running Time 143 minutes

Written by Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and John Logan

Directed by Sam Mendes

Starring Daniel Craig, Javier Bardem and Naomie Harris

3/4

'Skyfall' star Daniel Craig (Getty Images)

We’re not ready to throw in the towel on the moviegoing just yet, but we’ll admit we’re ready for a break from the heavier fare. Today we’re dropping by the Museum of Modern Art for a Bond double-header, with screenings of Diamonds Are Forever (Sean Connery, kind of campy, Jill St. John as the girl, Shirley Bassey sang the song) and Live and Let Die (Roger Moore, crazy campy, Jane Seymour as the girl, Wings sang the song). In addition to being quite generous in what they’re defining as “modern art,” this is some sort of cross-promotion for the next in line, Skyfall (Daniel Craig, super-grave, Naomie Harris as the girl, Adele—reportedly!—singing the song).

Museum of Modern Art, 11 West 53rd Street, tickets and information can be found at www.moma.org.

Jennifer Garner in 'Butter'

The Master

Paul Thomas Anderson

Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams

September 14

This long-deferred movie actually couldn’t have been better timed. An apparent allegory for the creation of Scientology, The Master comes along just as public interest in the (alleged!) money-grubbing cult is at an all-time high, post-Tom/Katie divorce. In this telling, Philip Seymour Hoffman is the L. Ron Hubbard-like figure who snares untold numbers of believers into his thrall. Plot details, per Paul Thomas Anderson’s standard, are hazy, but the trailer reveals simply that Mr. Anderson has kept up his keen attention to aesthetic compostion--and that Amy Adams, playing a devoted cult wife, may be this film’s MVP. Can we arrange for Katie Holmes to present her the Oscar?

Killing Them Softly

Andrew Dominik

Brad Pitt, James Gandolfini, Sam Rockwell

September 21

Andrew Dominik’s follow-up to the much-loved, little-seen Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford jumps forward in time--it’s a modern-day store of mobland America, based on a pulp crime novel. The movie was a hit at Cannes, and may be yet another feather in the cap of good-looking weirdo character actor Brad Pitt, who plays a hitman’s assistant, or “point man.” The whole thing promises to be a real boys’ club, with costars like Richard Jenkins, James Gandolfini, and Ray Liotta, who knows a thing or two (actually, just one thing) about mob movies.

Butter

Jim Field Smith

Yara Shahidi, Jennifer Garner, Ty Burrell

October 5

Little is really known about this long-delayed satirical film. How long-delayed was it, you ask? The early buzz was that Jennifer Garner’s character, a housewife and competitive butter-sculptor, was based on Presidential front-runner Michele Bachmann. Director Jim Field Smith hails from the U.K. but takes on heartland rituals in this look at the dairy-art circuit, whose protagonist is an adopted orphan daring to take on the longtime champions (Ms. Garner and Mr. Burrell). Somehow, Hugh Jackman, Olivia Wilde, and Alicia Silverstone fit into this puzzle--no word on what Ms. Silverstone, noted vegan, did around the enormous blocks of milk product.

Argo

Ben Affleck

Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, Alan Arkin

October 12

Ben Affleck, flamed-out Hollywood star, has had a successful second career as the director of Boston heist pictures, but his third directorial effort, Argo, finally takes him outside of the old neigborhood. Mr. Affleck stars as a CIA officer who comes up with a cunning plan to rescue escapees during the Iran hostage crisis--he fakes the production of a sci-fi movie (Iran makes a lovely moonscape, after all) and attempts to airlift out the Americans, pretending they’re crew members. Sounds fairly tidy, but we’re sure complications will ensue--and we haven’t even read the Wired article on which the whole thing’s based!

Cloud Atlas

Tom Twkyer, Andy Wachowski, Lana Wachowski

Tom Hanks, Hugo Weaving, Halle Berry

October 26

Everyone believed that the mammoth David Mitchell novel, encompassing millennia of human experience, was unfilmable. And maybe everyone was right! All we know right now is that the Wachowskis (of the Matrix films) and Tom Twkyer (of Run Lola Run) have turned all of their creative over-enthusiasm towards putting together the most rollicking movie ever to contain both a Martin Amis-style comedy of manners and a post-apocalyptic agrarian community on Hawaii. Somehow, major stars like Tom Hanks and Halle Berry fit into the equation. As you read this description, you’re already significantly behind; you’d better start reading Cloud Atlas this minute if you hope to have it finished and marginally comprehended by October!

Keira Knightley in 'Anna Karenina'

Skyfall

Sam Mendes

Daniel Craig, Judi Dench, Ralph Fiennes

November 9

The next, and long-delayed, installment in the James Bond story comes with a schmancy pedigree--director Sam Mendes has experienced diminishing returns since the 1990s, but he still, you know, has an Oscar. So too does Javier Bardem, who promises to be the most menacing villain since Dr. No. Un-bedecked by golden trophies are new Bond girls Naomie Harris and Bérénice Marlohe, but that’s hardly the point, is it? About the plot, little is known, but for the promise of spy-queen M’s past coming back to haunt her. All the better: it’s about time Judi Dench got to stretch her acting muscles in the Bond movies.

Anna Karenina

Joe Wright

Keira Knightley, Jude Law, Aaron Taylor-Johnson

November 9

Joe Wright just can’t resist the charms of Keira Knightley--and he’s hardly alone! Mr. Wright made it cool to think Ms. Knightley was a good actress by directing her in well-received roles in Pride & Prejudice and Atonement--without his attentions, she’s languished a bit. But Ms. Knightley is back doing what she does best (aristocratic hauteur, wearing elaborate garments, telling off gentlemen), and this time, she’s got a complement of men to choose from. Though all of us English majors know how it ends, let’s form factions rooting for Jude Law’s Karenin or Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s Vronsky--or, at least, let’s decide after the fact who had the most convincing Russian accent.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn--Part 2

Bill Condon

Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner

November 16

The series that launched a million magazine covers has finally ended (though the saga of its stars’ offscreen love will surely inflate the bottom line at many a media company for years to come). It’s the final installment of the Twilight series--or “Saga,” as the producers would Germanically have it--and if you waited a week to see any of the fine independent films released last week, get in line early for popcorn. Every tween and teen and regressing thirtysomething within a five-mile radius cannot wait to see just how the Bella-Edward vampire-mortal union ends--even though the book came out years ago! No matter. Fandom, like vampirism, is eternal.

Life of Pi

Ang Lee

Irrfan Khan, Gérard Depardieu

November 21, 2012

Another unfilmable novel adapted to the screen? It must be fall! Ang Lee attempts something of a comeback with his adaptation of Yann Martel’s Booker Prize-winning novel, wherein a boy and a tiger are trapped on a raft floating in uncharted waters. Mr. Lee has a lot to prove, having released a couple of films consecutively that couldn’t quite match Brokeback Mountain in terms of popular acclaim. Perhaps the transfer to a wholly new environment, with the challenge both of a dense, allusive text and of a, you know, tiger, will move him to new heights! If not, it’ll at least be the season’s most compelling misfire.

Les Misérables

Tom Hooper

Russell Crowe, Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway

December 14

Anne Hathaway has subjected you to her songs through lo these many Oscar ceremonies--and now she finally has the opportunity to belt it out on film! The world’s most energetic entertainer shifts down a gear to play doomed prostitute Fantine in the adaptation of the world-rattling Broadway show; her costars include Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe playing, respectively, the unfairly convicted Valjean and the doggedly devoted Javert. Other cast members in director Tom Hooper’s first post-Oscar flick include Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as the garrulous-to-a-fault Thénardiers, but it’s Ms. Hathaway who’s likely dreaming a dream... of Oscar!

Frank Ocean

Saturday Night Live has announced its bookings for the first three episodes of the new season, and it's a gentlemen's club of sorts. First up is Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane with musical guest Frank Ocean on September 15; following that are Premium Rush actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt and nu-folk band Mumford & Sons on September 22, and James Bond franchise star Daniel Craig with British band Muse on October 6. Muse and Mr. Gordon-Levitt have been on the show once before, both in 2009--the rest are making their debuts. (No word yet on the September 29 show--and the series usually begins its season with four consecutive weeks of new episodes. Maybe they'll find a funny lady!)

Mara and Craig.

In the blood-soaked hands of the hair-raising, always surprising director David Fincher, the creepy remake of Sweden’s grisly thriller The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is dreary and confusing but technically superb—a darkly photographed and superbly acted film. It is not my cup of bitter tea laced with arsenic, but I admire its tenacity in keeping the viewer dazzled, while the toxic effect of its violence, sometimes unwatchable, left me charged. I hated the 2009 Swedish film version, my dashed attempt to read the book (the first volume in the crime trilogy by the late, overrated Swedish novelist Stieg Larsson) put me to sleep faster than a double-dose of Dalmane, and I still don’t understand why it has been recycled in an estimated $100 million remake as unnecessary as it is unoriginal. It is also impossibly long-winded. When it ended, after just under a whopping three hours, I ended up impressed, in spite of my reservations. If I had found it even half as incomprehensible as it is, I might have liked it twice as much.

Oh, my god, that plot. After being investigated for making licentious mistakes in fact-checking a magazine profile that causes a scandal, the controversial, complicated and egotistical journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) loses his job, apartment, moral compass and most of his sanity. Then he spends the rest of this interminable, head-scratching thriller trying not to lose his life and everything below his gym-ready waistline and above his walnut-cracking thighs in one scene of nasty brutality after another. He’s crafty, but he’s also a two-fisted fool for getting recruited by Swedish industrial tycoon Henrik Vanger (a wasted Christopher Plummer) to investigate the disappearance of his great-niece Harriet, who disappeared 40 years ago from a family reunion on a sinister island with an unpronounceable name off the coast of Sweden. The case was never solved, but Vanger believes she was murdered by a member of his own dysfunctional family. Here the brain-twisting plot begins to get delusional. As the reporter begins to unravel multiplying clues, he tracks down and hires Lisbeth Salander (newcomer Rooney Mara), a chain-smoking, motorcycle-riding Goth lesbian computer hacker shrouded in black leather whose invasion of his hard drive reveals the errors that have tanked his career. This zombie is a real creep workout, replete with body piercings, a dragon tattoo that encircles her body and more rings around her eyes than a rabid raccoon.

Sharing a deserted cottage by the sea in a gray, frozen Swedish winter, the reporter and his freaked-out researcher, equipped with his-and-her laptops, dig up newspaper reports from the year Harriet disappeared, connecting an entire series of homicides, and before you can yell “Holy Whitechapel Ripper!” the Vanders turn out to be a whole family of serial killers! There’s Henrik’s brother, a Nazi who died in 1940, and the brother’s son, Gottfried, and grandson, Martin (Stellan Skarsgård), the latter two of whom continually raped and sodomized Harriet, Martin’s sister, who moved to Australia and is living under the assumed name of her cousin Anita. It takes an hour and a half before the two stars of this bizarre puzzle meet and he hires her to look up all the other women who have been murdered under similar circumstances, all raped and killed, all with names from the Bible and linked by verses from Leviticus. Then, under pressure, they end up in bed in a savage sexual fury—an unconvincing twist, since Lisbeth has endured a lifetime of rape and sexual torture herself, and despises men. (We’ve just seen her sewing up an eye with dental floss, tying up a victim and tattooing “I AM A RAPIST PIG” on his chest with a carving knife.) Reckless, hostile and pretty close to being a serial killer herself, she’s seriously damaged, exacting gruesome revenge on anyone who crosses her, but when it comes to her boss, she melts, saving a naked Mr. Craig from an unbearably convincing basement torture chamber that leaves nothing to the imagination.

I’m a big fan of the kind of sleaze and terror David Fincher is famous for (think Se7en and Fight Club) and this is no exception. The great screenwriter Steven Zaillian’s elaborate, convoluted script, so muddled that even after it’s over you still don’t know what it’s all about, is a drawback—but the movie is a master class in sinister style, tense and deeply uncomfortable. The cold Swedish dreamscape of blackness is so effective that sometimes you feel like you need a flashlight. Mr. Fincher also knows how to bring out the fearlessness in actors. As James Bond, Mr. Craig is a terrific mixture of sarcastic charm and sartorial splendor, in or out of the sack, but when the role calls for something darker, he’s equally well equipped. Mr. Skarsgård is especially scary because of the sheer exploitation of power with which he manipulates people under the guise of polite, amiable calm—making his later scenes from friendly to ferocious doubly shocking. Ms. Mara is a damaged ferret, her eyes darting, her tongue rubbing her stapled lips as she helps the mentally distraught reporter try to make sense of a deepening mystery. It all adds up to a noxious brew of teeth-grinding, knuckle-whitening brutality. Merry Christmas to you, too.

rreed@observer.com

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO

Running time 158 minutes

Written by Steven Zaillian and Stieg Larsson

Directed by David Fincher

Starring Daniel Craig, Rooney Mara and Stellan Skarsgård

2.5/4

Rachel Weisz (Photo from Patrick McMullan)

Kathy Bolkovac had an even-keeled reaction when The Observer told her Rachel Weisz had called her a hero. “I really reject that title” she said matter-of-factly. Nevertheless, last Wednesday evening, scores of socialites and celebrities descended upon Tribeca for the premiere of Ms. Weisz’s new film, The Whistleblower, which tells the story of Ms. Bolkovac’s life.

The event, jointly hosted by the Cinema Society, Dior Beauty and DeLeon, brought high-brow and high-fashion celebrities from out of the woodwork. Hamish Bowles, Anna Wintour, Nicole Miller, rocker Albert Hammond Jr. of the Strokes, Johan Lindeberg and Matthew Settle made appearances at the screening, many of them slipping into the Tribeca Grand’s private theater unannounced and unphotographed.

When on assignment, Ms. Bolkovac—a Nebraska cop turned U.N. worker in postwar Bosnia—discovered that many of her colleagues were involved in the lurid sex-trafficking business. Stonewalled by her superiors, Ms. Bolkovac ultimately decided to become a whistleblower, releasing the story to European media outlets.

Ms. Weisz showed up at the hotel just before the start of the film. Bombarded by paparazzi, the actress posed good-humoredly for the cameras and looked stunning in a red Valentino dress. Ms. Weisz received a script for The Whisleblower several years ago but, pregnant with her son, Henry, was unable to accept the role at the time. Years later she asked her agent if the role was still available. Asked why this particular script stuck with her, Ms. Weisz claimed she simply couldn’t forget the powerful story. “I was just haunted by it. I was haunted by the story, by her character, by what she did,” said Ms. Weisz.

“The true heroes are the victims … I was simply doing my job,” said Ms. Bolkovac genuinely. The feet-on-the-ground Midwesterner seemed unfazed by the scene. Wearing a black dress with fraying beadwork, she demurely walked the red carpet, having her picture taken with Ms. Weisz and the cast when asked and gracefully bowing out when the paparazzi demanded solo shots of the starlette.

Larysa Kondracki, the film’s director, also attended, talking at length to the press about her work on the movie. The Ukrainian-Canadian spoke brusquely, wiping her brow under the bright, red-carpet lights. We asked the director what she hopes will come from the film, and she quickly recited her lofty goals. “I’d really like the U.N. to publicly embrace it, I’d like the State Department to look at international immunity, and I’d like some laws to be changed.

“At the very least peacekeepers should not buy and sell women,” she added thinly.

Unlike Ms. Kondracki, Ms. Weisz proffered a more notional answer when we asked her what she wanted the film to accomplish. “I hope that people are inspired. Inspired, you know … just to think about something or just to be entertained. I think inspiration doesn’t need to lead to actually doing something.”

After the screening, guests walked to Jimmy, the club on top of the James Hotel. People milled about, trying not to fall victim to the pool in the center of the roof deck, in which a single cocktail napkin had saturated and sunk, marring the otherwise pristine bottom.

Stephen Baldwin approached The Observer, asking for a cigarette. “You should really smoke American Spirits,” he said. “This cigarette has 2,300 cancer-causing chemicals in it,” he said taking a drag. His phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. “It’s my daughter. I have to take this,” he said, disappearing into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Daniel Craig, Ms. Weisz’s newly minted husband, made a brief appearance but left quickly with the actress. Nip/Tuck’s Dylan Walsh and his very pregnant girlfriend, Leslie Bourgue, hobnobbed inside, while 30 Rock’s Scott Adsit parked himself in a chair with a woman perched on his lap for the entire evening.

Ms. Kondracki celebrated heartily, drinking with her coterie away from the socialites and flashbulbs. “No one’s here. I could jump in the pool,” Ms. Kondracki joked later in the night. “Oh! Don’t do that,” one of her friends sternly cautioned.

Different groups from different industries remained heterogeneous clumps throughout the night. Nightlife impresarios David Rabin and Larry Poston chatted near the outside bar, while groups of long-limbed models, including the gender-bending Andrej Pejic, lounged on lawn chairs. Media men—free-drink-loving Lloyd Grove of the Daily Beast among them—talked to fellow writers and creative types.

Ms. Bolkovac remained composed throughout the entire evening, her presence unknown to many of the partygoers. She stood off to the side with her Dutch partner, Jan, nuzzling and pointing at the striking view that went quite ignored by jaded Jimmy regulars.

Ford and Craig.

Cowboys & Aliens is one of the silliest movies ever made, but so many otherwise serious people have attached their names to it that, as Arthur Miller wrote in Death of a Salesman, attention must be paid. Steven Spielberg and Ron Howard are among the tangle of producers whose credits stretch from here to the next millennium, the idiotic screenplay boasts no fewer than five writers, and although I cannot imagine this farcical fusion of two separate film genres (science fiction and the Western) appealing to anyone over the age of 12, the two marquee lures at the top of the cast list are not exactly part of the bubble gum brigade. So with all the elements in place, another in a long line of cinematic comic books could be a surprise hit as it reaches its target audience, right up there next to the abysmal Captain America. Never underestimate the desperation of summer moviegoers to escape reality no matter how much they trash their I.Q.’s. They’ll do anything to get out of a heat wave.

Too bad Mr. Spielberg didn’t also direct, instead of Jon Favreau, a terrible TV actor (Robot Chicken) who has somehow morphed into helming third-rate movies (Iron Man). He doesn’t show a single shred of originality as he piles on the clichés in a parody of everything from The Big Country to It Came from Outer Space, but the one Cowboys & Aliens owes the most to is the low-budget and forgotten The Dead and the Damned, in which a meteor lands in the middle of the California Gold Rush and turns everyone into zombies. The result here is equally hilarious, but Cowboys & Aliens works best when it plays it straight (an idea of Harrison Ford’s) instead of campy. And so, from time to time, it actually holds one’s attention between the episodes of violence and carnage.

One morning in the 1870s, Daniel Craig wakes up with amnesia in the desert near Absolution, Ariz. (played by New Mexico), wearing a strange metal bracelet attached to his wrist that looks like unisex jewelry at the Newport Beach art show. He has no memory of who he is or where he came from. He’s filthy, splattered with blood and barefoot, but with a great haircut. Riding alone into town like Shane, he quickly attracts the attention of a vicious, ruthless cattle baron named Colonel Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford), his maniacal son (hysterically overacted by the pickle-faced Paul Dano), a comely barfly named Ella (Olivia Wilde), an honest but outnumbered sheriff (Keith Carradine), a well-meaning preacher (Clancy Brown), a nervous, nerdy saloon keeper who needs a Valium (Sam Rockwell) and an Indian cowhand (Adam Beach).

When the Unknown Man is suddenly recognized as the face on the wanted poster in the local jail—a feared stagecoach robber named Jake Lonergan—the sheriff makes plans to cart him off to the federal marshal. But this is a Western, see, so Shane doesn’t die. Thirty minutes into what looks like a routine sagebrush saga, the shackle on Mr. Craig’s arm lights up, a space ship blows up the town, and a monster from another planet abducts half the citizens, including the colonel’s rabid son, Percy. (A homicidal maniac named Percy? These are the laughs, kids.) Mr. Ford and Mr. Craig have no choice but to pool their two-fisted talents in a rescue mission, form a posse and track the monster to a canyon of death. The rest of the movie is John Ford meets The Twilight Zone. Oh, did I forget to mention the Apaches? It wouldn’t be a Western without the Indians. They join the fray too—but what good is a tomahawk against $50 million of computer-generated special effects designed by George Lucas? The penultimate showdown, between the alien invaders and the Roy Rogers boots, spurs, arrows and six-guns, is noisy but less thrilling than expected. Still, the movie aims for nothing but entertainment, and I must admit it’s fun watching two grizzled roughnecks go at it like they were doing something meaningful and important.

What, in the final analysis, is it all about? It seems the extraterrestrial creatures, who seem to know a lot about the stock market, are looking for gold. In the funniest line in the picture, Harrison Ford wrinkles his face of solid granite and snarls: “Well, that is ridiculous! What are they going to do—buy something?”

rreed@observer.com

COWBOYS & ALIENS

Running time 118 minutes

Written by Roberto Orci, Alex Kurtzman, Damon Lindelof, Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby

Directed by Jon Favreau

Starring Harrison Ford, Daniel Craig, Paul Dano and Olivia Wilde

2/4

The Times says it's personality and skill:

Perhaps because of his upbringing in Sweden's ruling class, he moves easily among other public figures. He runs with a glamorous set of Swedes, like Princess Madeleine, who moved to the city in April, and Caroline Winberg, a Victoria's Secret model.

Or maybe it is his own experience in the movies:

It was that body that caught the eye of an online casting agent in 2001. Wash West, a tongue-in-cheek porn director who had worked with Bruce LaBruce and others, was intrigued by Mr. Eklund's story. "His grandfather was a famous actor in Sweden, so he came with this pedigree of Swedish theater and film," Mr. West said, referring to Bengt Eklund, who worked with Bergman.

As Tag Eriksson, Mr. Eklund appeared in approximately six films shot in California in 2001 and 2002, including "The Hole," a parody of the popular horror film "The Ring." (In "The Ring" watching a cursed videotape causes the characters to die; in "The Hole" it makes them gay.) The film won him a 2004 GayVN award, sometimes called the gay porn Oscars, for a Best Solo Scene.

Whatever the case, this master broker is headed right back to the small screen, as he has an option for a new show with HGTV. No longer will he only be famous in his native Sweden and in certain, uh, circles. Too bad he has to quit his job at CORE real estate, which has a rival show on the station.

Still, Mr. Eklund is unfazed. "Life is a big tasty smorgasbord," he told The Times. "And there are a lot of really good-looking sandwiches to try."

mchaban [at] observer.com | @mc_nyo

Of the fall's many anticipated productions, only A Steady Rain (with Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig), appears to have made much money. Among the casualties: the extensively analyzed Simon revival, and at least half of the Mametstravaganza. It remains to be seen how Mamet's Race—combining attractive celebrities with theater buzz—will fare.

Rain apparently shows us the "wave of the future":

Fred Zollo, the lead producer of A Steady Rain who works both on Broadway and in Hollywood, announced a deal with Broadway's biggest landlord, the Shubert Organization. Zollo and his investors will supply big stars and brief runs; Shubert will guarantee a great theater.

In Hollywood, it's known as a housekeeping deal, where a studio gives office space to a producer in return for first dibs on new projects. I expected other producers to howl over the arrangement; instead, most cheered it.

Also, "more Hollywood star-driven shows for limited runs."