Members of the press are cordially invited to join us in celebrating the most talented contemporary female directed/produced horror films from across the globe at the 2011 Viscera Film Festival. Please RSVP quickly so that we may reserve a spot for you (please specify + 1 if you wish to bring a photographer). Seating is limited and you do not want to miss this opportunity to help us promote equality and creativity within the horror genre.

Sunday, 17 July 2011

The Silent Movie Theater
611 North Fairfax Avenue
Los Angeles, Ca. 90036
(323) 655-2520

http://www.seeing-stars.com/theatres/SilentMovie.shtml

During the festival you will be witnessing some of the most creative and original new short horror films made by women today. Some are terrifying, some are pulse pounding, and some are hilarious. All showcase what can be accomplished when women work together.  Okay, when twisted, cool horror chicks work together.

Photo and interview opportunities will be provided during the Bloody Carpet Ceremony, followed by the screening of 16 short horror films and 7 trailers, and an award ceremony, and Q and A.

SCHEDULE:

3:45 PM – Bloody Carpet and mingling with special guests, filmmakers on back patio of theater.

5:00 PM – Festival begins! Sit in your seats!

8:00 PM – After Party on the back patio.

10:00 pm – After, After Party at the Rosewood Tavern
So far our confirmed special guests include:

Denise Gossett – Director of the Shriekfest Film Festival
Brea Grant – Star of “Heroes”
Jonathan Tiersten – Sleepaway Camp
Elizabeth Stanley – Producer
Amanda Diebert – Actress Prey to God
Cat Staggs – Comic Book Artist
Joe Lynch – Director of Wrong Turn 2, Knights of Badassdom
Mark Hengst – Megashark Vs. Giant Octopus
Dave Decoteau – Cult Horror Director
Brinke Stevens – The original Scream Queen
Chris Gore – Creator of FilmThreat
Anthony Masi – Producer
Paul Solet – Writer / Director of Grace
Jamie Andrews – Actress
Michelle Boyd – Actress
Peter Cornwell – Director of A Haunting in Conneticut
Michelle Tomlinson – Actress
Dai Green – Managing Editor of Horrornews.net
Devanny Pinn – Actress
Danielle Harris – Stakeland
Susanna Lo – Director of Manson Girls
Gabby West – Actress and Winner of “Scream Queens” Season 2
Reggie Bannister – Phantasm Films
Gigi Bannister – SFX Artist

But what is everyone turning out to see? Why are we so excited? Look below for the list of films to be screened. These are the reason for our jubilation. If you join us, you can celebrate the following right along with us:

Trailers:

American Mary by the Soska Sisters – WORLD PREMIERE
Adventure Girls by Dara Moats and Jon Deitcher
Blood on the Flat Track by Lainy Bagwelll, Lacey Leavitt
The Blood Shop by Annette Slomka- WORLD PREMIERE
WIH Month PSA by the Soska Sisters
You Can Execute Her but You Can’t Kill Her by Jasmine Hirst
L.A.G.P.  by Susan Bell – WORLD PREMIERE

Films*:

2-15-1996 – Mae Catt (USA) – WORLD PREMIERE
Aftershock – Lori Bowen (USA)
Bon Appetit – Kate Shenton  (U.K.) – US PREMIERE
Doll Parts – Karen Lam (Canada)
Blood Bunny – Molly Madfis (USA)
A Fever and a River – Rachael Deacon (USA) – LA PREMIERE
Short Lease – Jennifer Eiss (U.K.)
Box -  Nikki Wall (USA) – WORLD PREMIERE
The Ghost and Us – Emily Carmichael (USA)

Intermission – 15 Minutes

The Party’s Over – Gigi Romero (Spain) – US PREMIERE
Lump – Faye Jackson  (U.K.)
Threnody – Tyrrell Shaffner (USA)
Nursery Crimes – Laura Whyte (U.K.)
The Key to Annabel Lee – Staci Layne Wilson (USA)
The Many Doors of Albert Whale – Marichelle Daywalt (USA)
Daddy’s Girl  – Helen Komini Olsen (Norway)

*Mature Content.  Parental Discretion Advised

Filmmakers Q&A

Filmmakers Karen Lam, Mae Catt, Rachael Deacon, Nikki Wall, Lori Bowen, Molly Madfis, Staci Layne Wilson, Marichelle Daywalt, and Tyrrel Shaffner onstage to answer your questions!

Awards!

Winners of Best Film, Best Director, and Best Cinematography announced!

See what I mean? This is some exciting stuff! But don’t grab your hat yet.  The fun and festivities don’t end there. Immediately following the festival will be the After Party on the back patio until 10PM! Drinks, food, and fun with filmmakers, guests, and more!

And for those who just can’t stop the party, you can join us for the After, After Party.

Rosewood Tavern
448 North Fairfax Avenue
Los Angeles, Ca 90036
(323) 944-0980
http://rosewoodtavern.com/

Viscera Film Festival Sponsors!

Of course this gruesome good time wouldn’t be so swank if it wasn’t for the generosity of our incredible sponsors!  See who made the cool list then keep checking back at the website for updates. 

Fearnet.com, Final Draft, Gorilla Software, Fangoria Entertainment, Fangirltastic, The Chainsaw Mafia, 33 Rooms, Women in Horror Month, Malibu Wines, Farmer’s Daughter Hotel, Matt Orsman, Crimson Stained Lace Productions, Kimyoo Films, The Horror Digest, DOA Bloodbath Entertainment, Rotten Cotton, Hot Zombie Chicks, There is No Halo, Annie M. Vickar Dolls & Skellery, Angel City Derby Girls, Zerner Law, Jessica Grundy, Morgue Art Films, Friendly Misanthrope, 1428 Films, Dan Dillard, Mike Merryman, Caisson Films, Hannah Foreman, Nick Goodrick, Assorted Oddities, Jen Morgart, Scary Art, The Big Bad, Lia Scott Price, Amityville Studios, Quirk Films, Philly Chick Pictures, Laughing Vixen Lounge, Brent Schoonover, Irene Langholm, Shannon Rose, Mark Berryman, Cassandra Sechler, Mike Snoonian, Mary Katherine Sisco, Simon Nisbet, Post-Mortem Depression, Susan Bell, Jeffrey Kane, Dreams for Dead Cats, Charon Pictures, Fable & Fury, Entertainment Partners.com, Emy’s Gift Shop, The Womanimal, FoamyWader, Neverland Jewelry,  Red Carpet Crash.

For further information regarding the festival and everything we are about, please visit  http://viscerafilmfestival.com 
And don’t forget to hit the ARCHIVE section while you’re there.  If you would like to view any of these films, just let us know.

If all of that doesn’t get your blood pumping, then I’m afraid you might be a zombie. But don’t worry, we have room for boys and ghouls at our celebration. Just please make sure to let us know you wish to be there. Don’t know how to do that? That’s what I’m here for. Please contact me at the address below and let me know if I can add you or a representative to the guest list and whether you wish to bring a photographer.  But don’t take too long to respond as seating is limited.

Director Michael Bay has said in interviews that his latest film “Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon” was his indirect apology to fans after the car crash that was “Transformers: Rise of the Fallen.”

He was quoted as saying of his latest: “I think our 3D works really well with the robots, the size, the girth, the weight of it… it’s spectacular.”

It seems Mr. Bay maybe confusing the words “spectacular” with “spectacle.”

“Fallen” is wall-to-wall fetishizing of twisted metal, tawny babes and ear-bleeding explosions, but it’s merely more of the same “more-ess” the hack has been peddling off to the masses for the better part of his career. You can argue that, technically, this is the most accomplished on the franchise, but that’s like picking the “cat’s paw” over the “Judas chair” (if you are not familiar with either, look ‘em up — after your meal has digested).

Add to this the use of 3-D technology, and it just means one more dimension in which this franchise can suck.

Good luck with following the plot of “Moon,” which has been made unmercifully confusing, apparently in order to hide its multitudinous other faults. It all boils down to a decades-old NASA cover-up of an Autobot moon landing that is now coming to a head in modern-day U.S. where our young hero, Sam Witwicky (played by Shia LaBeouf, sprinting through his lines), happens to be dwelling. Despite having “saved the world” a couple times before, Sam is jobless, but shacking up with his latest Micheal-Bay-approved slide of vapid hotness, Carly (played by model Rosie Huntinton-Whiteley).

I would like to take this moment to point out one of the most frustrating aspects of the entire series. While I am sure Huntington-Whiteley is a lovely lady who’s nice to animals, the elderly, and loves her parents, she was hired for one reason only, which is on proud display in the film’s opening scene. As her PG-13-underwear-clad bum serves as a metronome for the first few minutes, I began to wonder just what age group this film is made for? Every female cast in the film is meant for ogling. Of course, Bay tosses in a few “average” women, too. All for comic relief.

This aspect of the flick is clearly aimed at the 20-30-year-old  “Maxim” magazine-loving lads, hungry for Autobot headlights and female “headlights,” but while it soaks in sexuality, it remains chaste, just leading that demographic on before sending them home for a strategically placed pack of ice.

A large portion of time is spent on jokes and slapstick that are targeted at the elementary school crowd (hell, I’m not convinced the entire script was not written as a 5th-grade class project) who flock to the flick solely for its shiny shifting robots.

This abrupt shift between audiences is par for the course throughout the film, with a cast of esteemed actors (John Turturro, John Malkovich, Frances McDormand) tarnishing any acting statuettes they’ve earned thus far.

When we finally get to the climactic robot carnage (about 100 minutes in, if you cannot sit through all 2 hours and 37 minutes), there are some moment of genuine awe, but after an hour of it, your senses have been adequately pulverized into a state of dulled submission, craving any organic, non-metal-base stimuli to ground you back into reality.

It’s a wonder why Bay just does not create a film without human characters. Clearly this is why audiences are forking over the cash (I can’t see anyone in line anxiously waiting what wildly inappropriate comments Sam’s obnoxious parents will make in this installment). Just shed the humans, and create an entirely digital world and play to your base.

With the humans involved on screen, “Transformers” will only continue grinding its gears.

Of all the things the missing from the first “Cars,” — and the were many — more screen time for Larry The Cable Guy was not one of them.

Yet, in “Cars 2,” he takes center stage for the majority of the film’s run time. Sure, he’s represented by a rusty tow truck on the screen, but it’s pure The Cable Guy, with stupidity emblazoned on him like a Trans-Am hood bird, making this marginal Pixar entry as fun as a rainy-day weekend trip along Route 1 in the summertime. (This last one is a local beach reference for those reading this outside my publishing area).

It pains me to speak ill of Pixar, a studio that has consistently provided me (and my family) with hours of indelible cinematic memories year after year. The original “Cars” is the only film from their library that is not in regular rotation in our DVD player (even the animated shorts compilation gets more love).

But Pixar has demonstrated with “Toy Story” that their sequels can build firmly on the original and even improve in spots. So if anyone could put the film back on course with others in its catalog, it is Pixar. At the very least, they would give it a nice fresh coat of paint and oil change, right?

I suppose even Pixar needs to pay the bills once in a while, and even though “Cars” was both their least commercially and critically successful, it was a merchandising goliath (with an estimated $5 billion in toys and such). So now we find ourselves behind the wheel of “Cars 2,” which feels like the most elaborate direct-to-video sequel of all time (which, ironically, the second “Toy Story” was originally scheduled to be).

Lightning McQueen (voiced by Owen Wilson) has decided to head back to the track, this time entering the World Grand Prix, a three-continent race in which a taunting nemisis, Francesco (voiced by John Tuturro), is favored. McQueen brings buddy Mater (voiced by The Cable Guy) with him. This gives Mater the opportunity to demonstrate his ignorance globally, and gives us the misfortune of prolonged stretches of his homespun “humor.”

And when we’re not being treated to hayseed pearls of wisdom, “Cars 2″ packs it trunk with yet another lame attempt at ’60s-era British spy flicks (that is really the best they could come up with? Hasn’t Austin Powers successfully torpedoed this genre for mockery with “Goldmember?”). Michael Caine and Emily Mortimer give voice to Finn McMissle and Holly Shiftwell, respectively, two international spies who aim to stop a villainous vehicle with — what else? — plans of global dominance.

The town of Radiator Springs, the one pit stop of humanity and character in the first film, is but a footnote, as are all it’s inhabitants. The film’s soundtrack, which was hackneyed in the first (did we really need another cover of “Life is a Highway”?) is equally uninspired here. Weezer’s contribution of “You Might Think” stays close to the original by The Cars (get it?).

The best that can be mustered is the company’s continued commitment to visuals. Every chunk of gravel, tread of tire and sparkle of chrome is detailed as it is striking. They continue to end in the winner’s circle for animated excellence.

Sadly, there is little else for anyone but the youngest of audiences to get from “Cars 2.” It puts the “formula” in formula racing.

For those familiar with the 1938 source material, the film adaptation of “Popper’s Penguins” take some liberty with the story, but does not sully its legacy, albeit for the aforementioned potty humor. It’s also one of the more subdued live-action comedic performances from its lead, Jim Carrey, which works in its favor.

The film version uproots the Popper clan to present-day New York City, and makes the penguins a gift bequeathed from a Mr. Popper’s recently deceased explorer father. But even though it’s set in modern times, it feels strangely old-fashioned. And like an antique piece of machinery, it takes a little while to warm up.

It’s not that the film is dull or slow-moving, it just takes a while to settle into the film’s own reality. It looks like New York, and the actors hold jobs that may actually exist, but “Peguins” is also about a man who transforms his apartment to house a half-dozen flightless arctic fowl (despite the repeated pleas from local, logical zoo officials), and expects us to find this perfectly rational.

If you can adjust your brain to accept this premise, there are quite a few chortles to be found throughout, most due to Carrey’s ingratiating performance and the often-CGI-animated brood shacking up in his pad.

The film delves into daddy issues more than the book ever did, which does not detract too much from the overall story. It takes a little bit to settle into proceedings, but for younger fans of the book, there are far more offensive options at the theater recently (I’m looking right at you, “Judy Moody”).

The Popper of the film is a business-driven dad who is tasked with acquiring the Tavern on the Green from its obstinate owner, Mrs. Van Gundy (played by a wonderfully persnickety Angela Lansbury). When the eponymous birdies are discovered by his ex-wife (played by Cara Gugino) and children (played by Madeline Carroll and Maxwell Perry Cotton), Popper realizes the birds strengthen his estranged family.

Carrey’s transition from his more adult-oriented comedians has been less awkward than fellow comedians Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. He has sprinkled the latter part of his resume with detours into the territory (a “Lemony Snicket” here, an “Horton Hears a Who” there). What is interesting with “Popper” is that he could have easily brought his manic mugging to the role as he interacts with the little waddling wildlife. Instead, he adjusts the volume to suitable level, presenting a character that is oddly human for Carrey.

There’s no doubt that “Popper” is as generic as last week’s other release, “The Green Lantern,” but it does not mean it does not work. It all seems to gel despite itself, and audiences who don’t look too deep beyond the surface of the picture will exit engaged, as long as they can accept that, tonally and logically, “Popper” is a truly odd bird.

Familiarity breeds contempt. Perhaps that is the rationale behind the critical drubbing “The Green Lantern,” has received upon release. Since 2000, there have been 36 films based on comic books (about six more were created exclusively for the screen). And “Latern” is the fourth of five to be released this year alone (hell, it’s not even the first “Green” superhero in 2011. That distinction goes to January’s god-awful “Green Hornet.” ).

Comics are an easy template for filmmakers, as they already have a tale, a storyboard and a built-in audience. They have the potential for great summer diversions (“Iron Man”) or even overall excellence (“The Dark Knight”). But, as the saying goes in one particular comic-to-film translation, “with great power comes great responsibility.” The missteps have been too numerous to count (“Catwoman,” “Ghost Rider” and “Jonah Hex” immediately rush to mind), and the core audience can be particularly unforgiving, so filmmakers should approach the genre with caution.

And with all the faults that one may find in “Lantern,” being careless with the rules of this type of film is certainly not one of them. It heeds the movie genre formula with methodical precision. Take a flawed lead, present him with newfound powers and overwhelming odds, watch him stumble out of the gate, but sprint to the finish line. Oh, and empty the film’s pockets on climactic explosions and blinding CGI-rendered flashes.

That is exactly what “Latern” does to an serviceable degree, never once coloring outside the lines. Ryan Reynolds plays Hal Jordan, an overconfident pilot who stumbles on a ring possessing otherworldly powers and is handed the chance to save his planet. There has been rumblings within the comic community that Jordan was far from the swollen-headed hero portrayed here, but a square-jawed stiffs don’t rake in the bucks at the box office anymore, just ask Superman.

Intergalactic threats clutter Hal’s path to greatness, but it’s nothing a few green-hued, computer-generated weapons cannot salvage, leaving him plenty of time to “get the girl” (here, played by Blank, err, I mean Blake Lively). His main nemesis is researcher Hector Hammond (played by the always-interesting-but-not-here Peter Sarsgaard), who mutates into a comic version of John “Elephant Man” Merrick.

Reynolds does what you hire the former Van Wilder to do: show up, makes a few quips, fill out the spandex better than an action figure, then quickly disappear from memory.

“Lantern” does not reinvent, reinvigorate or subvert the genre. It just does its job like a modestly skilled day laborer. That is the closest one can come to complimenting “Lantern.” It’s not offensive to the senses, nor is it an example of exemplary filmmaking. It’s the cinematic equivalent to duct tape — it will hold the genre in place, but by no means fixes a thing about it.

For the non-geek filmgoer, the term “lens flare” will mean absolutely nothing. But they will know it when they see it.

It’s a photographic technique that causes light to flatten and streak out into a horizon-like pattern that fills the screen. Director (and producer of “Super 8″) Steven Spielberg used them religiously in his earlier films of the ’70s and ’80s, as seen in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” “E.T.,” and “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” among others.

“Super 8′s” director, J.J. Abrams, relied on them in his “Star Trek” reboot, but it wasn’t until this latest film that I realized how nostalgic that little cinematic trick made me.

It is, in fact, one of many sweet throwbacks to films of youth contained within “Super 8,” a paean to classic sci-fi films of that era. It’s a film that delivers in its promise of monster-y mayhem, but is not afraid to let its emotions show.

“Super 8″ has been enshrouded in mystery this past year, only allowing filmgoers brief glimpses as to what his creature feature would deliver. And while it may not be the all-out mayhem one might have expected, the result is much better.

Set in 1979, a group of small-town, middle school friends are ready to spend their summer completing a backyard movie to enter into a local festival competition.

Our protagonist, Joe (played by Joel Courtney) has recently suffered the loss of his mom, and is living with a cold-but-caring dad (played by Kyle Chandler), who is also the town sheriff. Joe’s motley movie-making crew include: Charles (played by Riley Griffiths), the portly director; Cary (Ryan Lee), a firecracker-happy runt; Martin (played by Gabriel Basso), the film’s puking-prone lead actor; and Preston (played by Zach Mills), the scrawny lighting supervisor.

Joe’s skills with the brush designate him as the little movie’s special effects and make-up guy, and they also come in handy in bringing him closer to the face of lead actress Alice (played by Elle Fanning), the object of his pre-pubescent crush.

During one particular shoot at an abandoned station, a train rumbles in town and derails. In their escape from the explosion, they leave the cameras rolling, capturing a strange creature leaving one of the cars. When the military quickly and secretively descend upon the town to investigate, it sends the filmmakers on an adventure straight from the heart of Speilbergian Country.

By setting the film in 1979, director Abrams is allowed to dabble in the pre-Internet world of youth — one filled with races against time on BMX bikes, chats that take place face-to-face, and information that is not easily dispensed with the click of a button. But it’s not presented with a grumbling “when I was your age, we used to…” tone. Abrams sticks with the common Spielberg theme of the cunning of kids and their ability to band together to mount overwhelming obstacles (as in “The Goonies” and “E.T.). It also shares DNA from a forgotten Joe Dante film of the same era, 1985’s “Explorers.”

Lest you think this is a cuddly valentine filled with wide-eyed, candy-loving aliens, the film does wear its PG-13 rating proudly. The kids swear (as kids of that age, regardless of the generation, are prone to do when are out of adult earshot), the casualties are real and things manage to get quite intense in the climatic scenes.

It should be noted that none of this could have been pulled off were it not for the heartfelt performances pulled from its young leads. Abrams coaxes a depth seldom felt with groups of children of that awkward age. Courtney and Fanning are standouts, with performances that contain none of the self-aware gestures that can typically hamper young actors.

The all ground the film’s otherworldly elements in a humanity when things get a little nutty during the alien rampage. The chaotic conclusion is perhaps the film’s only drawback, and that is the incongruity of the ferocious, destructive nature of the beast, and the sympathy its given by the children. It’s not that the alien does not deserve it, it’s just that Abrams doesn’t spend enough time allowing the alien to earn it with the audience. It leads to a tonal imbalance at key moments.

None of that is enough to crash-land “Suer 8,” though, which is sure-footed enough to roll over its rough patches. It serves as homage without ripping off, creating its own unique vision while nodding to those whose shoulders on which this stands.

And Abrams and his cast and crew do it with flair as well as flare.

Prequels in general can be an odds-defying gamble. The few that succeed (“Batman Begins”) can reinvigorate a franchise. But at their worst, they can be the film equivalent of your parents “friending” you on Facebook — it may spring from good intentions, but feels all kinds of wrong.

The road is littered with abominations spliced from superior cinematic genetics: the ill-planned “Star Wars” prequels, the ill-conceived “Hannibal Rising,” and the the just plain ill “Dumb and Dumberer.”

But fans of the “X-Men” saga suffered a recent sting of prequelitis with “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” in 2009, and this was before the stench had yet to clear from the franchise’s tumescent third film, 2006’s “X-Men: The Last Stand.”

When it was announced that the franchise was going to head back to the early years of the film world’s favorite mutants, I personally had visions of “X-Men” going the way of “The Muppet Babies,” and burrowing the franchise even further into oblivion in exchange for cashing in on the all-important youth market.

And while it can at times struggle to find its tone, “First Class” restores the “X-Men” name to the solid footing of the first two films.

Starting solemnly in a WWII concentration camp, the film (re)introduces us to a young Erik Lehnsherr (played by Michael Fassbender), the man who will become Magneto. At this time, we also witness the more-privileged upbringing of Charles Xavier (played by a charismatic James McAvoy), who is on his way to become a professor by studying, appropriately genetic abnormalities.

Their lives intersect at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, with various mutants splintering off between using their hidden powers for good or for revenge. New names to the series include Sebastian Shaw (played by Kevin Bacon), a former Nazi who is the fuel for Megneto’s vengeance, diamond-skinned baddie Emma Frost (played by a lifeless January Jones), and the cacophonic Banshee (played by Caleb Landry Jones), among others.

By turning the clock back to 1962, director Matthew Vaughn (“Kick-Ass”) infuses the film with a retro feel straight out of a Cold War-era James Bond film, and the impending missile strikes grounds it in reality. The cast is all over the map in terms of acting, with McAvoy, Fassbender and Bacon representing at the top, to Jones, who grinds things to a halt in every scene she enters.

Vaughn demonstrates an obvious affection for the lore of the comic book on which it is based, and his action sequences soar — quite literally, at times, during a climactic missile launch. He also shows a firm grasp on the group dynamics and the melodrama that ensues, providing each lead ample room to share his or her initial grappling of their abilities.

The only time the true strain is felt is when the film tries to crochet in its various ties with the previous films, throwing bones to the devotees on the series. There are several throwaway connections scattered throughout. Some work well (hello, Hugh Jackman), but most land with a thud (do we really need bald jokes just yet and do we have to witness the division of Magneto and Xavier before the end credits?).

None of that, though, takes away from the film’s overall achievement of dusting off after its previous stumbles and proudly letting its roots show.

I had considered possibly resubmitting my initial review for “The Hangover” for its sequel, since that is all the writers of the latest film had done. But then I realized everything I found fresh and funny the first go-round had gone a bit stale in this second serving.

Plus, I don’t think the Cape Gazette would have paid me for it again for the same article.

The chess pieces have been rearranged, but the game is unchanged: guys celebrate wedding, gather for a pre-ceremony drink; guys wake up with no recollection of what went down and one crew member MIA; guys scramble to piece together the events and make it to the ceremony in time for the “I do’s.”

The similarities don’t end there, as there is even an exotic animal, accidental facial alterations, a tangle with drug dealer Chow (Ken Jeong), a Mike Tyson cameo, an end-credit photo montage of the boys more lascivious behavior, and a musical interlude that sums up the events in the midst of the chaos.

But the song remains the same, and judging from the initial box office receipts this past weekend, originality matters not to fans, as they flocked to the R-rated comedy for the further adventures of Stu (played by Ed Helms), Phil (played by Bradley Cooper), and Alan (played by Zach Galifianakis). And by “further,” I mean the same exact same, just in the more exotic locale of Thailand.

The self-described “Wolf Pack” is gearing up for the lavish wedding of Stu to some random hottie whom he apparently loves boundlessly. I say “apparently” because we know absolutely nothing about her, nor are we given any explanation as to the whereabouts of his Vegas stripper wife (played by Heather Graham in the first, but relegated to only a picture on the wall here), or any of their lives since the original film.

Cue the clanking of raised glasses for one last pre-wedding beverage, and we cut to the fellas crawling out of their bender the following day. They may not recall a thing, but for those who watched the first, we essentially know what went down. In place of Doug (played by Justin Bartha), now its the bride-to-be’s younger brother whose gone missing. (Poor Bartha, as Doug is still left on the sidelines, having skipped out and headed home before the madness went down.)

“Part II” is not without its minor chuckles, but for a film in which the Wolf Pack’s blacked-out misadventures are supposed to be increasingly outrageous, the whole thing feels all-too safe and neutered. Cooper dutifully recreates the same alpha position as he did in the original, and Helms is given a few more lines to scream in panic. As Alan, Galafianakis is still given the choice lines, but seems more hostile and stifled, even though he is handed a chain-smoking monkey as a sidekick.

Bangkok presented the perfect backdrop of potential depravity in which the leads could let their freak flags fly, but aside from a trip to a very different kind of strip club, there remains little surprise (and far too much reliance on Chow as a quasi-main character).

More reboot than sequel, “Hangover Part II” still narrowly escapes with enough entertainment thanks to its leads, who have developed an on-screen chemistry in which we want to invest. But if the Wolf Pack returns for another night of missing-memory debauchery, it better replace its toner cartridge, because this copy of the original is already showing signs of fading.

Despite a darker tone, Po’s fists of furry fury are just as engaging in “Kung Fu Panda 2,” a solid product from DreamWorks Animation, which has been milking its cash cow… or ogre, rather, churning out increasingly inferior “Shrek” sequels.

DreamWorks nailed it last year with one of the year’s best animated films, “How to Teain Your Dragon.” But in the sequel department, its subsequent “Shrek” and “Madagascar” films dropped precipitously in quality.

But “Panda” not only sustains the original’s energy, it faithfully broadens the backstory of its characters with care and compassion. It’s also the perfect vehicle for star Jack Black, whose live-action shtick is long past its expiration date, but fits snugly within the body of a roly-poly pixelated panda.

Po is now a master, enlisting his gang of motley martial artists to defend their homeland. Tigress (voiced by Angelina Jolie), Mantis (Seth Rogen), Crane (David Cross), Snake (Lucy Liu), and Monkey (Jackie Chan) are battle-ready and still under the guidance of Master Shifu ( Dustin Hoffman).

Their nemesis is peacock Lord Shen (voiced by Gary Oldman) a feathered foe that has manipulated the dark power of fireworks that he threatens to shower down on Po’s village. Shen’s arrival also sparks questions of Po’s adoptive past and how he came into the loving arms of his father Mr. Ping (voiced by James Hong).

The struggle with sense of self throws the already awkward Po even more off balance, and the film’s complexity only serves to strengthen its storytelling. But even though it opts for heavier drama, it’s not at the expense of action and mirth. There may be a few less gut-busters, but their absence is needed to add heft to Po’s poignant personal journey.

Technically, the film is a beaut. Fireworks are not merely a plot device, but are seen throughout, with colors exploding, and action staged like a lit fuse by director Jennifer Yuh. It is also a film that benefits greatly in its 3-D format, using it not as a gimmick, but weaving it fluidly into the flick.

Every voice dutifully fills its animated counterpart with life, but special mention must be given to Hong as Po’s adoptive dad. Each scene of his is balanced with the perfect amount of paternal pride and panic as his son takes journeys both externally and within himself. It is a heartbreaking vocal performance.

And while the end rather expectedly sets up for another outing, it is one that is met with less trepidation now that the sequel stands on such strong legs. It’s no propaganda to call this a stellar, proper “Panda.”

Like so many other films in producer/director Judd Apatow’s oeuvre, “Bridesmaids” features astute comedy that springs from a well of genuine human emotion.

And, like other Apatow-branded flicks, it overstays its welcome by about 30 minutes.

He only serves as producer here (Paul Feig is director), but his fingerprints are all over “Bridesmaids,” for better and for worse.

Kristen Wiig (who shares writing credit) stars as Annie, a 30-something single gal whose chipper exterior hides a life in sharp decline: her baking business went belly up, her romantic life is clogged with a creep (played by a wonderfully vain Jon Hamm), her creepy roommates want her out, and she’s just learned that her best pal, Lillian (played by Maya Rudolph), is getting hitched.

The role of Lillith’s maid of honor at least allows Annie to divert her focus on all the duties and responsibilities associated with the role — the shower, the bachlorette party, and various other female bonding exercises meant to gel the gals together.

Annie is quickly upstaged by Helen (played by Rose Byrne), Lillith’s new friend who appears to have sprung from the pages of a bridal magazine. She is the anti-Annie, flourishing in all areas of life and encroaching on BFF status with Lillith. The rivalry between Helen and Annie sends ripples through the other ladies and makes Annie’s already-deteriorating self-worth slide to just above stripper level.

There are countless funny scenes throughout “Bridesmaids,” courtesy of the skilled comedic cast assembled (“SNL” alumnus Wiig and Rudolph, “Reno 911′s” Wendi McLendon-Covey, “Mike & Molly’s” Melissa McCarthy all generating the most chuckles). Some humor plays to the cheap seats (a bout with food poisoning that sends all the gals sprinting to the ladies’ room), while other bits bubble up from seldom explored moments of female relationships (the connection of friendship as one enters matrimony, leaving their previous single life behind).

But at more than two hours in length, the entire affair often feels crushed by the weight of its own girth. Scenes linger without direction, relationships are introduced only to never be seen again, and some bits feel like improvisational outtakes better left for the end-credit scroll. This is an Apatow trademark of his guy-centric flicks, from “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” to “Knocked Up” to the needlessly bloated “Funny People.”

There is much to admire with “Bridesmaids,” as it does feel like a turning point for strong, female-centric comedy more than the shrill ladies of “Sex and the City” ever have. The trouble is the audience must work to stay engaged to these ladies, which sometimes leads to thoughts of cold feet.