Woody Allen’s latest comedy, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, does not include a menage à trois. All the talk pre-opening weekend felt like the ad campaign for Gossip Girl—full of sex, threesomes, or whatever would catch public interest.

Winner of the audience award at Sundance this year, The Wackness is a story of two outcasts: one a middle-aged therapist/weird old guy who can’t connect with his wife and misses the good old days, the other a lonely high schooler who deals pot, crushes on girls out of his league, and loves hip-hop.

A lot of dress-up, a lot of live-blogging, a lot of build up. People have had the Sex and the City: The Movie boner for like, three months now. And suffice it to say, in the end, the spunk was funky. It may well have been the worst sex of our lives.

And then, because this joke isn’t so funny, if I were director Nicholas Stoller, I would insert a picture of me with my pants down, penis blazin’. And then I’d have Judd Apatow sign his name on the picture of my penis. And then...well, you get the idea: Forgetting Sarah Marshall, the newest Judd Apatow Production (Superbad, Knocked Up, The 40-Year Old Virgin), sorta rocks balls.

My Blueberry Nights, Wong Kar Wai’s English-language feature debut, is a portrait of America and its culture of loneliness, and an homage to the heroic iconography of early Westerns, the divine romantic comedies, and the edgy MTV hip-ocrasy of love and loss.

From the critically acclaimed filmmaker and founder of independent post-colonial African cinema comes a look at Africa’s traditions and sociopolitical landscape—what makes its both beautiful and brutal.