Destin Daniel Cretton‘s Short Term 12 (Cinedigm, 8.23) is the kind of little, hand-made film that I, a grumpy, CG-hating, Ryan Reynolds-averse seeker of au natural, character-driven dramas, hope and live for. It’s gotten a lot of hype from others who cherish indie-level films of this sort, and deservedly so. Special HE salutations for Brie Larson‘s lead performance as Grace, a low-key, secretly damaged, straight-talking supervisor at a facility for hostile, anti-social, self-destructive teens who’ve had scrapes with the law. The film plays out patiently and openly and yet efficiently, and without any attempts at forced manipulation. It’s a respectably solid piece and well worth a look-see.

Brie Larson at NeueHouse, 110 East 25th Street — Thursday, 7.18, 1:55 pm.

What are the great Las Vegas films (i.e., ones shot there and having to do with some aspect of the industry and culture of L.V.)? For me the top four are Mike Figgis‘s Leaving Las Vegas, the 1960 Ocean’s 11 (not a great or even an especially high-calibre caper film but a timepiece that lets you savor what Las Vegas looked and felt like back in the good old Rat Pack days), Barry Levinson‘s Bugsy and Albert Brooks‘ Lost In America. Sidenote: Of all the places in the world to enjoy your last spiritual and sensual hurrah before dying, could there be an uglier setting than this plastic palatial hell-hole?

Even five-year-olds know that RIPD is a pre-ordained dead duck, or at least that it will be beaten handily by The Conjuring, which I saw a couple of nights ago and is “scary” but not that great, let me tell you, and which certainly ends on a phony upbeat note. But in the view of Variety‘s Scott Foundas RIPD can at least boast of a noteworthy fuck-all performance from Jeff Bridges. “Like Johnny Depp’s work in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, it’s a performance that seems to say, ‘Look, I’m here for the payday. You know it. I know it. But as long as I’m here, I’m going to make things interesting for myself.’

Over the last dozen or so years I’ve gone from being disinterested in ComicCon to being somewhat intrigued to being an occasionally pleased and amused observer and a Hall H marathon seat-holder to being disdainful and then really disdainful and finally to where and what I am today — an outright hater. The tastes and appetites of the ComicCon faithful have always been valid in and of themselves, and I love guys like Ed Douglas, Devin Faraci and Peter Sciretta, etc. Plus I’ve repeatedly recognized and stated that when any kind of mythical-fantasy film works, it pays off in ways that reality-driven films can’t spiritually touch. But as a voting bloc or commercial force Comicconers have encouraged if not directly brought about the inane “ooh wow cool!” dumbing-down of mainstream megaplex cinema and turned a once-majestic art form into a form of low-rent amusement park jizz-whiz.