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It's spring.  Love is in the air.  This past weekend, the cinema offered us two different projects on the pains of love.  One was an Apatow vehicle.  The other, an arthouse dust bunny.

First up is acclaimed Director Wong Kar Wai's much anticipated "My Blueberry Nights," a film so disappointing, I wish I was still anticipating it.  Aside from its talented cast roster, there is nothing else that is appealing, good for you, or even semi-enjoyable about this offering.  It's like that suspicious cheese danish you buy from the vending machine at work and once you taste how awful it is, you wish you would have just waited until lunch to eat.

It's a shame really.  The film is shot to an almost polarizing state.  Though the colors are inspired and the aesthetic choices unusual (trains zip by like glowing caterpillars; a broken car window glistens like rock candy) I almost felt like I was watching a bad high school production.  Over the top moments are sadly plentiful for players like Rachel Weisz and Jude Law looks like he's around just to flirt with the cute PAs offset. 

Once I start talking about the plot of the film, it does kind of sound interesting: A heartbroken runaway (Norah Jones) has to go on a trippy road trip as differently named waitresses in order to come full circle in her values to realize her true love was the pay-by-the-slice pie diner owner all along.

On second thought, that doesn't sound interesting at all. 

The biggest problem is that we don't believe for a second that these beautiful people could be in a world this dreary and could have such problems with finding romance. 

Natalie Portman as a poker hustler who looks like Anne Heche?  C'mon.  She's still Natalie Portman.  You're not fooling anybody.

"Blueberry" would have been interesting if it had been about Law cheating on Sienna Miller with the housekeeper and a sack of Matt's Chocolate Chip Cookies from Aldis.

 
Next is Nicholas Stoller's "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," a Judd Apatow produced comedy ("Walk Hard," "Drillbit Taylor").  I mention those two Apatow credits in specific because "Marshall" is nowhere near the good stuff Apatow and company have offered in the past: "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" & "Superbad."

"Marshall" is a better time at the movies than "Blueberry."  No heavy thinking here.  Just dead air of a sobbing ex-boyfriend periodically broken up by a good one-liner ("Let's see if her carpet matches her pubes").  The physical comedy is lackluster; we don't care too much for our protagonist hanging off of a rock, or for his penis hanging off of his still wet and naked body. 

If anything "Marshall" has heart.  And we can commend it for that, even if it acts like a pussy for a lot more of its running time than some of its far worthier predecessors ("Superbad" in particular).  The real standout is Mila Kunis from "That 70s Show."  She's a knockout and a surprise beauty.  Let's hope to see her in some more films of substance in the near future.

But hey it's spring.  So get out and get some sun and air.  The dark auditoriums blasting that savored air conditioning aren't putting out their bests just yet.