Supposedly losing-your-teeth dreams mean high anxiety, so it’s no surprise that I’ve had more than a few of them.  Bloody gums, teeth falling through your fingers kind of dreams.  Teeth turning into shards of glass dreams.  Yes, those dreams.  The most memorable of them, perhaps, being the one in which, against my will, I snipped off my front teeth with nail clippers.  Maybe the only sorts of dreams that bother me more are the things-happening-to-your-eyes dreams.  I’m explaining this because in the first few minutes of Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, a film written and produced by Guillermo del Toro, a twitchy old man with a hammer and spike knocks the teeth out of the mouth of a screaming woman pinned under his knees.

Full disclosure.I own an action figure of Gilderoy Lockhart from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for the mere fact that this character was played by Kenneth Branagh.It looks enough like Branagh if you squint, and he’s holding a wand in one hand and a sprung-open cage in the other as if to say nothing can contain my vast love for you, Cynthia Hawkins.Or rather it cannot contain the Cornish Pixie that flies out of said cage when you wrench the figure’s arm a certain way, but, whatever.He’s my very own tiny Kenneth, and I will love him and pet him and where were we?Oh yes.I love Kenneth Branagh.Despite himself.He was so good as Lockhart, in fact, because the character served as a sort of parody for the fantastically arrogant person he himself is rumored to be.

Gloria Harrison:  My summary of Tron: Legacy is this: it was a visually beautiful, highly entertaining Lady Gaga video.

Cynthia Hawkins:  I like that summary. I think anyone who thinks Tron: Legacy is either a good or bad movie based on its story is missing the point. It’s more than its story. Let me ask you this. What did the first Tron mean to you?

As The Roches’ quirky “No Shoes” plays in the opening sequence of Please Give, writer/director Nicole Holofcener leads viewers through a three-minute, close-up montage of breasts being flopped onto a mammography machine and unceremoniously squashed.No faces or figures make it into the frame, presenting the sort of fragmentary view of the female body that in most any other context would constitute blatant objectification but here reads as a desexualized, intensely vulnerable collage of femininity.These are women on the verge of potentially devastating news, after all, stripped bare, even as the comic vaudevillian flair of the song distracts from the fact.