There are a bunch of jokes that make you laugh, but never uproariously, and that’s about it. Overhanging what there is of a story is a monumental disconnect: husband and wife are both in low-paying (or non-paying) jobs and they are facing bankruptcy, yet he drives a BMW, she a Lexus; he gives his father – an annoying Albert Brooks – $80,000; they go to a resort in Laguna Beach and order the entire room service menu; he has a huge blowout birthday party; he flies aging rockers over from London on his credit card – and somehow we’re supposed to think they’re cute, or sympathize with their situation? The kids (Apatow’s own) are cute, and the wife (also Apatow’s own) is beautiful, but all the others just remind us they’ve been in better, funnier movies.

Pitch perfect. The ultimate Tarantino. Gratuitous violence has never been so fun. A miscast Leonardo DiCaprio – although not as bad as Brad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds  – was my only quibble, but all the other actors were so great it hardly mattered. Samuel L. Jackson was Oscar-worthy, but Christoph Walz was on a higher plane still; just seeing his character’s picture in a newspaper makes me smile.  Part of the movie’s brilliance was that while the subject of slavery was never absent from the picture, it was never its overt subject. Instead, the plot revolved around bounty-hunting! Dr. King Schultz expressed his disdain for the practice but then accepted it as a given; so we in the audience had our emotions entangled without being beaten over the head. All the scenes caused visual echoes of deeply embedded images from childhood Westerns, and then there was the incongruous music, from spaghetti western to hip-hop to Jim Croce, making you feel, but keeping you just enough detached or off-balance. What’s coming next? Who knows, but it’s sure to be violent and fun.

The novel staged as a series of tableaux. At first I found it corny, like a Broadway musical sans music; but by the time I figured out, more or less, who was who, I had fallen into Joe Wright’s rhythm and had no more complaint. Keira Knightley was quite good, and lovely as usual, but if I hadn’t known from the start that her suicide was coming I don’t know how it would have struck me. The artificial staging created an emotional distance; I watched Anna throw herself under the train (but how did she do it?) as another act in the play, without feeling anything. The attraction between Anna and Vronsky was palpable and credible, but not as mesmerizing as that in Silver Linings Playbook