Tennis
Cape Dory
Fat Possum

Whether it’s four dapper Columbia grads, a bearded loner in a Wisconsin cabin or the grown-up product of a cult, indie rock has always loved a weird backstory. And Denver husband-wife duo Tennis more than fit the bill.

Patrick Riley and Alaina Moore met in college, got married and spent seven months or so sailing along the Eastern seaboard together. With no way to play music at sea, they started writing songs to soundtrack their voyage. Once back on solid ground, they collected these songs as their debut LP.

It’s almost too cute to be true, and we wouldn’t be surprised if Riley and Moore’s story served as a cover-up for mediocre music. But on Cape Dory, Tennis blows those suspicions out of the water, treating the listener to 10 tracks of breezy, well-crafted pop music.

While some of their peers look to hazy ’70s folk (Woods, Real Estate) or fuzzed-out psych rock (Ty Segall, the Soft Pack) for inspiration, Tennis tend more toward ’60s pop. “Marathon,” the album’s best track, bears a striking resemblance to
early Serge Gainsbourg, while “Pigeon,” another standout, comes off as a cross between the Walkmen and Dusty Springfield.

Though many of the songs here are, predictably, about sailing (titles include “Bimini Bay” and “Long Boat Pass”), the lyrics are more concerned with love, specifically the unique bond formed between two people during extended periods of isolation. Moore peppers her lyrics with statements like “Coconut Grove is a very small cove / Separated from the sea by a shifting shoal,” but she’s more convincing when she’s serenading her lover (“I’ll be holding you tight / Let you sleep through the night / Let the wind blow / We will be safe, I know”).

Critics have expressed concern that, now having depleted their stock of cutesy sailing stories, the pair might run out of material. But despite the topicality of their work (hey, they’re still on a boat), Riley and Moore prove on Cape Dory that they haven’t lost steam just yet. (8/10)

The Decemberists
The King Is Dead
Capitol Records

With the Decemberists’ 2009 release The Hazards of Love, frontman Colin Meloy got grandiosely geeky, crafting a rock opera with a peculiar narrative: A woman declares a shape-shifter her one true love, dodges the fury of a jealous fairy queen and gets abducted by a villain known only as “the rake.” Throw in some morbid bits on child murder and the record begins to toe the line between ambition and absurdity.

Thankfully, on the album’s follow-up, The King Is Dead, Meloy and the rest of the Portland-based gang break down the bravado and start anew, reveling in the simplicity of American folk.

Nearly all of the songs are kept under the five-minute mark, and there are no great tales spanning multiple tracks. In other words, it’s sort of like the Decemberists for Dummies: The album compresses Meloy’s knack for verbose storytelling with the band’s typical eccentric instruments (pedal steel, accordi- on, bouzouki) in a clearer, more listenable fashion.

First single “Down by The Water” fits the formula to a T: A catchy chorus (featuring the vocals of bluegrass singer Gillian Welch) backs uplifting harmonicas, airy acoustic guitars and tambourine shakes, as Meloy tells of “an ancient riverbed ... where all our follies are led.”

“Dear Avery” is reminiscent of an old-school country love song — a departure from the band’s Anglo-folk roots — incorporating the genre’s slide guitars, feisty fiddles and swaying melodies. Meloy’s lyrics may have you reaching for your dictionary
at times, but with such tranquil melodies, you’ll be quick to forgive.

With The King Is Dead, the Decemberists are alive and rejuvenated, though lacking some of the literary weight that the band is notorious for. But with these more compact ver- sions of the epic Hazards Of Love ballads, the Decemberists finally have a new story worth singing along to. (7/10)

Smith Westerns
Dye It Blonde
Fat Possum

On their 2009 self-titled debut, Smith Westerns embodied the lo-fi beach party scene that has come to include bands like Best Coast and Wavves. On tour, they cursed and spat through a grungy, distorted set, drank through the night and got themselves kicked out of the Music Hall of Williamsburg for “pissing in garbage cans.”

On their second album, Dye It Blonde, the Chicago teenagers have grown up a little, ditching their basement roots for glossier production and channeling the legendary glam rock of T. Rex and David Bowie. With sweeping, anthemic arrangements and wailing guitar solos, Smith Westerns manage to shed their bratty, amateurish punk tendencies while still holding on to their adolescent charm.

“Weekend” opens the album with an endlessly catchy hook, sandwiched by the aloof vocals of greasy-haired frontman Cullen Omori. “Weekends are never fun / Unless you’re around here too,” he whines.

From here, the album drifts from pool-party love songs to campy, ’70s throwbacks, with tracks driven by soaring lead guitars and lovesick lyrics. The rollicking “Dance Away” collapses into a suddenly majestic, cut-time refrain before grooving into an upbeat sing-along — harkening back to fellow Midwesterners and power-pop legends Cheap Trick.

Meanwhile, “Imagine, Pt. 3” drives from blissful chorus to blissful chorus, culminating in a stadium-worthy breakdown loaded with the melodic pop sensibility that defined a golden age of rock ‘n’ roll.

Not that Dye It Blonde is totally devoid of teenage carnage. On the massive, Beatles-style ballad “All Die Young,” Omori wails, “I wanna grow old before I grow up / I wanna die with my chin up” over a choir of swirling organ and childlike back-up vocals.

And who could blame them? The party’s going all night long, and Smith Westerns aren’t planning on stopping. With such a promising sophomore release, neither are we. (8/10)

Social Distortion
Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes
Epitaph

Mike Ness of Social Distortion — the Fullerton punk band’s only remaining original member — has spent the last 30 years raging against the powers that be. Now the dude’s 48, you might think he and his band are too old for the mosh pit, but with their seventh album, Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes, Social D offers an updated take on the band’s trademark blues-punk style.

Social Distortion songs have always been biographical; Ness’s angsty lyrics reflect upon past battles with heroin addiction and the struggles of living on the streets of Hollywood. “From the back to the front page / From the gutter to the stage,” he says of Social D’s legacy on album closer “Still Alive.” The track’s a brazen middle finger to anyone who thought Ness and his band were finished. Accompanied by punk guitar and soft piano, his vocals are at their gruff, emotional finest.

But Ness isn’t afraid to experiment lyrically, playing someone other than himself — a Bonnie and Clyde-style gangster on “Machine Gun Blues.” Though the lyrics are pretty straightforward (“I left your town, took all your loot / Bought a pink carnation and a pinstripe suit”), upbeat, harmonious rhythms — not to mention all the fun Ness has playing a badass — compensate for any lackluster rhymes.

Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes is more polished than the band’s previous works (probably due to the amount of time spent in the studio — work on the album began in 2005). But while there isn’t a lot of mosh-pit material on Hard Times, Ness proves that even with teenage kids and grown-ass problems, Social Distortion haven’t lost all their edge. (7/10)

Three days of non-stop jams, unrelenting heat and terrible cell-phone reception can only mean one thing: Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival — the event of the year for any music fan.

After months of anticipation, the lineup for the  2011 festival — to take place April 15, 16 and 17 — was finally announced on Tuesday night. While it doesn’t include rumored artists like the Beastie Boys and Daft Punk, it does include modern mainstays Kings Of Leon, Arcade Fire, Kanye West and the Strokes as headliners, along with artists as diverse as Lauryn Hill and Animal Collective rounding out the bill.

Three-day passes for the festival are available for $269 each (plus fees). You can find more information on Coachella’s website here.

Will you be making the trek from San Diego to Indio? Is Kanye enough to make you brave the shower-less weekend, or will you be staying behind to study for midterms?

We won’t try to convince you either way; the lineup (listed below, in alphabetical order by day) speaks for itself.

Jan 22 Update: Car camping passes have already sold out.

Friday April 15

!!!, 12^th Planet, Afrojack, Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti, A-Trak, Beardyman, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears, Boys Noize, Brandon Flowers, Brandt Brauer Frick, Breakage, Caifanes, Cee Lo Green, Clare Maguire, Cold Cave, Cold War Kids, Crystal Castles, Cut Copy, Emicida, Erick Morillo, Excision, Flogging Molly, Gayngs, Glasser, G.Q., Gypsy and the Cat, Hurts, Interpol, Jakes, Kele, Kings Of Leon, Klaxons, Kyle Hall, Magnetic Man, Marina and the Diamonds, Monarchy, Mount Kimble, Moving Units, Ms. Lauryn Hill, Nosaj Thing, OFWGKTA, Omar Rodriguez Lopez, Ozomatli, Robyn, Sander Kleinenberg, Sasha, Scala & Kolacny Bros., Skrillex, Sleigh Bells, Tame Impala, The Aquabats, The Black Keys, The Chemical Brothers, The Drums, The Morning Benders, The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, The Rural Alberta Advantage, Titus Andronicus, Warpaint, YACHT

Saturday April 16

Alf Alpha, Andy C, Animal Collective, Arcade Fire, Big Audio Dynamite, Bomba Estereo, Bright Eyes, Broken Social Scene, Cage the Elephant, Chuckie, Cults, Daedelus, Delta Spirit, DJ Hype, DJ Kentaro, DJ Marky, EE, Elbow, Electric Touch, Empire Of the Sun, Erykah Badu, Fat Freddy’s Drop, Fedde le Grand, Foals, Francis and the Lights, Freelance Whales, Gogol Bordello, Goth Trad, Here We Go Magic, Joachim Garraud, Laidback Luke, Lil’ B and the Based God, Mariachi El Bronx, Mary Anne Hobbs, Mumford & Sons, One Day as a Lion, Paul van Dyk, Phosphorescent, Raphael Saadig, Ras G, SBTRKT, Scissor Sisters, Shpongle presents the Shpongletron Experience, Steve Angello, Thao with the Get Down Stay Down, The Felice Brothers, The Henry Clay People, The Joy Formidable, The London Suede, The Kills, The Love Language, The New Pornographers, The Radio Dept., The Swell Season, The Tallest Man On Earth, The Twelves, Trampled By Turtles, Two Door Cinema Club, Wire, Yelle

Sunday April 17

Angus and Julia Stone, Axwell, Best Coast, Bloody Beetroots Death Crew 77, Caspa, Chromeo, City and Colour, CSS, Death From Above 1979, Delorean, DJ Zinc, Duck Sauce, Duran Duran, Ellie Goulding, Fistful of Mercy, Foster the People, fun., Good Old War, Gord Downie, Green Velvet, HEALTH, High Contrast, Jack Beats, Jack’s Mannequin, Jenny and Johnny, Joy Orbison, Kanye West, Kode9, Jimmy Eat World, Leftfield, Lightning Bolt, Lorn, Los Bunkers, MEN, Menomena, Nas & Damian Marley, Neon Trees, New Pants, OFF!, Phantogram, PJ Harvey, Plan B, Ramadanman, Ratatat , Riva Starr, Roska, Rye Rye, She Wants Revenge, Sven Vath, Take, Terror Danjah, The National, The Presets, The Strokes, Thunderball, Trentemoller, Tinie Tempah, Tokimonsta, Twin Shadow, Wiz Khalifa, Zed Bias

By Krystle Wong

Like its titular hero, “The Green Hornet” is less about defeating bad things than befriending them. Despite director Michel Gondry (“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”) in the driver’s seat and writer/actor Seth Rogen riding shotgun, “The Green Hornet”’s original 1930s cohesion is lost in a haze of clunky kitsch — choosing to follow its own invented premise.

“Hornet”’s Britt Reid is the son of wealthy newspaper publisher James Reid, who dies from an allergic reaction to a bee sting. An irresponsible playboy who has little in common with his hardworking father, Reid is unfazed by his death (“He was a bit of a dick”) and apathetic to the media empire left in his incapable hands. Shortly thereafter, Reid is introduced to Kato — a talented Chinese mechanic with high-precision martial arts and latte skills (played by Jay Chou).

But here’s where “Hornet”’s logic starts to sting: Reid unexpectedly decides the duo should use its untapped potential to achieve his childhood dream of crime fighting. The billionaire hopes to rid L.A. of its local baddies by making nice with them — minus, thank God, the spandex.

“Green” is one way to describe Rogen’s action debut — even trimmed down and gussied up, the funnyman is all klutz and white noise as he delivers lukewarm dialogue with incredulity and fumbling tact, he makes his turn as the womanizing party-boy Reid a conflict of character rather than a refreshing outlook on the superhero archetype. A look at the long line of heartthrobs who passed on the role only adds salt to the wound: George Clooney, Jake Gyllenhaal and Mark Wahlberg were all contenders before Rogen took the reins.

The rest of the casting is equally baffling — Cameron Diaz plays smart femme fatale Lenore Case in her perky, doe-eyed best, Chou’s broken English slows the already- decelerated action sequences and overqualified Christoph Waltz plays arch-nemesis Chudofsky, a part originally meant for Nicholas Cage — who demanded the villain speak with a Jamaican accent (Gondry was reportedly relieved when the “National Treasure” star abdicated his role).

Though Chou’s tongue-tricks may not be up to speed, his fighting style is: Fighting sequences are slowed by Kato-vision — a 3D-tunnel view that follows the actor throughout his scenes — playing up Chou’s form as he high-kicks and jumps with exacting timing and precision.

But with such an inconsistent mess on its hands, “The Green Hornet” has squandered inherent movie buzz and marred any cin- ematographic merits. Still, superhero-flick fanatics will probably give “Hornet”’s crew the box office moneymaker that Sony Pictures is betting on. To those less devout to the world of comic book oldies: Wait for a more prolific green hero to take the silver screen come June. (C)

'H.A.M.'
Kanye West & Jay-Z
Roc-A-Fella

After 2010’s chart-topper My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, Kanye’s much-anticipated collaboration with Jay-Z on Watch the Throne single “H.A.M” falls far short of the hype.

“H.A.M.” opens to a scattered robotic beat that builds into a melodramatic and frantic crescendo of “O Fortuna” wailers. Over the clamor, Kanye, followed by Jay-Z’s baritone, raps with uncommitted apathy, as the duo spits lack-luster rhymes that fall short of even MBDTF’s simple prose. It’s like a “who’s biggest” com- petition of lyrical duds — with “this a new crack on a new stove” (Kanye) and “I swam waters with great whites” (Jay-Z). But the biggest lyrical offense is courtesy of the song’s title — possibly the worst acronym every birthed by the hip-hop genre — “H.A.M.,” which we’re supposed to believe stands for HardAsaMotherfucker. Not that Yeezy cares (as usual). “I’m about to go HAM,” Kanye yells — go hog wild, you crazy motherfucker. (3/10)

- Neda Salamat

'Hold It Against Me'
Britney Spears
Jive Records

Our gal Britney has come a long way since her “Oops I Did It Again” glory days. But even after a few kids in the oven, Britney isn’t doing so bad for herself; though sterile as ever, her last album Circus was an unabashed return to picture-perfect pop form. But for “Hold It Against Me,” the first single of her new album, Britney and producers Max Martin and Dr. Luke decide to hop on the wagon of the latest dance music trends, throwing together David Guetta-style Euro synths with a hint of — wait for it — dubstep, and it’s not exactly a winning combination.

Britney’s voice sounds like her typical fembot self, but when layered upon a horribly asthmatic beat, the few charms of its artifi- ciality are worn thin. The pop star’s voice is so banal that the lyrics are irrelevant, even when she’s spouting controversial innuendo (The Bellamy Brother claim the song’s lyric “If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?” comes from their 1978 hit). (4/10)

- Arielle Sallai

Minks
By the Hedge
Captured Tracks

As the latest in a recent stream of goth-pop acts that includes London’s hugely suc- cessful the xx, upcoming Brooklyn duo Minks aim to resurrect the moody ‘80s charm of legendary bands like the Cure and Joy Divison. And, like the xx, the selling point of Minks’ debut, By The Hedge, lies almost entirely in the time-tested combi- nation of seductive boy-girl harmonies and shim- mering hooks.

The album opens with “Kusmi,” a sugary, synth- drenched soundtrack to an autumn make-out session under high school bleach- ers. It’s the perfect summation of By The Hedge as a whole: clanging guitars, reverb-heavy vocals, a charming chorus and some cute lyrics about “walking after dark” and “girls with broken hearts.” There are no musical curveballs here — just catchy, lovelorn rock songs.

One frustrating aspect of the album is the amount of raw potential squan- dered on murky pit stops such as drowsy wanderer “Out of Tune” and the pleasant but lengthy guitar interlude “Indian Ocean,” which slow the exhilarating pace of some of the album’s more straightforward guitar-pop.

Still, it’s difficult to deny the alluring chemistry between multi-instru- mentalists Amalie Brunn and Sean Kilfoyle. And, when they stick purely to tight, focused songwriting — grooving basslines pulsating beneath bone-dry drums and rousing vocals — the duo find its niche: paying homage to their hair-gelled, pale- skinned idols.

“Cemetery Rain” and “Juniper” are blissful dream-pop gems, and the up-tempo “Funeral Song” has Kifoyle performing his finest Dylan impression as he laments, “So long, summertime/I’m not coming back.”

By The Hedge is an enjoyable glimpse at cloudy teenage angst — sometimes compromised by the pressure to produce marketable radio anthems — and, if nothing else, a promising and occasionally memorable debut. (6/10)

Ducktails
Ducktails III: Arcade Dynamics
Woodsist

There’s something about laid-back guitar riffs and murky vocals that capture the essence of youth — a sentiment that New Jersey natives Real Estate have taken to heart. On their self-titled 2009 debut, the band paired its hazy lo-fi aesthetic with beach-ready pop, crafting a record that’s the pinnacle of the Beach Boys-gone- psychedelic trend of the moment (See: Panda Bear, Beach Fossils).

Ducktails, the pet project of lead guitarist Matthew Mondanile, are little different.

Arcade Dynamics is all predictably jangly surf-pop, with a few experimental instrumental tracks sprinkled throughout.

Case in point: pre-release single “Hamilton Road” contains much of the off-handed charm that made Real Estate’s debut so pleasant. Mondanile sets his fuzzy vocals — which describe a summer day relaxing in a tree house, accompanied by other childhood cliche?s — to meandering guitar lines. The result’s as catchy as it is subtle.

But for every delicately crafted gem, there’s a synth-heavy complement like “The Razor’s Edge,” a two-minute instrumental track unremarkable in its ambience. “Arcade Shift” and “Porch Projector” both follow in the same vein: pleasant at best, gratingly sluggish at worst.

One of the album’s strongest tracks, the upbeat “Killin’ the Vibe” defines the Ducktails’ aesthetic. Over the multitudinous guitar riffs present throughout the album, Mondanile pleads that the listener “Don’t go killin’/ Killin’ the vibe.”

It’s a pleasant little song, just like the record itself. But while Arcade Dynamics is definitely listenable, it doesn’t come close to the kind of detailed craftsmanship that characterizes similar works, like Real Estate’s debut or Julian Lynch’s Mare. Sure, Ducktails have plenty of good, throwback vibes — but unfortunately the tracks fade into the sunshine. (6/10)

James Franco is hard to figure out. He plays a lazy stoner in flicks like “Pineapple Express,” but uses his downtime to work toward various graduate degrees. He’s posed in drag for Candy Magazine and convincingly portrayed Harvey Milk’s lover, but has a girlfriend of six years. He loves the Twilight books — requested (and was refused) a role in the films — and isn’t a 14-year- old girl. On “General Hospital” last summer, Franco played an artist that took his craft so seriously he killed people for it. Fittingly, the character’s name is “Franco.” And with the recent release of Oscar-contender “127 Hours,” James Franco’s confus- ing behavior has been grabbing even more headlines.

Back in September 2010, in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, Franco said that he mastur- bates up to four or five times a day. Firstly, what kind of workaholic has that much fucking time? Secondly, the interview about his self-pleasure habits coincided with the release of “127 Hours” — a movie revolving around self-mutilation. Once again, the actor is making strides to avoid public definition.

As if to drive the point home, in December, the New York Times released 14 silent films titled “14 Actors Acting,” in which Franco was featured. While most of the shorts involved melodramatic characteriza- tions (a crying Tilda Swinton and a screaming Jennifer Lawrence), Franco was filmed French-kissing a mirrored image of himself. Either director Solve Sundsbo has a sense of humor, or Franco is screwing with us — and history indicates that the latter is the likelier option.

But no move has been more controversial than his decision to host the Oscars this year with Anne Hathaway. In addition to being one of the youngest hosts of all time, Franco admitted on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” that he took on the role to avoid obsessing over the possibility of win- ning his first Oscar (no host has ever taken home the gold man). He essen- tially took himself out of the equation after months of training for a grueling and harrowing role — dodging the assumption that actors take on char-
acters in hopes of Oscar gold.

Though the trend is evident to anyone who’s followed the UCLA grad’s career, the bigger question is to what purpose he continues to promote such confusion. Other than the obvious (it keeps him in the pub- lic eye), a quick scan of the actor’s resume reads like a hodgepodge of some of the most interesting and dynamic roles in cinema — a freak (or maybe a geek?), “Spiderman”’s brooding Harry Osborn and now a cocksure rock climber. Franco has managed what few actors achieve: He’s escaped the dreaded typecast, keeping his own personality an amorphous mass of conflicting stereotypes.

The man’s struck upon a winning formula — as the interviews continue to roll in and James Franco’s figure becomes further convoluted through the dregs of pop culture rumor, new facets are added to his public persona. At this rate, he’s guaranteed one of two paths: a fulfilling and varied career in cinema, or life as a bipolar schizophrenic. I’m betting on the former.

No Age’s earliest efforts were nice, but they didn’t exactly stand out from the lo-fi crowd — with boundless energy,
hopelessly distorted guitars and catchy vocal lines buried deep within layers of noise. But, starting with 2008’s gorgeous Nouns, the band has varied their approach, balancing squalls of distortion with care- fully crafted noise sculptures.

Songs like “Things I Did When I Was Dead” and “Impossible Bouquet,” though still composed almost entirely of guitar noise, feature vocals that — for a change — are fully audible, floating above dense thickets of ambient feedback loops.

The band continued this maturation on last year’s Everything in Between, combining delicate sound manipulation with energetic punk rock on “Glitter” and “Valley Hump Crash.” While some songs, like the excellent “Fever Dreaming,” main- tain the relentless pace of the band’s early work, much of the record stays at a more relaxed tempo, giving the listener a chance to savor the band’s increasingly hummable melodies.

Though initially strictly a guitar-and- drums duo, on their most recent tour, No Age added a third member to help control the increasingly intricate loop-work on Everything in Between.

The guys are known to put on an incredible live show, maintaining a sense of energy you’d expect from a punk band. No Age is coming to town this Friday for a show at the Che Cafe? — an unsurprising move, since they got their start at their own DIY venue, Los Angeles’ the Smell.

The concert’s $10, but the Che doesn’t sell advance tickets, so anyone set on attending the concert should be sure to line up outside on Friday afternoon.

The ball has dropped, resolutions were made and the 2011 film season has begun — the beginning of which, like most new years, looks pretty limp-dick (“Season of the Witch”? Really, Nick Cage?). Luckily, the sparks from 2010’s top dogs have enough cinematic crackle to power us through 2011’s opening lame ducks. For the lazy man, here’s a cheat sheet (in no particu- lar order) of the best and brightest of 2010’s big screen — cowboys, computer nerds and all.

FILM OF THE YEAR

The Social Network - David Fincher

If wit is a man’s greatest treasure, then director David Fincher’s “The Social Network” is a gold mine. The movie follows Harvard coed Mark Zuckerberg (a headstrong, fast-talking Jesse Eisenberg) as he conceptualizes and realizes the now 500-million-strong Facebook. Armed with razor-sharp dialogue, the movie is more a generational introspective and an examination of the human condition than a chronicle of a website’s creation. It’s an effortless flow of tal- ent — from the director’s chair to the camera hand — making “The Social Network” the most complete cinematic experience of 2010.

THE REST OF THE BEST

Black Swan - Darren Aronofsky

In Darren Aronofsky’s world, we’re caught in a rapidly expanding nightmare birthed from the head of Swan Queen ballerina Nina (Natalie Portman). Through the dancer’s story mirrors Swan Lake’s narrative, it’s unpredictable in its pre- dictability — creating uncomfortable moments of tension between Nina and her competitor (Mila Kunis), so much so that the final outcome remains masked by the emotional drama. The imagery is hauntingly beautiful — faces morph, glass shatters and blood blooms from every part of Nina’s body, as the sky remains in a perpetual and impenetrable darkness, existing in a universe seemingly devoid of daylight.

Toy Story 3 - Lee Unkrich

The third installment of the Toy Story franchise is its most successful yet. The tear-jerker transports us back into Andy’s familiar home and into the welcoming arms of the lovable toy-troupe we’ve fol- lowed since Pixar’s inception. A welcome break from the predominately stern 2010 film season, the toys of “Toy Story 3” find themselves abandoned at a nursery for ungrateful children and band together in a bid for freedom. Whooping and hollering with gusto (and with Buzz, occasionally in Spanish), the characters are vivacious as ever. With an amped-up and effervescent animation style, this trip to colorful toy-land is the best go-to to break up the monotony of Winter-time gloom.

The King's Speech - Tom Hooper

Though it isn’t as pointed as Sorkin’s “The Social Network,” “The King’s Speech” is a smart biopic of the speech-challenged King George — an inspirational story of triumph and hardship overcome — without all the expected kitsch. Decidedly British in its humor and style, “The King’s Speech” is most notable for the vetted cast that supports it. Colin Firth’s belabored speech, practiced stutter and escalat- ing frustration are convincing. When paired up with a wife played by Helena Bonham Carter and speech therapist played by Geoffery Rush, the authenticity of the king’s daily strug- gle emanates from each tear-filled scene.

True Grit - Joel and Ethan Coen

The Coen brothers aren’t known for their Western fare, but their remake of the 1969 film “True Grit” stays true to the canonized original, while making use of their iconic dark humor. Scrappy 14-year-old Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is determined to avenge her father’s death by capturing (or killing) his murderer. To do so, she hires bear-like U.S. Marshal Reuben “Rooster” Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to track him down. Though Cogburn may shoot first and ask later, the Coens’ aim is always true: With “True Grit” they’ve cre- ated a fast-paced film that accentuates each character’s strength and shortcomings, without degenerating into Western-style caricatures.

THE WORST

Sex and the City 2 - Michael Patrick King

A movie where the glittering opening montage of New York’s cityscape is, unfortunately, the most tolerable part. As “how to alienate your fan base in 30 minutes or less,” the ladies assume the roles of equal-opportunity offenders: first to gay men, then to Americans and then — in a sweeping finale — the entirety of the Middle East. Laughless — and sexless— from the beginning to the end.

Valentine's Day - Garry Marshall

As contrived as its namesake, “Valentine’s Day” shares more similarities to the horrors of speed dating than a romantic night on the town. The ensemble comedy shuffles from char- acter to character, briefly following each through their romantic trysts on (you guessed it) Valentine’s Day. But the film is unwilling to commit — each subsequent character is shallower than the last — leaving the overall effect flimsier than the sappy greeting cards it promotes.

The Last Airbender - M. Night Shyamalan

Every few years, M.Night Shyamalan tricks us into thinking that he might finally pro- duce something worth seeing for the first time since 1999’s “Sixth Sense.” With “The Last Airbender” (originally called “Avatar”), Shyamalan took a bastardized version of a popular television show about a heroic young boy with wind powers and made a subpar live-action complement — poorly utilizing the 3D effect used so expertly in James Cameron’s film of the same name. After enduring two hours of fumbling acting and dialogue, it lives up to its prom- ise of being “the last.”

Jonah Hex - Jimmy Hayward

Jonah Hex (Josh Brolin) is an ugly man (second only to Sarah Jessica Parker in this round- up), but it’s not his fault — his face has been badly charred by baddy Quentin Turnbull (John Malkovich), and he’s out to get revenge. The acting is one-note — Brolin growls throughout while the prostitute Lilah (Megan Fox) is resolutely emotionless. Of course, the film doesn’t bother to tell us why Turnbull takes an iron-hot poker to Hex’s face (if only he would do us the same service) until the very end, and the journey to the answer is long, arduous and not worth the wait. The best part is that Fox is finally playing a role she’s suited for.

The Tourist -Florian Henckel Von Donnersmarck

Johnny Depp should probably stick to playing Tim Burton’s weirdos. In one of his weak- est performances to date, the actor plays dull everyman Frank, who is roped into a spy vs. spy plotline by Elise (Angelina Jolie) as they play cat-and-dead-mouse throughout an Italian countryside that’s far more captivating than any insights the characters have to offer. The real clincher is Jolie and Depp’s joint- Golden Globe acting nomination for the most unenthusiastic performances committed to film — even better is the film’s nod for “Best Motion Picture — Comedy or Musical.” (Quick spoiler: it’s neither)