Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland is a film so half-assed, so slap-dash, so unbearably boring that I can’t even care enough to fully concentrate on writing this review. I am distracting myself with the Oscars – and finding even the interpretative dance sequence to the soundtrack of The Hurt Locker miles more entertaining than the tepid trash Burton is peddling as an adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s fascinating classic.

The self-consciously wacky director takes a tale brimming with images, historical and cultural references, poems, songs and extraordinary invention, reduces it to a handful of glib catchphrases, then repeats these ad nauseam – while constantly informing us of what has happened, what will happen and what is happening in the style of one of those reality TV shows desperately low on interesting content. Think of all the bits you love from the book, or the Disney cartoon even; well you won’t find them here – Burton instead sees fit to strike out the original story and replace it with a CliffsNotes sequel.

Going into Brooklyn’s Finest I didn’t expect something special, but I came out somewhat amazed at how bland it really was. It’s a lame attempt at combining Training Day and Crash that comes off like a mediocre television crime drama.

Finest begins with an ominous black car silhouetted in front of a New York cityscape, as Vincent D’Onofrio delivers a foreboding monologue about what’s “righter and wronger” in the fight between cops and lawbreakers. We lose his character quickly, but then a trio of stories begins. We get Dugan (Richard Gere), a drunken suicidal “doesn’t-give-a-shit” loser cop with seven days left before retirement and Sal (Ethan Hawke), a Catholic-guilt-ridden, crooked, sociopathic narcotics cop ready to kill and swindle money for the good of his pregnant wife and growing family. Then there’s Tango (Don Cheadle), a conflicted undercover cop deep into the drug scene, dealing with the dilemma of busting his long-lost pal Caz (Wesley Snipes) who once saved his life. Tango and Caz…get it? Other stereotypical characters are Will Patton as the grizzled nice guy detective and Ellen Barkin, resembling a cornered bulldog, doing her tough-mama-agent routine.

Now hold on just a second there, Mr. Tom Brokaw (noted former anchorman and author of the best-selling book The Greatest Generation)! If you ask me, I think it’s bullpoopy of you to single-handedly decide that the people who fought in World War II are going to be forever known as “the greatest generation.” I mean, C’MON. My generation is pretty awesome, too! After all, we’re the generation that invented Internet porn. And the Transformers. And decent marijuana. In case you didn’t know, the so-called “greatest generation’s” dope SUCKED. (Don’t believe me? Ask my grandpa and his cataracts!)

I knew Heavy Rain was going to be an artsy game as soon as it instructed me to take a piece of paper and fold it into an origami bird. Shortly thereafter I got to see a man’s naked ass. By the time the game’s female shower scene happened—with the camera swirling around the girl’s breasts in intoxicated filmschool closeup—Heavy Rain had sunk so far into pretentious territory that I could tell without looking it had been made by the French.