The day before it opened in U.S. theaters, I gushed somewhat lavishly, though not at all unwarrantedly, in these pages about The Avengers, the latest movie birthed out of the Marvel Comics stable of awesome. Throughout the course of this genuflection, I referred to writer/director Joss Whedon as “the King of Angst,” and while this sobriquet was perhaps not entirely borne out in this latest big screen outing—though I maintain there is trouble ahead for Tony (Robert Downey Jr.) and Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow), and I’d be astounded if we didn’t see not-quite-random waitress Beth (Ashley Johnson) again in relation to Cap sometime—there can be no denying that his previous work renders him a deserving holder of the title.
[Well I have a demi-god, a billionaire and a vampire, what d’you got?...]
Here’s some news: 
With the third season of F/X’s electrifying Justified having hurtled to a gun-blazing close, the time has come for us all to contemplate the barren, Timothy Olyphant-less wasteland that is television without new episodes of Justified. Luckily for us all, no one that charismatic, talented and utterly, confoundingly captivating onscreen could possibly have remained in complete obscurity before donning his now signature hat and gun belt; as an actor, he is a man with a complicated past, much like his Deputy Marshall Raylan Givens, and there is much in his resume that is worthy of your time. But if repeated viewings of Deadwood’s three brutal seasons, his arc in Damages or that one episode of Sex and the City aren’t your thing (and you find his work as a serial killer in Scream 2, as a vengeful mercenary in Live Free or Die Hard, or just anywhere near 2001’s horrible Freddie Prinze Jr. vehicle Head Over Heels just a little too upsetting) then why not soothe your pain by settling down to an indie movie trifecta of Olyphant deliciousness, where love’s the central theme?
Just a couple of years ago, I first read one of Georgette Heyer’s lesser known—indeed, often thought Lost—works, The Great Roxhythe (of which, read much more 
Georgette Heyer’s Powder and Patch
Jack and Rose. Rose and Jack. The couple at the heart of what was, until quite recently, the biggest film of all time, whose classes-clashing, chaotic, tragic love story sent legions of teenage girls so giddy that they saw the original 1997 release of Titanic in theaters five, six, twenty times, thus making of a potentially expensive bomb a bona fide cinematic phenomenon.
I love The Hobbit. I love everything about it. I love the rambunctious beginning, in which our reluctant titular hero, Bilbo Baggins, is inveigled into joining a bunch of irascible dwarves and their wizardly puppet master, Gandalf, on a perilous quest he little understands. I love the perilous quest itself, full as it is of monsters and lost treasure and heroic, exhilarating battles fought with ancient weaponry—and against goblins! I love the language of Tolkien, his elegant phrases and elaborate vocabulary, and even the constant stream of ditties he throws in, all seemingly random and yet often furthering the plot, making much of the book a kind of literary musical for which you have to make up your own score.
GEORGETTE HEYER REREAD: The Great Roxhythe
You know how, when you see a movie made out of a beloved novel—if you can bring yourself to do it, that is; oh, who am I kidding? We all do it—you have in your head at least one or two favorite lines, scenes or even mere moments that you believe simply must be done justice? Sometimes, you may not even be aware of this adamant conviction of yours until after the fact, as you leave the theater or press stop on the DVD and think to yourself: “Man, they really screwed that line/scene/moment up.”
In preparation for the forthcoming movie about which all the world seems to be Harry Potter/Twilight Saga/The Avengers-level excited, I have just finished rereading Suzanne Collins’s phenomenally successful YA trilogy, The Hunger Games. The first book, also entitled The Hunger Games, I had already read several times, but its sequels had only been so honored once each, upon their respective releases, and I had felt no need to repeat either experience. This was, therefore, the first time I had read the opening novel knowing full well how the closing one would end—damn you, Mockingjay!—and as I read Book 1, I got to wondering what it was, exactly, that I had so adored about it from the outset. And, in particular, why I had been so drawn to its first-person heroine, the energetic Katniss Everdeen.
Oh, Gossip Girl. So many times this season I have been this close to deleting you from my regular viewing schedule. There has been some outright silliness that has been difficult to get past, most of it involving a faux version of the royal family of Monaco, a faux scion of which you engaged – and then wed – to the Upper East Side’s reformed-villainess, Blair Waldorf (Leighton Meester).
Maybe it’s just vampire fatigue. Maybe it’s just that tiresome, troublesome Mikaelson family, who can collectively bite me. Or maybe it’s just my continued frustration at the perpetually-pouty Elena’s cavalier treatment of my favorite, though bizarrely-besotted, brother Salvatore. (Yeah, you go, Damon! Hook up with all the hot British vampire chicks you want.) But here we are, halfway through the third season of The Vampire Diaries, and equally halfway into the first season of its lead-in sister show, The Secret Circle, and I have to tell you, nowadays I would far rather spend my time in Chance Harbor than in the formerly-fascinating Mystic Falls.
By the time we get to this, the fifth book in 
First: I’m Australian. More than that, I’m from Melbourne, and so to me “football” means the beautiful chaos of Australian Rules, all lithe limbs and tight shorts and barely-contained aggression. Elsewhere in the country—and, indeed, on the planet—assorted versions of Rugby are considered football, and there can be no denying that soccer is truly the World Game it declares itself to be, which leaves American Football—or Gridiron, as we tend to call it—the province mainly of its home continent, little played or even understood by outsiders. (Much like Aussie Rules.)
It doesn’t matter if you’re not into sports in general, or tend to rail against one sport in particular, there is still just something about a well-done sports movie, all that triumph of the underdog stuff that gladdens the heart and so often brings a tear to the eye. But where would a good sports movie be without a little side note of romance? (Well, it would be Air Bud, I guess.) Here, a look at ten of the best romances to come out of this very date movie-friendly genre, in honor of the coming Superbowl...
Sex. Death. Black-clad hotness. Swordplay, and magic, and werewolves, and yet more sex. (Some of which: same-sex.) If any of this sounds good to you, and yet you have somehow not already become wise to the wonder that is Lost Girl, then I urge you to immediately set your DVR for Syfy tonight, Monday, January 16, at 10/9c. This original series from Canada’s Showcase channel is currently mid-Season 2 in its native land, but with its premiere stateside, now all can finally experience the pleasure and pain, the triumph and torture that is this exceptional piece of Urban Fantasy writing… dude, it’s proper UF, but it’s on TV!
