POTTER! (said, enthusiastically in an overly pronounced English accent)

To get down to the REAL nitty gritty, having done with all that independent, minor production guff (PAH), I will continue hastily to give my two cents on the latest addition to the Harry Potter franchise, entitled 'Harry Potter And The Half Blood Prince'.

Even as I write, this latest instalment of the bespectacled wizz-kid adventures has grossed close to $405 million, a fairly impressive sum, and as such my thoughts on the film are rendered almost entirely inocuous. However, as someone who has never read a page, a sentence, even a word of one of the Potter books, I am intrigued as to how my take on the fast darkening procedings might differ from someone who has.

Now I must confess that I'm not entirely devoid of Potter experience. I'm not a rosey-cheeked Potter virgin as I have seen, and indeed enjoyed, the films that have been released so far, and I am glad to see it doing so well because lest we forget, Harry Potter is about as homegrown a blockbusting franchise as we in 'The Kingdom' are ever likely to find. Directed for the most part by British directors, this one (as was the last and will be the final two to come) by the brilliant television helmsman David Yates, performed by a stunning repertoire of British stage and screen actors, and shot for the most part in British studios and by a largely British crew, it is a wonderful advertisement for the amazing concentration of talent that this little island has and will continue to produce, and especially in a summer in which we are pelted with unforgiveable star-spangled tripe the likes of Transformers, Fast And Furious, Angels and Demons and Terminator: Salvation.

And I am happy to report that The Half Blood Prince is already a sturdy competitor for the blockbuster of the year award (an award that does not exist, because there are not enough viable candidates of sufficient quality. And because I have absolutely no authority on the matter...). It is long, but necessarily so, as it ambitiously marries the larger-than-life story of Voldemort's past, his relationship with Dumbledore and the emergence of the evil within, with a far more human story of teenage angst and tangled, hormone-fuelled romance.

It is a morbid, often harrowing tale, and there is a question to be asked as to whether the recent success of similarly blackened films like The Dark Knight, Quantum of Solace and to some extent Spiderman, suggests that the way to an audience's heart now leads along the path of darkness (something I'm sure Dumbledore would shed a hairy tear about). Yet Yates, cleverly, has balanced the horror elements of this film with some brilliantly funny scenes of romantic mishaps and teenage tomfoolery. It is a reminder that Harry, involved in his quest, has been plucked from normality, and challenged to face the evil that exists both within himself and around the corner. And face it he does.

The central theme of this film, it seems, is choice, or free will. It is a theologian's dream that so often in the story there is talk of choice and control, both of oneself and of others. Ignoring for a moment potions that can force love to be directed at its creator, or the idea of liquid luck, a magical juice that brings guaranteed success to its drinker, it is of course Harry's actions that pose the biggest questions, and more specifically the demand by Dumbledore that Harry not to come to his aide, even if he be in serious peril (a concept that returns with magnificent force at the film's climax, but has left many devotees hugely unhappy). It is an intriguing idea that Harry might be beginning to act consciously rather than automatically, as his actions until now have, for the most part, been driven by necessity. Until now, Harry has functioned with perfect moral order, the very definition of 'doing the right thing'. But in The Half Blood Prince the question is raised of whether Harry values more his own actions, or the wants of his mentor. Is it preferable, the film seems to ask, to be able to act on free will and suffer the consequences of your decisions, than work under the control of others and therefore be without responsibility? And what then does it mean to refuse to act, even though you are well within your means?

Overall, though, it was a hugely enjoyable film, taken with a pinch of salt and an open mind, and despite some cringe-worthy crowd scenes of children cheering (always a thron in my side for some reason) and the return, if just for one scene, of the insufferable ginger tag team, the Weasley twins (now built as some sort of hideous duo of Mr Magorium impersonators), there is more than enough to applaud in this film. It is, I would like to highlight, absolutely beautiful. Wonderfully soft, as though painted with oils, and a feast of design and effects, it really is a treat on the eyes. Along with this, the performances of Alan Rickman as the dastardly Snape and Jim Broadbent as Professor Horace Slughorn are hugely engaging, and the children themselves have emerged as very decent actors indeed, especially Rupert Grint as Ron. All in all it is a successful outing, and I am hungry, as I often am, for more of the special one.

MOON

Science fiction, I will happily announce as a way of cutting the ribbon on this week's entry to Blogland, has never been my closest love. To me, little miss sci-fi is a topsy-turvy ride, pleasuring me one minute with such magical gifts as the Alien saga, Blade Runner, E.T., 2001, or Close Encounters, before running off to cheat on me with that spottiest of nerds, the Star Trek franchise (please), or jumping into the back seat of George Lucas' diamond-encrusted shag-wagon and jetting off to another planet named by a toddler (Tatooine? Naboo? Really?).

This time though, with a new independent British production entitled MOON, that girl sci-fi, well, she's done good. Very good indeed.

Directed by Duncan Jones and co-written by Jones and Nathan Parker, Moon is a complex, moving and insightful story about Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell), an astronaut who lives alone in a mining facility owned by Lunar Industries and located on the surface of the moon.

Coming to the end of a three year contract, Sam is only three weeks from returning home to his loving wife and daughter when he begins to suffer from visions. After three years of isolation, with no-one for company but a talking robot called Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey), it seems logical to Sam that his mind might play tricks on him. But when one of his visions causes Sam to be involved in an accident, things begin to take a more sinister turn, as Sam wakes up to find someone else in the base with him: himself.

There are not too many adjectives that you couldn't use to describe Moon, such is the brilliantly varied nature of the story and of the film's construction. It is sprawling yet incredibly intimate, frightening but also strangely calming. The story itself is predictably complicated, and centres around such weighty ideas as humanity and identity, existentialism and free will. Yet the plot is unravelled with great delicacy, allowing the charming characters (or should I say character?) to develop and engage us with a wonderful mix of wit, vulnerability and intelligence that is missing from so many of the laser-toting space cowboys of recent years.

Rockwell's performance is nothing short of spectacular, and Jones' decision, aided of course by the film's chicken-feed budget (about £2.5m), to use the camera rather than expensive effects to duplicate his character, only heightens the intimate bond that Bell and himself develop throughout the movie. I have come to expect a lot from Rockwell, consistently impressed by his performances in films such as 'Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind', 'The Assassination of Jesse James', and most recently 'Frost/Nixon', but I think that the depth with which he manages to bring to life the two different versions of Sam's character with such an acute balance of sadness, humour and charm shows an intelligence and awareness that raises him above so many others in his trade.

Rockwell aside there is still so much more to praise about this film. It is expertly designed and crafted - from the complex lunar base that has the same funky atmosphere and cold functionality that made Ridley Scott's 'Alien' so cold and inhospitable, to the bleak and dusty plains that make up the moon's surface; sparse and infinite like the lands of Sergio Leone. This atmospheric nature is complimented, as well, by some superb work by the sound, lighting and camera departments, all of which provide more than enough to support and often enhance the feelings of isolation and sterility that backdrop the action.

So it is safe to say that I enjoyed Moon very much. So much in fact that there is little I would have altered about it, had I the possibility. There were times during watching that I was expecting Gerty, the Spacey-voiced robot, to continue its logical journey to a more sinister, controlling role (much like the obvious comparison of Hal in Kubrick's 2001:A Space Odyssey). Yet, again, I was proved wrong, as the film's dark tone gave way in the final forty minutes or so to something far more endearing and Jones's ability to amalgamate different genres and themes took the story into a new and invigorating place. In fact, as the film ushered me joyfully towards its conclusion, and as Sam learns about himself, about the other him, I felt as though I was watching an intergalactic 'Rainman', so touching was the relationship that had formed between the two men.

Adventureland: Now, That's What I Call A Soundtrack!

Film soundtracks are a curious art form. At once both separate from, and melded to, the more vital action of a movie, they are, like the eerie wooden mask that clung to Stanley Ipkiss' face in '94, entirely dependant on their controller. In the right hands they are wonderful beings (see Reservoir Dogs, Grosse Pointe Blank, anything by Wes Anderson); a part of a film's identity, often acting as a musical time capsule, they celebrate the brilliance of the songs themselves whilst making sure to embrace, if not enhance or even set, the film's tone and tempo; they are proud and vital, never distracting.

Go the other way, though, and this is sadly more often the case, and a soundtrack more than likely becomes one of two ugly, venal creatures. The first is a tell-tale sign of egotistical film-making; a vehicle by which a director can be found flicking through his iPod and appropriating his favourite songs to any old scene in order to massage his own musical ego. The second, though, is almost more deadly. It is the seediest of beasts; the compilation CD built, most probably by music management bosses, with an eye to promoting the next American anthem-rock band or heart-on-the-sleeve crybaby (see Twilight in both cases, nay, EVERY case, see Twilight for everything unsacred and unholy). This is my vision of hell, a place where every inch of art is tainted with the brush of commerce, where the marketing department is paid more than the camera crew. Is this true already? Most likely.

ADVENTURELAND, the new movie from 'Superbad' director Greg Mottola, is an autobiographical coming-of-age story set in a run down amusement park somewhere is no-place, USA. Young James (Jesse Eisenberg), has a place at Columbia grad school, with dreams of writing travel diaries like Dickens did, yet when his parents tell him they will not be funding his further education, nor his oncoming summer jaunt to the cultural super-power that is Europe, James is forced to take a job at Adventureland, a low grade fun park teaming with stoners, oddballs and unattainable disco chicks. Stuck in a personal hell (god forbid there should be no-one around who understands the theological symbolism of Moby Dick), James' life is salvaged only by a burgeoning romance with the punk-liking, band t-shirt-wearing, straight-talking Em (Kristen Stewart).

The film is decidedly ordinary from the outset, seemingly confused about whether or not to give more importance to comedy or drama, and as such giving not enough time to either. It is a blur of eighties nostalgia, spinning like a half-baked teacup ride around an unrelenting stream of tracks from some of the era's musical stalwarts like Lou Reed, David Bowie, INXS and The Cure. Though emphatically, and endearingly, reproduced, it quickly becomes clear that Mottola is struggling to paint his own picture with any panache, presumably aware of the fact that James's story, no matter how closely tied to his own, is really quite boring. His reaction to this appears to have been to build a film which is, in itself, an 80's-sponsored theme park where everyone looks and sounds uncannily like the past, and in which we, as an audience, are more interested in the clothes we used to wear or the songs we used to hear than the badly made waxworks wearing them.

What remains, I am sad to say, when the Whitesnake and leg-warmers are removed, is a fragmented mess of stagnant comedy set-ups (often involving the dullest Hollywood devices: weed, alcohol and genitals), piled up around a series of melodramatic outpourings and arguments that have the icky smell of a Dawson's Creek or an O.C., the kind of tangled teen romance story that makes you want to pull both characters aside and tell them to walk away, lest they be trapped in a never ending circle of fighting in the street and re-uniting in the rain.

Where the quality lies in Adventureland is in its supporting cast. Though Eisenberg and Stewart are both clearly capable actors, they have been given too much to do, too many lifeless lines to say and too much coo-ing and whining to force down, and as such they often look tired and out of ideas. Luckily, where these two fail to make gripping their quite banal issues, the slack is often picked up by the park's scatty but loveable management team, Bobby and Paulette (Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig) and James' new found friend Joel, played with verve by Martin Starr, all of whom provide an affectionate chaos to proceedings.

Yet it is, to return full circle, the biggest sign of the film's shortcomings that the funniest joke of the entire two hours (seems long doesn't it, for a teen rom-com...) is a recurring one that depends, just as the movie's success will do, on the audience's ability to remember the 80s (and more specifically the track 'Amadeus' by Austrian electro-dandy Falco). It is the case with Adventureland, as it has often been with films with such little confidence in the quality of their product, that it is the soundtrack that will be remembered when the audience have left, and nothing else. And where for some movies it is because the music is so good that it comes to dominate, with Adventureland it appears to be because everything else is, well, not-so-good.