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You Might As Well Live (R)

Entertainment One

Mixing the hilarious moronic innocence of Napoleon Dynamite with the comedically perverse misadventures of The Jerk, You Might As Well Live ranks right up there with Mystery Team as one of the funniest movies of the year that you've never heard of. Robert Mutt is an eternally put-upon loser who, after numerous suicide attempts, is locked up in an asylum where he discovers his self-esteem. Too much self-esteem, in fact — he's kicked out and sent back into a world that hates him, armed with only the will to "be somebody." While his neighbors accuse him of being a child pornographer and protest in front of his house, he tries to earn enough money as a drug-mule to participate in an air-hockey tournament ... and that's just the first half-hour. Incredibly un-PC and riotously funny, this is a movie you might as well watch over and over again. — Louis Fowler

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Grant Morrison: Talking with Gods (NR)

Halo 8

At turns absorbing and ludicrous, director Patrick Meaney's hyper-affectionate visual essay on the life of Grant Morrison, comic-book writer of such seminal titles as Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth and The Invisibles, is at its best in the first half. That's when it traces Morrison's rise from a talented but quiet kid enmeshed in his own superhero world to a talented prick with immense self-regard and the skills to mostly back it up. The film is less entrancing once Morrison gains fame and fortune from Arkham and sets out on a deliberate path of exploration and destruction fueled by ego and creativity. It's a credit to Morrison's vast influence that even his peers hold him in a pseudo-mystical regard: Legend Warren Ellis hints at Morrison's psychic abilities, while comic writer Jason Aaron likens Morrison's early DC work to the Beatles. — Justin Strout

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Altitude (R)

Anchor Bay Home Entertainment

A handful of CW-ready teens rent a small plane for a weekend getaway to a Coldplay concert when dark clouds envelop them, instruments stop working, and a Lovecraftian sky-octopus starts ripping the plane apart. I like the idea of Lovecraftian sky-octopi as much as the next guy, but it's barely seen. Instead, we get too much of the constant in-fighting and white-bread pathos of this group of thoroughly irritating caricatures. You wind up rooting for any obstacle, be it the elements, gravity or the octopus, to take out the d-bags and end the movie an hour early. Mega-props go to Jake Weary as the crude, drunk frat-boy Sal; not since Matt Czuchry's performance as Tucker Max in I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell have I absolutely hated a character so much that it passed on to an actual dislike for the actor. That's one hell of a performance, if you ask me. — Louis Fowler


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