Knowing about the scary reviews and sagging box office numbers, we went to see The Lone Ranger on Sunday afternoon anyway, because 1) we often like films that the easily bored, pretentious movie critic hates, and 2) I can’t break my streak of seeing every film Johnny Depp makes.

Bottom line: sorry, but we liked it! Again, as I always say, it’s what you expect that often determines what you get. If you expect little (which we did, thanks to the overall pan of the film), you may be surprised.

Those who go to the film expecting a brave, all-powerful, stilted, noble and in-control masked man easily dispatching bad guys will be disappointed. Everything is taken down a notch in this version, mostly for the sake of comedy. It’s a buddy movie. Think of Nolte/Murphy, Chan/Tucker, Gibson/Glover — then forget them. This is not like those, mostly because there isn’t really a time when their humanity stops the pace of the film and gives the audience a reminder that the characters are, in fact, human. Also, the “buddies” are decidedly not friends, nor do they grow to be so.

Still, the story does not disappoint. Wacky, contrived and utterly impossible? Sure! Have we not seen anything like that in American cinema before? Come on, critics. Much of the acrimony written about this film centers on Depp’s insistence on playing characters with quirky, overriding physical and mental flaws. I hear what they’re saying; even I grow weary of the famous Depp confused smirk. But that in no way means he does not bring depth to his work. His portrayal of Tonto as both a middle-aged and an old man (the story is shot in flashback) is never boring, albeit somewhat unsurprising in places.

There are a couple of little eye-rolling chuckle lines that you have to pay attention in order to catch. I caught one — a total aside — spoken by John Reid (Armie Hammer in the title role), as the pair were on a mountain ridge, riding away from the camera: Do you know what “Tonto” means in Spanish? Haha.

Near the end of the film, Reid, in a moment of jubilant inspiration atop his beautiful white horse, shouts, Hi-oh SILVER…away! Cut to the familiar deadpan Depp replying in all seriousness, Never do that again.

I’ve read adjectives like bloated, overlong, silly, stupid, bland, boring. While I get that, I totally didn’t feel insulted by this film, or that my time or money was wasted. We laughed, we were entertained. I guess that’s why I’ll never be a movie critic; apparently, I can enjoy something less deep than Terrence Malick. What’s wrong with a predictable romp once in awhile? I ask you.

The Depp faithful will be satisfied, and Hammer is cute. There is a fair amount of violence, and some rough language.

It was a fun afternoon out, and the Thriller and I splurged and shared a popcorn. Shoo-ee! How ’bout a walk on the wild side.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Lone Ranger:

So, Netflix has gotten into the series game, and I must say: Well played, Netflix. Well played.

Revamped and Americanized from the BBC original, the serial revolves around the machinations of Francis Underwood (brilliantly played by Kevin Spacey), one of the most diabolical, scheming, sadistic, hellbent-on-revenge characters one could imagine. That he is a member of the United States Congress only makes the tale more delicious.

Imagine tuning in for the pilot episode, and seeing in the opening scene the calm, dead-eyed Majority Whip outside his house, lured onto the sidewalk by the sound of a dog being hit by a car. Suddenly, and completely without any kind of forewarning, Spacey breaks the actor’s “fourth wall” and addresses the camera directly. He delivers — to your face — a quiet soliloquy about different kinds of pain, while gently strangling the suffering dog to death. Welcome to House of Cards.

The direction of the story is easy to figure out early on: Frank is beyond certain that he will receive the president’s nomination for Secretary of State. When it doesn’t happen, he makes it his life’s mission to 1) climb as high in government as he can, and 2) crush as many skulls as possible on the way up the ladder.

The supporting cast is pretty tasty as well. It’s good to see Robin Wright back at it, playing Underwood’s crafty wife. Although I have a personal aversion to Kate Mara in this show (can’t explain it, really — maybe she just does the smarmy, do-anything-and-I-mean-anything-for-a-story reporter thing too well…or maybe I just think she’s ugly), she is serviceable as Frank’s secret partner in crime. And the crimes pile up, fiends, early and often. Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.

Frank Underwood is the kind of person you never want to allow into your personal sanctum, for he will find a weakness and exploit it to destroy you for his greater good. And yet, watching him do it over and over to both the innocent and deserving is compelling TV. The jiggle parts (while not completely graphic and certainly not overly frequent or gratuitous, it’s fine with me if they omit the secks altogether, but of course that would presumably limit its mass appeal — have we fallen so far?) are not so compelling.

It is no surprise (but quite impressive) that Netflix went after this show with great enthusiasm, out-bidding juggernaut distributors HBO and Showtime in order to secure the exclusive rights. They may be on to something.

Some critics have a problem with the “fourth wall” trick; they think it cheapens the authenticity. I disagree. Every time Spacey breaks off from the action to address the camera, I get juuuuust a bit creeped out. Like he can really see me. It adds to his overall persona; his slight imbalance, leaning ever so gently towards sociopathy — even psychosis. Which, of course, makes it all the more crazy, since the man’s influencing decisions in Congress. Whoa.

So I say (and I think RtB fiend Tom Hanks would agree) it’s a smart, interesting effort, and worth checking out. All 13 episodes of the first season are available, and have been since the get-go (another genius move on Netflix’s part). We wait a year for Season 2.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give House of Cards:

It’s been a while since I’ve seen Les Mis on stage. Several years, in fact. (2006?) Still, the story in my mind has strong legs; I know how I feel about it, and I’m familiar and comfortable with the emotions it evokes, and it’s been pretty reliable for me every time I’ve seen it.

So it wasn’t without some reservations that I went to see the film yesterday with my good pal Tom Hanks, whose cinematic take I covet at all times on all movies. Don’t get me wrong — I looked forward to it with great excitement, and I must say, it delivered on several fronts. Other fronts…not so much, and I remain rather surprised.

Let’s address this issue at the get-go. I’ve read countless reviews and general opinions on Facebook with regard to Russell Crowe’s lack of vocal prowess and “unprofessional” sound. I think they’re all missing the point. Sometimes, you just need to forget your foofoo preconceived notions about Javert having a booming, operatic baritone. Yes, yes — that’s how he is portrayed in the stage version; I’ve yet to see a production that didn’t hold to this model, and I’ve seen LM on Broadway several times. Say what you will, but the man never sang a single note out of tune, and his raw, untrained delivery only intensified (in my mind, anyway) his shortcomings and insecurities as a lonely, bitter man masquerading as a law-enforcement thug. I thought it was fine, risky, believable casting.

Of course, this is not to say that I don’t take issue with any of the singing. Surprisingly, my biggest annoyance was with Hugh Jackman himself. While his role as Valjean was superbly acted (I was absolutely transfixed during all of his scenes), his 5-mile-wide vibrato and my-goodness-that’s-harsh interpretation of the beautiful “Bring Him Home” was really off-putting. Instead of hovering in an artfully controlled falsetto in the upper range all the way to the bridge, he sang the entire song in a “transcending tone” — half falsetto, half full voice. Not a gentle note in the bunch: disappointing for the second most heart-wrenching song of the show (first being “On My Own”). Yet, I must admit — his flawless character more than balanced out the occasional “what the HECK note is he singing?” moment.

The female singing was delightful. Anne Hathaway as the sad, hauntingly beautiful Fantine, tried juuust a bit too hard sometimes, with her actual delivery upstaging the melody and lyrics. I fought the urge to say, “Somebody please get this girl a Kleenex — for her NOSE.” (Not near as intense as Jane Fonda’s scene in Klute, mind, but plenty realistic.) Her acting, however, was a machete through the chest. Amanda Seyfried’s light, almost straight-tone soprano was perfect for the lovely Cosette, and Samantha Barks, whom I’d never heard of, broke my heart as the tragic Eponine.

The children (young Cosette and the waif boy, Gavroche) were superior.

A real high point for me was listening to the men on the barricades. What strength! What tenors, yo! And, occasional shaky Whitney-type jaw vibrato aside, the always-dreamy Eddie Redmayne was perfect as Cosette’s love interest, Marius. I didn’t know he had such a striking, powerful tenor voice. Nice.

Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter? Meh. Same old same old, and Tom and I agreed that for a moment there, the film almost took a Tim Burton detour. Not nearly as playful as the Thenardiers of Broadway, but they didn’t have to be. They were funny in places.

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about the live recording (the singers were recorded on film actually singing their songs, as opposed to lip-synching them with a track, a la Sweeney Todd), but it was impressive, to be certain. Make no mistake: it is difficult to sing this music, and the fact that each character pulled it off in a live setting — and the movie finished production in under nine years — is astonishing.

Bottom line: I was amazed, delighted, overwhelmed with sadness, and completely entertained. Not all of the music in this show is easy to listen to; one has to work to love it. But Tom Hooper’s vision played well, in my opinion, and made most of the scenes perfectly palatable, even and especially for audience members unaccustomed to watching opera. It’s an important film based on classic literature, and you should see it if you haven’t already. Or maybe see it again, which I might.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Les Misérables:

It’s taken me a couple of days to really formulate a somewhat articulate way to write my review of this film. Several descriptors come to mind: personal, dense, reflective, funny, human, tortured, honest, unpretentious. I could write a single (and longish) post on each one of those adjectives with regard to this movie. You just have to see it for yourself to arrive at your own set of descriptive words.

Let’s start with the most obvious. Daniel Day-Lewis looks like Lincoln. Oh my, a dead ringer if there ever was one. In fact, all the whiskery men in the cast are coiffed to the absolute nth degree; it’s fabulous. And Mary Lincoln, played tragically and exquisitely by Sally Field (at first, I thought, “She’s too old for that role; icky!” And then it was once again proved why I’m a music teacher and others are brilliant directors with a keen eye for casting), was picture-perfect in her wide, antebellum gowns and beefed-up shoulder and back fat. No stone was left unturned. OK, I’m gushing idiomatic here; on with it.

You won’t see a lot of Civil War battles. In fact, I can’t remember a single mention of Gettysburg. At the first scene, I thought, Uh-oh…soldiers dying horrific deaths on a rain-soaked field. Looks just like Saving Private Ryan. But I was wrong, wrong, wrong. The entire film centers around two main themes: 1) the passage of the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution, abolishing slavery, and 2) the clandestine workings behind a failed effort by Lincoln to negotiate peace with the Confederate States. It is plain to see the inherent dichotomy here; in fact, Lincoln was told straight-up by William Seward, “You can have this peace with the Rebels or this Amendment; you cannot have both.”

It doesn’t matter if you know the outcome here; it’s how it all happened that leaves you amazed. Even more amazing was the captivating speeches — and they are long and long — by Lewis. No, fiends — this is not just another biographical look at Lincoln’s life. This is the struggle behind the struggle: a tale of a larger-than-life leader in the only time in this country’s history when Americans fought Americans. There’s also a crucial side-story about a doting (yet flawed) father, a husband desperate to hang onto what is left of his wife’s sanity, and a president who believed to the exclusion of all else that if the US didn’t abolish slavery, all were doomed.

All of that makes it a movie you must see. If I had a four-and-seven-eighths cheese graphic for it, I’d use it. It’s as close to perfection in a film as I’ve ever seen. (But if I give it five cheeses, I’d have nowhere to go, you see.)

I could write another thousand words on the film, too, but alas, I must grade papers now if I’m to be done in time for the Js’ arrival at dinnertime tonight. Yay! I love Thanksgiving break.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Lincoln:

That’s two awesome films I’ve seen this month. Now you get out there and do the same.

FO