It Might Get Loud
Marketed as a guitar summit of the Edge, Jimmy Page, and Jack White, Davis Guggenheim's affectionate, intermittently insightful behind-the-music doc is more electric triptych than meeting of the minds. Yes, the trio gather 'round the soundstage amps to teach one another a few tricks, but it's anticlimactic — save for the schoolboy smiles of White and the Edge's mug when Page instructs them in the finer art of piloting a Led Zeppelin. But the meat of the movie deals with their individual tales anyway: the Edge showing off the school rooms and studios where U2 became one, Page air-guitaring along to Link Wray's "Rumble" and guiding us through the manse where the fourth Zep record was recorded, White building a guitar out of little more than wood, wire, and a Coke bottle. Guggenheim pits young'un against old fart: White bemoans "technology," while the Edge is nothing but — so much so that U2 fans may find themselves disappointed by the revelation that the Wizard is nothing but a pile of pedals behind that arena-sized curtain. It's Page, a joyful instructor and natural storyteller, who steals the spotlight. The only real complaint: The movie's not loud enough. They should have turned that fucker up to 11. Robert Wilonsky
My One and Only
Your enjoyment of My One and Only will depend on how much the words "inspired by incidents in the life of actor and Hollywood icon George Hamilton" spark swoony memories. Hamilton — the forever-tanned star of Love at First Bite and Zorro, the Gay Blade — executive-produced this benign coming-of-ager. The setting is the 1953 cross-country adventures of teenaged George (Logan Lerman); his swishy half-brother, Robbie (Mark Rendall); and their Blanche DuBois-like mother, Anne (Renée Zellweger), who leaves her philandering bandleader spouse (Kevin Bacon) in New York. Stops in Boston, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis allow Anne to husband-hunt as director Richard Loncraine ushers a series of TV actors (Steven Weber, Chris Noth, Eric McCormack) in and out as potential mates. Written by Charlie Peters, My One and Only allows Zellweger to fully commit to her bargain-basement Tennessee Williams character, if not a consistently Southern accent. Rendall does limp-wrist well; Lerman serves as an adequate vessel for Hamilton, exorcising adolescent struggles with Mom, whose biggest failing is not knowing that The Catcher in the Rye is his favorite book. Occasionally diverting but ultimately forgettable, My One and Only will become unforgivable if it inspires other former
competitors from Dancing With the Stars to go in search of lost time. Melissa Anderson