With a remastered print of the three hour theatrical film, promotional spots, a “making of” documentary spread out over 3 DVDs, plus post cards, and a Technicolor reproduction of the original program, trying to absorb all the material contained in this collector’s edition may feel as if the Roman Empire has fallen on you. But bear with it, citizen. The Miriam Collection’s “The Fall of the Roman Empire” has a forum for everyone, and is as sumptuous and striking as the film itself.

Released way back in 1964, “The Fall of the Roman Empire” isn’t as creaky as you might think. There’s none of the overboard, rip ‘em to shreds violence found in today’s productions (like watching 300 Spartans get hacked, severed and filleted down to none). It’s not an unforgettable epic in the vein of “Gladiator,” but it’s an enjoyable example of the extravagant epic genre. So if you’ve got young children, they won’t be exposed to anything they haven’t gawked at on prime time, making “The Fall” a good PG rated family movie night candidate.

It’s ironic that an entire generation has grown up not knowing who Tom Snyder was. “John, Paul, Tom and Ringo,” a 2 DVD set of “Tomorrow Show” interviews from Shout Factory, ought to enhance Snyder’s reputation as a provocative, determined and entertaining interviewer. Snyder, a former newscaster, hosted “The Tomorrow Show,” on NBC from 1973-82. His hard-hitting interviewing style, off the cuff exchanges with the stage crew, and cloud-wafting chain smoking made him a celebrity in his own right. He also had the distracting habit of making every interview about Tom Snyder. If you’re interviewing Uncle Floyd, that’s one thing. If you’re fortunate to have landed three out of the four Beatles, you need to be prepared, be polite, suck on your Salem and let them do the talking. Tom does none of the above, which makes “John, Paul, Tom and Ringo” an occasional out of control clown car. Snyder’s ego aside, these interviews haven’t been seen in twenty five years, and are worth delving into because it’s the Beatles, kids.

John….

(editor's note: Though I don't disagree with MJ's review and would strongly suggest the book over the movie, the girl in me must recommend the movie on the strength of the Green Dress which is uncredited but deserving of its own award.)

I have atoned for my many sins, having only dozed off twice while sitting through the dry as a doggie bone romance of “Atonement.” The film was recently nominated for seven Oscars and wound up winning just one – for best original score. The Academy can be shockingly wrongheaded when it comes to doling out awards, but in this case they got it right. There’s no doubt that “Atonement” deserved to be recognized, but “No Country For Old Men,” was the rightful winner for Best Picture and Best Supporting Actor. “Atonement” is a lavish period piece, manna for the eyes, and the music is lush and elegant. But stunning? Spellbinding? Those words best describe “No Country For Old Men” and “There Will Be Blood.” “Atonement” is a Lifetime movie with a bazillion dollar budget.

Don’t cringe or chuckle when you see Ben Affleck’s name on the screen followed by the unlikely titles of director and screenwriter. “Gone Baby Gone” is a much better film than almost everything Affleck’s ever acted in, and it owes its success to a brilliant cast and Affleck’s ability to turn the suburbs of Boston into a central character.

The opening of “Gone Baby Gone” sets the viewer down in the middle of a media circus. A child, Amanda McCready, is missing from one of Boston’s congested, working class neighborhoods. Helene, her single drug huffing mom (marvelously trashy Amy Ryan), puts on a concerned front for the cameras, but in private, lounging on the couch in her seedy apartment, she’s more concerned about where her next high is coming from than her daughter’s safe return. Amanda’s aunt (tough love personified in the person of Amy Madigan) and uncle (working stiff Titus Welliver) hire a pair of young private investigators, Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro (boyish Casey Affleck, and the brains of the outfit, Amy Monaghan) to supplant the police department’s search, which after three days appears to have already reached a dead end.

When I was a young troublemaker, I loved gangster movies. Our gang of neighborhood roughnecks spent entire afternoons imitating Jimmy Cagney (“You durdee raaaat”) or Edward G Robinson (“You’re gonna get it, seeee!”). I still get goose bumps every time Duke Mantee (played by Humphrey Bogart), slithers onto the screen for the first time in “Petrified Forest,” or when James Caan (Sonny Corleone) drives up to the toll booth in “The Godfather.” Too bad they didn’t have Speed Pass back then, Sonny.

Imagine my joy when I heard two of my favorite actors, Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, would be facing off in “American Gangster.” They’re not as incendiary as Cagney and Bogart (who, prior to “Maltese Falcon” always lost his confrontations with the Yankee Doodle Dandy), but Washington’s rare wrong side of the law portrayal of Harlem heroin honcho Frank Lucas is a bigger hit than the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Frank who?

For the past two decades, comics from all over the world have been uniting for “Comic Relief,” a laugh-a-palooza to help raise funds for the poor and needy. Shout Factory has assembled a 2-DVD set of “greatest hits” featuring clips from Gary Shandling, George Carlin, Jim Carey, Bill Maher, co-hosts Whoopi Goldberg, Robin Williams and Billy Crystal and other jokesters. The second DVD includes performances from Louis Black, Sarah Silverman, George Lopez and Ray Romano that were part of Comic Relief 2006, which provided support for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. With the exception of Black and Lopez, the second DVD is no whirlwind, but the rapid-fire clips and quips on the first DVD will leave you laughing so hard you’ll need some relief of your own.

America loves its bad men. Al Capone. John Dillinger. Mike Tyson. Jesse James. Richard Nixon (okay, that one’s a stretch). When Jesse James was shot by his protégé, Bob Ford, his home state of Missouri went into mourning. Jesse’s body lay in state on ice for days (I said it before, and it bears repeating: that practice adds new meaning to the phrase “stinks on ice.”) Photo postcards of his corpse fetched as much as $2, a princely sum in 1882. Conversely, there was no such fanfare when Jesse’s older brother Frank died of natural causes in 1915, mainly because Frank was a repentant sinner and Jesse was not. As for Jesse’s assailant, young Bob had his moment, then was treated like a pariah. When a disgruntled admirer of Jesse’s blew Bob away in 1892, no one paid a dime to see the scattershot lodged in his throat.

“The Assassination of Jesse James” is as much the story of James’ last years as a hunted, paranoid animal as it is Bob Ford’s dangerous obsession with his boyhood hero. Bob’s consuming admiration for Jesse parallels the celebrity worship of Selena by Yolanda Saldivar with equally tragic results. There’s an old saying about keeping your enemies close. If they’re armed, maybe that’s not such a good idea.

The sequel to 1998’s “Elizabeth,” “Elizabeth: The Golden Age” is the second in director Shakhar Kapur’s proposed trilogy chronicling the life of Britain’s beloved Queen Elizabeth. Like its predecessor, “The Golden Age” is a lavish costume drama occasionally heightened by moments of swashbuckling bravery and steely intrigue. The romantic flash emanates from the character of Walter Raleigh (smiling, self assured Clive Owen, channeling Errol Flynn), while the intrigue seeps from the likes of Elizabeth’s advisor Francis Walsingham (oily Geoffrey Rush, who could teach the KGB a few tricks). Owen, Rush, and major combatants Elizabeth (regal, pale as porcelain Cate Blanchett), Mary, Queen of Scotts (fetching Samantha Morton) and Phillip II (fanatical Jordi Molla), all throw more ham around the screen than a waiter at Grossinger’s, but their tendency to overact turns a cumbersome script into an impressive costume flick.

“Elizabeth” is set in 1585, three years before the climatic battle between the Spanish Armada (“invincible fleet”) and the upstart English navy. Spain, the known world’s most powerful country, is run by a Roman Catholic, King Phillip II. Queen Elizabeth, a Protestant, rules England. In Phillip’s eyes, Elizabeth’s barbaric beliefs are bad enough, she’s also well aware that pirates like Frances Drake and Walter Raleigh have been boarding Spanish merchantman and stealing his gold, and she’s done nothing to stop them. Itching for a war, Phillip supports the claim to the throne of Elizabeth’s exiled Catholic cousin, Mary Queen of Scots.

“Suburban Girl” is a mild modern day May-December romance. Think of it as “Viagra in the City.” It tells the story of an underpaid, unappreciated twenty-something editor, Brett Eisenberg, (sprightly Sarah Michelle Geller), who idolizes and is quickly romanced by alcoholic, diabetic, fifty-something publishing magnate Archie Knox (doughy Alec Baldwin). Dare I say it… It’s a “chick flick.” The romance is strictly PG (so why does Sarah need a body double?), but there are a several surprises in the functional and occasionally amusing script. With no explosions, cleavage or hunks, and a minimum of body function jokes, “Suburban Girl” could fit right in with the easygoing Saturday afternoon fare on the Lifetime Channel.

The plot sticks with the expected roadblocks. Everyone in Brett’s camp -- her Norman Rockwell family, her bratty best friend and her co-workers (including the oversexed black guy, where do they get these ideas?), thinks Archie’s too old for her. Throw in Archie’s physical problems, a daughter often talked about but never seen, and you’ve got a lot of romantic land mines that have to be avoided in order to keep this romance from blowing up.

“Dedication” will make you cry – which is unfortunate, because it’s supposed to make you laugh. It’s so achingly bad you’ll be checking your watch five minutes into the “action,” praying for Gamera the flying turtle to eat you alive. (Don’t worry, I’ll explain that comment. Just read on.)

There isn’t a solitary laugh to be had in this very dark, listless comedy. As for the plot -- the only plot worth paying attention to is the one illustrator Randy Holt (crusty Tom Wilkinson) winds up in within the first half hour. It’s too bad for Tom that the script requires him to reappear intermittently as the main character’s alter ego/conscience. Wilkinson’s Randy is the closest “Dedication” has to a likable character; he swears with flair, eats Genoa salami knowing it’s bad for his heart, and to say he’s got a pessimistic view of life gives manic depressives a bad name. Compared to Henry (unlovable Billy Crudup), a sarcastic, potty-mouthed children’s book writer, Randy is the Dalai Lama. Henry has a fear of anything that turns clockwise, hates carrots and snakes, and won’t ride in cars --“Statistically, you have a 100% change of having and accident. They’re death traps,” he says. One of the ways he copes with the world’s perceived sleights is to stack books on his chest (a habit that’s never explained). Another is to watch Gamera movies. (See I told you I’d explain.) Gamera, the flame spewing flying turtle, was series of amateurish 60s Japanese sci-fi movies with bad overdubbing. (The kind of movie where the actor’s lips move thirty seconds after they say something.) Gamera frequently battled Godzilla and other stuntmen in rubber suits with unintentionally sidesplitting results. Godzilla, Mothra, and Ghidorah I could understand. But Gamera? Gamera was such an insignificant movie monster even fans of the genre probably don’t know there was more than one movie starring the flying can of soup. Not having a decent monster movie diversion is further proof of Henry’s self loathing.

Best Picture
"Atonement"
"Juno"
"Michael Clayton"
"No Country For Old Men"
"There Will Be Blood"

Best Actress
Cate Blanchett, "Elizabeth: The Golden Age"
Julie Christie, "Away from Her"
Marion Cotillard, "La Vie en Rose"
Laura Linney, "The Savages"
Ellen Page, "Juno"

Best Actor
George Clooney, "Michael Clayton"
Daniel Day-Lewis, "There Will Be Blood"
Johnny Depp, "Sweeney Todd"
Tommy Lee Jones, "In the Valley of Elah"
Viggo Mortensen, "Eastern Promises"

Best Supporting Actress
Cate Blanchett, "I'm Not There"
Ruby Dee, "American Gangster"
Saorise Ronan, "Atonement"
Amy Ryan, "Gone Baby Gone"
Tilda Swinton, "Michael Clayton

Best Supporting Actor
Casey Affleck, "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"
Javier Bardem, "No Country for Old Men"
Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Charlie Wilson's War"
Hal Holbrook, "Into the Wild"
Tom Wilkinson, "Michael Clayton"

Best Director
Paul Thomas Anderson, "There Will Be Blood"
Joel Coen and Ethan Coen, "No Country for Old Men"
Tony Gilroy, "Michael Clayton"
Jason Reitman, "Juno"
Julian Schnabel, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"

If you’ve studied organized crime you know most gangsters are not like the philosophical, middle-aged jolly jokers you’ve seen on “The Sopranos.” Take Frank McErlane, referred to by law enforcement as “the most brutal killer who ever pulled a trigger in Chicago” by the Illinois Crime Survey. McErlane was the first mobster to employ the “one way ride,” use a submachine gun to eradicate his foes, and is said to have enjoyed every one of his 15 kills. He once shot a man on the other side of a bar in the head on a dare, fought off three assailants from his hospital bed with his broken leg suspended in the air, and shot his mistress – and her dogs – after an argument. When McErlane was succumbing to pneumonia, he punched one of his nurses and required the services of three orderlies to hold him down as he drew his last breath. Most gangsters are psychotic, habitual killers who seldom live past forty (McErlane made it to thirty-eight). If you can handle the notion that most gangsters are more like Frank than not and some movies don’t have happy endings, you’ll appreciate David Cronenberg’s raw and realistic “Eastern Promises.”

It seems like eons ago that Ritchie Blackmore earned his reputation as one rock’s more petulant and short-tempered guitar gods. One of the founding members of Deep Purple, it was Blackmore who decided that singer Rod Evans and bassist Nick Simper should be exorcised as the group shifted from progressive to hard rock. Evans, one of the most polished frontmen you’ll ever hear (it’s his voice on Purple’s biggest hit, “Hush,” as well as “River Deep, Mountain High,” Lalena,” and “Kentucky Woman”), was getting too much ink and Blackmore simply hated the snippy Simper and his overactive bass. So while Evans and Simper were finishing recording the group’s third album, Blackmore was rehearsing with a new singer, Ian Gillian, and a new bassist, Roger Glover. To this day, keyboardist Jon Lord says he regrets the callous way Evans and Simper were dismissed. Deep Purple sloughed their way through three more tepid albums with Gillian and Glover before hitting reaching the top of the heavy metal ladder with “Machine Head.” Ritchie soon discovered he should have been more careful about what he wished for when Deep Purple’s second go round at fame found him at loggerheads with Gillian for control of the group.

Okay, admit it. You don’t know who Queen Hatshepsut is either. No, she’s not the latest girl from the ‘hood with a rap record. Hatshepsut’s ‘hood was in Egypt 3,000 years ago. She ruled for twenty years, and was one of the first women in recorded history to lead a nation. Yet almost immediately after her death, her face and name were obliterated from every wall, obelisk and tower she’d built.

You’ll take away at least one important fact from the Discovery Channel’s “Super Comet: After The Impact”… When the big one hits, head for the nearest ocean. When the super comet strikes the earth, it’s gonna be hotter than hell in the summertime near ground zero, but it’ll be colder than George Bush’s heart nearly every place else, and brother, that’s mighty cold. So if you trek toward the ocean you just might survive, because large bodies of water will retain more heat.