Tomorrow night Connecticut Post Entertainment Editor and all-around great guy Joe Meyers graces The Bijou with his presence to introduce “The 400 Blows” as our inaugural Critic’s Choice night. He’ll be around after the movie, too, for a post-screening discussion of the film. One of the touchstones of the influential French New Wave movement, this Francois Truffaut film is a dazzling coming-of-age tale, photographed in charcoal-y black-and-white, that should play really well at our beloved Bijou Theatre.

“The 400 Blows” served as the introduction of Truffaut’s alter ego Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Leaud), a child growing up in Paris in the late 1950s who is painted as something of a ruffian by his parents and various authority figures. The character would appear in several more Truffaut films, including “Antoine Colette” (a segment of the 1962 anthology film “Love at Twenty”), “Stolen Kisses,” and “Bed and Board,” and is regularly cited as one of the greatest films of all time (and a favorite of directors as diverse as Akira Kurosawa, Satyajit Ray, Richard Lester and Norman Jewison).

If you’ve never seen the film, it really is a landmark. And holds up remarkably well. As a piece of cinema history it’s a movie that helped define the French New Wave – elliptical camera work and editorial flourishes, deeply personal storylines, and startling nonlinear narratives. And it remains as powerful and exhilarating as it did in 1959 (had I been alive – I’m working on the time travel technology). Plus if you bring it up at your next intellectual cocktail party, you’ll probably seem smarter than you actually are.

Joe Meyers will be a fun and knowledgeable guide for the introduction and post-film discussion. This is something that you really should watch.

As far as “holidays” designed and engineered by card companies, flower merchants and gift shops, go, you could do a lot worse than Valentine’s Day. It’s easy to be cynical about the day, what with the candy hearts and plush bears, but at least its sentiment is somewhat pure: tell the people you love that you love them. And it’s also not a bad excuse to watch a movie, snuggled up next to the one you love (or, if not the one you love, at least the one you want to get in bed with later).

For Valentine’s Day, we’ll be showing “Grease,” the 1978 adaptation of the hit musical, directed by Randal Kleiser and produced and co-written by the immortal Alan Carr (seriously – read his recent biography). The movie holds up surprisingly well, thanks to the chemistry (and flat-out sexiness) of its two leads, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, and the film’s zippy plotting and sing-along songs.

But I figured, if you couldn’t make it out to “Grease” on Tuesday night (we’re showing it twice, and pairing with a number of local restaurants for dinner-and-a-movie configurations), I would offer up 5 additional, off-beat choices for premiere Valentine’s Day movies. No, “The Notebook” is not on here.

True Romance (Tony Scott, 1993)

Tony Scott is one of the world’s most underappreciated auteurs, mostly because he focuses his considerable energies into popcorn entertainment instead of highbrow “art films.” But that doesn’t make him any less potent a visual stylist, and “True Romance” might be his very best work. (Although I toyed with the idea of including his far grimmer, but no less brilliant, Kevin Costner vehicle “Revenge.”) Written by a then-unknown Quentin Tarantino, “True Romance” is the tale of a loser comic book store clerk (Christian Slater) who falls in love with a prostitute (Patricia Arquette). While retrieving her things from a bloodthirsty pimp (Gary Oldman, unrecognizable), he accidentally grabs a suitcase full of cocaine instead of one containing her things. From there they go to Los Angeles to try and sell the coke and get involved with a lowlife producer (Saul Rubinek) and a number of assorted underworld characters. And while it’s easy to write “True Romance” off as just another crime movie (you can feel Tarantino’s Elmore Leonard influence years before he adapted “Rum Punch” into “Jackie Brown”), it’s the movie’s oversized heart that leaves the biggest impression. Oh and the supporting cast: Dennis Hopper, Christopher Walken, Brad Pitt, Val Kilmer (as Elvis), Michael Rapaport, Bronson Pinchot, Tom Sizemore, Chris Penn, and James Gandolfini all have small roles.

All the Real Girls (David Gordon Green, 2003)

This movie was actually released on Valentine’s Day, 2003, so it’s appropriate it makes the list. David Gordon Green’s second feature is an absolutely devastating rumination on love and remains as potent today as it did back then. Paul Schneider (who co-conceived the script with Green) plays a small town ladies’ man who falls for his best friend’s little sister (Zooey Deschanel) and actually has, you know, feelings for her. What happens next is nothing short of heartbreaking, and there’s so much in “All the Real Girls” to relate to that you sort of feel like it was made for you. It doesn’t matter who you are. This thing will cut you up. But as far as modern day romantic dramas go, it remains unparalleled.

Blow Out (Brian De Palma, 1981)

This would have been my John Travolta Valentine’s Day choice, a searing masterpiece from Brian De Palma that remains, even after last year’s deluxe Criterion Blu-ray treatment, sadly under-seen. A lot of Brian De Palma’s movies came under fire for being too sexy (no such thing), and what’s interesting about “Blow Out” is, despite its opening slasher movie prologue and the fact that one of the characters is a sex murderer, is that the emphasis is on the emotional connection between two people, instead of the physical one. Travolta plays a sound engineer who accidentally records a political assassination, and Nancy Allen (De Palma’s then-wife) plays a prostitute who was meant to die in the attempt. As Travolta pieces the conspiracy together, Allen’s character becomes the target of an assassin (John Lithgow) who takes his responsibilities a little too seriously. The way that Travolta and Allen flirt, without ever becoming an item, is adorable and surprisingly sweet-natured, especially given the film’s tragicomic conclusion (one of the more cynical conclusions in De Palma’s ouvre, which is saying something). “Blow Out” is a peerless masterpiece and if you’ve never seen it, Valentine’s Day is as good an excuse as any.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004)

The single best movie made about the way that memory works with relationships, this psychedelic romp by mad Frenchman Michel Gondry (working from a script from Charlie Kaufman, author of “Being John Malkovich” and “Adaptation”) is about a sci-fi-y organization that can selectively zap memories out of your brain. So, that bad break-up can now be chemically treated, like your stubborn roots. Jim Carrey plays a sad sack who has been dumped by a free-spirit played by Kate Winslet, and then has second thoughts about the procedure… And that’s when things get really strange. Gondry and Kaufman have a kind of Philip K. Dick practicality to their decidedly outlandish concept, and the movie speaks volumes to the way that little things trigger significant memory detail after a relationship has ended. That sock you dig out from underneath your bed that can cause a full-on relapse? Stuff like that. (Other relationship memory gems include both versions of “Solaris,” “Annie Hall,” and last year’s terrific Oscar-contender “Beginners.”) Funny and bittersweet, with an all-star supporting cast that includes Bijou favorites Mark Ruffalo, Kirsten Dunst, and Elijah Wood, it’s pretty much unforgettable.

Sex and Lucia (Julio Medem, 2001)

Yes! Sex! That used to take place in movies for adults, before everything had to be marketed for 13-year-old boys. It still is happening overseas, thank god (see also: last year’s terrific Romanian infidelity drama “Tuesday, After Christmas” or Mexico’s Best Foreign Language Feature entry “Miss Bala”), and it’s hard to think of a sexier movie than “Sex and Lucia.” Starring Paz Vega, who Americans will most remember from the horribly unfunny Adam Sandler vehicle “Spanglish” (ugh), as a young woman who falls in love with a depressed writer (Tristan Ulloa). Like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” the narrative toggles back and forth between past and present, reality and fiction (in the form of Ulloa’s writing) and for all the graphic sexuality (re: nudity), the movie has a pleasantly old fashioned feel. In fact, it’s not unlike the great melodramas (or “women’s pictures”) Douglas Sirk made for Universal in the 1950′s, right down to its weepy ending. Vega is a force of nature, and the primary reason to watch the movie (and not just because we frequently get to see her in the altogether), and it remains a frustrating focal point of film fans as to why she’s never been able to break through (most recently she had a brief role in Frank Miller’s bizarre “Spirit” adaptation). You’ll fall in love with her Lucia, for sure. The sex is just a bonus.

For our inaugural “documentary night” at the Bijou, we’ve chosen a gem – Rodman Flender’s hilarious and surprisingly touching “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop.” Chronicling the rocky post-”Tonight Show” months (some of which was covered in the excellent “War for Late Night” by Bill Carter), wherein Conan was without a show, a network, and a sympathetic ear, it covers the live show he launched that summer and the personal demons he had to battle at home.

But, you know, it’s really, really, ridiculously funny.

In fact, when I saw the world premiere at last year’s South by Southwest Film Festival, there were whole chunks of the movie that I missed because I was laughing so hard that paramedics had to be called to the scene (not really).

And while the humor is much appreciated (there’s a priceless bit where he’s heckling Jack McBrayer from “30 Rock,” who used to appear on his old NBC show), and you get a really good sense of what the live show was (and what it was trying to accomplish), the more revelatory thing about “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop” is how it shows you the inner workings of Conan’s mind. This dude was torn up about being ousted from “The Tonight Show” months after taking it over, and he makes his unhappiness clearly known. He’s a complicated dude, as most comedians are, and the documentary fully explores that.

If you missed “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop” the first time around, now is the perfect time to catch up. It’ll have you giggling in the aisles. Just, you know, please clean up after yourself.

If you’re under the impression that your political radicalism mellows with age (that’s when you become more interested in quilting and managing your online stock portfolio), well, Harry Belafonte would beg to differ. The performer and entertainer is just as outspoken as he was during the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s… and at the tender age of 84.

Belafonte is the subject of the amazing HBO documentary “Sing Your Song,” which has its stateside theatrical premiere tonight at 8 at our very own Bijou Theatre.

I first knew Belafonte from his memorable appearance in the third season of “The Muppet Show.” I was quite small and adorable but knew that there was something powerful about Belafonte – about his presence and his music. Looking back on the clips now, you don’t see any of the anguish, or the upheaval that Belafonte had lived through (and would continue to crusade against). Instead, there’s just the Zen-like Belafonte, surrounded by amazing Henson creations inspired by African folk art, preaching optimism and universality. It’s pretty incredible stuff.

The documentary, directed by Susanne Rostock, chronicles Belafonte in terms of the volume of his accomplishments, both professionally and in the political arena. (She wisely sidesteps the more problematic areas of his personal life, which maybe would have made for a fuller portrait but would have played outside of the film’s central focus.) This is a guy who still fought segregation while headlining Las Vegas and backed John F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign. And, also, sang with Muppets.

What’s amazing is just how much of a sparkplug Belafonte still is. He’s still fighting the good fight and no matter your political persuasion, you have to admire his chutzpah and commitment to the cause. The day that Belafonte stops singing his song is the day he’s six feet under. He’ll leave the quilting to others.

Over at The Playlist, I got to speak to Ben Wheatley, co-writer/director of later-this-month’s bizarre and brilliant Bijou film “Kill List.” He’s one of the most talented young guys working in genre cinema today. Check it out – he’s a sharp dude full of illuminating insight. Should get you excited about our screenings of “Kill List” later this month. But tread carefully – there be spoilers!

As far as most film fans are concerned, David Cronenberg is one of the finest filmmakers working today. His track record is practically peerless – a kaleidoscopic mixture of more out-there genre pieces (things like “The Fly” with Jeff Goldblum or “The Brood” with Oliver Reed and Samantha Eggers) and more accessible (but just as blistering) dramas (like the Oscar-nominated “History of Violence” and 2007’s better-than-“The Departed” thriller “Eastern Promises”) that all maintain his set of personal obsessions (mostly to do with the transformation and mutation of pinky soft human flesh). Starting tonight we’ll be showing Cronenberg’s latest mind-bender, a subtle and stirring period drama called “A Dangerous Method,” which charts the foundations of modern-day psychoanalysis. There might not be any gooey monsters or exploding heads, but it’s a Cronenbergian gem, just the same.

“A Dangerous Method,” adapted from the play “The Talking Cure” by the original playwright Christopher Hampton (who was also partially responsible for another February Bijou film, “Carnage”), focuses on the relationship between two titans of psychology, Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen, seemingly taking over from Jeremy Irons in the “Cronenberg’s muse” department) and Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender, hypnotic as always). Their relationship, a kind of student/mentor dynamic, is directly challenged when a young woman is introduced into the picture, Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley, in a part originally intended for Julia Roberts), who is suffering very seriously. (In real life Spielrein would go on to herself become a titan in the field.) Through austere camerawork and painterly compositions, Cronenberg brings the period to life in a real, vital way, and, coming from the director of the NC-17-rated J.G. Ballard adaptation “Crash,” adds some sizzle to the sex scenes you normally wouldn’t expect.

But this movie, for all its Cronenbergian weirdness (it’s there – just hidden beneath the surface or masked by some period-specific costuming), is really about the trio of performances that anchor the film – and one supporting performance that comes in and jolts the movie like its been hit by lightning (but more on that in a minute). 2011 was, unquestionably, Michael Fassbender’s year. Each performance that he provided – as emotionally distant Edward Rochester in Cary Fukunaga’s icy, brilliant “Jane Eyre,” as the firebrand young mutant Magneto in the zingy “X-Men: First Class,” and as the troubled sex addict Brandon in Steve McQueen’s uncompromising “Shame” – should have made him a star. That hasn’t, not yet, but with a swaggery turn as a villainous spy in last month’s brilliant “Haywire” and an upcoming role in Ridley Scott’s “Alien” prequel/sequel/whatever “Prometheus,” it shouldn’t be long. In a way, his performance as Jung is the most understated of his performances from last year, but its subtlety shouldn’t be frowned upon – it’s a precision role, one that could cut class, and in the movie’s waning moments, as he is left to ponder his role as Europe is about to enter the first World War, are some of 2011’s most chilling and unforgettable.

Knightley does a lot to make you forget about her underwritten role as a waif in those “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies, putting forth a transformative performance that is as physical as it is intellectual (how’d she do that thing with her jaw?), while Mortensen, looking very happy to be back together with Cronenberg, plays a kind of velvety elder statesman, turning his pipe-smoking into a performance art piece. But the unheralded star of “A Dangerous Method” is Vincent Cassel, in his second Cronenberg team-up (after playing a weirdo gangster in “Eastern Promises”). As Otto Gross, an Austrian psychoanalyst who advocates a kind of anything-goes approach to analysis, he turns up the volume on the movie a good ten notches. You can’t take your eyes off of him. He is, very much, electric. Rarely do you see a movie dramatize one strand of psychoanalysis, let alone a handful of approaches. But then again, Cronenberg has always been one to accomplish the impossible. And here he goes again.

While we’re currently locking down our amazing film schedule for February, we wanted to let the cat out of the bag a little bit and I personally wanted to talk about the two big “marquee” titles – Ben Wheatley’s “Kill List” and Ti West’s “The Innkeepers.” Both movies are very spooky and very brilliant, and we are thrilled to have them as part of The Bijou’s February line up.

Let’s start with Ben Wheatley’s “Kill List.” Wheatley is a young British filmmaker who had made one film, the highly entertaining gangster comedy/drama “Down Terrace,” before embarking on an altogether different beast with “Kill List.” While a low budget film, the scope of “Kill List” is staggering and it’s hard not to talk about it without giving something away. But let’s just say that the film starts out in a very specific way before turning into something altogether.

Initially, the film seems like something of a domestic drama. As the film beings we watch a middleclass couple in the suburbs squabbling, sometimes fighting violently and you can feel the financial strain almost swallowing them whole (it’s got teeth). When an old buddy presents a business opportunity the pair (Neil Maskell and Michael Smiley) set out on the road. Initially you don’t know what they do but then you realize that they are low-level contract killers, and the movie slips easily into a kind of gangster movie. And you are comfortable here, watching them talking and x-ing out names on the titular list. But then things are so slowly revealed… and everything leads to the most terrifying climax in recent motion picture history. Seriously: you can have all your “Paranormal Activities” and “Saws.” This is the real deal. And it is chilling.

“Kill List” is the kind of movie people are going to be talking about for years to come. Not just this year, as the film slowly makes its way out, but at the end of the year when people are comparing their favorite films, and in sleepovers for years to come, when some in-the-know kid says to his or her friends, “Hey, you want to see something that’s REALLY scary?”

It’s that kind of movie. It might not end up being all that famous, but people will love it. And infamous is cooler than famous anyway.

On the complete opposite end of the spooky spectrum is Ti West’s “The Innkeepers,” which is sort of a funny-scary little romp that will leave you screaming for more. West is an amazing young filmmaker who has already directed a handful of films. His last feature, 2009’s “House of the Devil,” was an irreverent ode to the babysitter-trapped-in-a-house subgenre, and genuinely felt like a movie from the late 70s or early-80s. West takes a different approach with “The Innkeepers,” but it the results are just as amazing.

Set in a Connecticut hotel on the eve of its closing (the film was shot in Torrington), when a pair of employees (the very-adorable Sara Paxton and authentically nerdy Pat Healy) decide to prove whether or not the hotel (Torrington’s Yankee Peddler Inn) is haunted. Things unfold at a deliberate pace, fluctuating between scary and funny and back again. There’s even a brief cameo by mumblecore sensation Lena Dunham as a barista, and a small role for the always-great Kelly McGillis, as one of the hotel’s last guests (who may or may not have a connection with the other side).

Eventually the humor gets shed away and things get seriously scary. But the movie is more a fun romp than “Kill List” and its occasionally oppressive bleakness. But both films represent the very best of current genre filmmaking and both deserve to be seen with a responsive audience (seriously – if people aren’t screaming or crying or throwing up, then we have a problem). Come get spooked at the Bijou this February!

What goes into making a truly great cult movie? There are certain factors that account for a movie being distinguished as truly “cult” – for one, it had to, on its initial release, been ignored at the box office or lambasted by critics (both, if possible, for extra cool points). Also issuing in a certifiable cult film is something we’ll refer to as its ahead-of-the-curve-ness; if it breaks rules or challenges conventions, either visually or idea-wise (again – if both happen, more cool points) then it’s more destined for cult status, instead of mainstream acceptance. A cult film has got to appeal to the outsider, the weirdo, the intellectual, and is probably based on material thought marginal by the mainstream. All of the above describes “The Man Who Fell to Earth,” a genuine cult classic we’ll be showing this week.

Based on Walter Tevis’ philosophical sci-fi novel, 1976’s “Man Who Fell To Earth,” as directed with impressionistic grace by Nicolas Roeg and featuring a stunningly off-center performance by David Bowie as a displaced space alien, is a classic any way you slice it. It just has, over the years, developed a vocal and active cult audience.

In the film, Bowie (in his first starring role), plays an alien who arrives on Earth as part of a mission to bring back water to his very thirsty home world. While on our planet he becomes consumed – by wealth, power, sex, and alcohol. His mission, while still important, becomes less of an issue. Instead, Bowie’s alien proves himself to be all too human, prone to neurosis, addiction, self-doubt, and crippling insecurity.

“The Man Who Fell To Earth” is a quiet movie, full of philosophical quandaries and existential angst and Roeg’s unique editorial approach, which turns what could have been a conventional sci-fi movie into a cubist rumination on what it means to be human. (It should be noted that this was during Roeg’s “Absolute Genius” period of his career, three years after his career-high horror movie “Don’t Look Now” and few years before the psychosexual “Bad Timing” and “Citizen Kane”-like “Eureka.”) The movie divided audiences and critics alike when it was released in the spring of 1976, but a small but devoted following has, over the years, turned into a general consensus that the film is really, really, exceptionally good.

One of the reasons people are so enamored with the film is the lead performance by David Bowie. Bowie has always given off a kind of otherworldly glow, with his shimmery white skin, reedy frame, ambiguous sexuality, rock star magnetism and shock of red hair. In “The Man Who Fell To Earth” he doesn’t just inhabit the role of marooned space alien Thomas Jerome Newton, he IS him. Roeg wisely plays on Bowie’s persona, weaving it into the character in very specific ways. There’s a reason, once the government captures Newton before he can leave to return to space, that they stick him in a hotel room. Bowie must have been used to it by then. The feelings of alienation, displacement and loneliness come prepackaged. Ditto his spacey stage persona, which goes a long way.

While seen as a marginal, experimental work upon its release (keep in mind that it was released the spring before “Star Wars”), the film is hugely influential. Not only is it regularly cited as a favorite among movie-lovers, but you see references to it everywhere. Just a couple of years ago in the big budget superhero movie “Watchmen,” two of the major sets are based around similar sets in “The Man Who Fell to Earth” (keep an eye on Dr. Manhattan’s apartment – notice the wallpaper!), while it’s been widely cited that both Guns N’ Roses and Marilyn Manson have used the film as inspiration for their music.

So if you haven’t seen “The Man Who Fell To Earth,” get ready to join the cult. And those who already have seen/love the film, well, it’ll be beautifully presented, in glorious HD, at The Bijou this week. Get ready to be beamed up.

Back at The Bijou is writer/director J.C. Chandor’s “Margin Call,” a drama about the economic collapse that plays like a pulse-quickening thriller. And one of the most gripping aspects of the film is how it lays out the specifics of the financial crisis in ways that are easy to understand. At one point Jeremy Irons, laying on the lugubriousness, says, “Talk to me like I’m a child or a Labrador retriever.” It’s a funny line but it also lets you into both the movie and the knotty real-world finances – in both cases you can understand the mechanics better because you’re being let into the process.

In the film a pair of young analysts (played by “Gossip Girl’s” Penn Badgley and Zachary Quinto from 2009’s “Star Trek” reboot) discover that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. A recently ousted mentor, played by Stanley Tucci, warns that the numbers are potentially erroneous on a catastrophic level, and so the two lower-tier dudes corral the bigwigs together to try and figure out the problem (bigwigs played by, among others, Simon Baker, Demi Moore, Paul Bettany, and Kevin Spacey). The initial suspense of what did the company do wrong, gives way to lingering atmospherics as the top brass try to decide what to do with their now-junky firm. What starts out as a more by-the-numbers financial thriller turns into a more jolting, surprisingly affecting morality play, full of stark camerawork and top-notch performances.

“Margin Call” premiered at last year’s Sundance Film Festival and never got the kind of wide release that it demanded (and deserved), fluttering here and there before winding up On Demand and DVD. But it’s the kind of movie that deserves to be seen on the big screen, a handsome independent feature that has more big ideas than a handful of larger studio films. Thankfully, one group that has taken notice of “Margin Call” is the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which today nominated “Margin Call” in one of the top categories – Best Original Screenplay, a category Chandor shares with people like Woody Allen (for “Midnight in Paris”) and Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo (for “Bridesmaids”). Pretty amazing, right? Come see what the hubbub is about – and let Jeremy Irons teach you about the financial crisis as if you were a small child, or a Labrador retriever.

Starting late last week, The Bijou has brought on Nicolas Winding Refn’s high-octane thriller “Drive” for an extended run and if you missed it during its wide release this past fall (and, judging by the box office numbers, you did), don’t make the same mistake twice. “Drive” is not to be missed. You don’t want it speeding away from you, choking on dust and exhaust fumes? Didn’t think so.

“Drive” is one of those movies that the critics fawned over (director Refn was awarded the Best Director prize at Cannes and the movie appeared on dozens of year-end Top 10 lists, mine included) that never really translated into much commercial success. Maybe it was because the marketing for the movie stressed the more action-packed elements of the film, which are truthfully few and far between, while downplaying its expansive existentialism and violent brutality (two of the things that make it so gosh darn special). I remember seeing it way back in the summer and saying to a friend of mine that came to the screening, “This is going to be way too weird for people.”

It’s the tale of a nameless driver (played by Ryan Gosling) who works as a Hollywood stuntman by day and a getaway driver by night. When he does a job for his an adorable neighbor (played by Carey Mulligan), things spiral out of control and he becomes the target of a Jewish gangster (Albert Brooks) bent on revenge. And while that sounds terribly cliché and late-night-cable-y, the movie is actually an intricately woven tapestry, with a soundtrack that wouldn’t have been out of place in a John Hughes movie about teenagers being forced into weekend detention. Again: it’s really weird.

But it’s also pick-your-jaw-off-the-floor brilliant. Part of that brilliance is that you can read into it in a number of ways – as a morality play; as a send-up of Hollywood action movies; as a superhero flick (masks are abundant in “Drive”); as a neon-drenched film noir. All of these are correct readings of “Drive,” and all are a jumping off point to talk about the film, endlessly, as the film-obsessed out there have been doing for the past few months.

“Drive” will be running from the 21st to the 31st and will definitely be an experience you’ll want to share with friends. Come early, grab an adult beverage, and strap in for the greatest thrill ride of 2011 that wasn’t called “Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol.” We promise we’ll turn the sound up real loud.