If you thought Rose McGowan with the machine gun leg was something else, just wait till you feast your eyes on The Machine Girl! Yes, that's right: A sweet Japanese teenage lass has been damaged beyond repair by the evil Yakuza, but with the help of a stump-mounted machine gun (and a whole bunch of other freaky weapons), this gal's gonna have her revenge! And how!

If you have a strict aversion to over-the-top arterial sprays and hardcore gore, then definitely don't check out this brand-new Machine Girl trailer over at Twitch.com. Anyone else should feel free to enjoy the Asian insanity. According to the Twitchers (and they know their Asian genre fare, trust me), The Machine Girl comes from the folks responsible for Death Trance (which I haven't seen) and Meatball Machine (which is certifiably bizarre), plus the trailer certainly looks chock-full of over-the-top chop-socky. Sign me up.

Every time I see an action movie with shaky, hand-held camerawork, I take a moment in my review to complain about it, but I never have the room to go into detail about why I hate it so much. Now that Michael Bay's Transformers (360 screens), Rob Zombie's Halloween (371 screens) and Brett Ratner's Rush Hour 3 (400 screens) have fallen into my humble lower domain, I'd like to discus it further.

The earliest example of shaky-cam I can remember comes in Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove (1964). Kubrick was known as filmmaker married to smooth, steady camerawork, using long takes, wide, deep compositions and slow, clean, traveling movements. So when he used the hand-held to emphasize the chaos of combat in Dr. Strangelove, it was an innovation. The scene has two important attributes: it's still recorded in long takes, so the viewer has a relatively good idea what's going on, but more importantly, in this particular scene, in this particular movie, it doesn't matter exactly what's going on. Only the larger concept of the fracas itself matters.

Today, just about every other Hollywood film uses shaky-cam, though European filmmakers generally prefer longer takes and less shaking. Since cameras get lighter and easier to use every year, it makes sense. With hand-held, it takes much less time to set up a shot. No more laying down track or mapping out every inch of camera movement. But hand-held has been quickly abused, and it's almost always used wrong. Bay's Transformers is a particularly heinous example. Each time a transformer switches from car to robot, Bay moves his camera right up to the action, as if it's taking place mere inches from our faces. Since the robots are several stories high, this is painfully disorienting. It's like trying to view the Empire State Building by waving a camera in front of a few bricks. Moreover, a filmmaker friend told me that, because the robots were created with CGI, Bay probably added his shaking camera after principal photography, with computers.

Zombie's Halloween should offer a pretty cut-and-dried case study. For dialogue sequences, Zombie keeps the camera fairly still, but when Michael Myers attacks, he begins jerking and lurching around. This does not emphasize the terror. It's more like riding a roller coaster and anticipating a ten-story drop before suddenly finding yourself thrown from the ride. Compare this to John Carpenter's masterful original, which was also filmed handheld, but via long, graceful, gliding Steadicam shots. Part of the problem with most shaky-cam work is that the director is forced to cut it together very quickly to hide the fact that very little is actually visible.

In my book, Ratner's crimes are a good deal worse. Ratner had the opportunity to direct Jackie Chan in his first big Hollywood-financed film. Chan is an exceptionally skilled martial artist. He choreographs his stunts and moves at lightning speed and razor precision. He has even established an emotional logic for his stunts, and he's a fairly good director himself, having made more films in Hong Kong than Ratner has here. Chan's method, and indeed the method of most Hong Kong filmmakers, is to choreograph the action first, then film it clearly without getting the camera in the way. Instead, in all three Rush Hour films, Ratner shakes the camera around and butchers everything Chan does. Nearly every martial arts star working in Hollywood has suffered the same problem, while -- ironically -- the talented Hong Kong directors, who know how to photograph action, have ended up making "B" movies with Jean-Claude Van Damme.

When we humans walk down the street, our heads and eyes bob up and down. But our brains automatically adjust so that our vision remains constant and smooth. If you're walking along a sidewalk and your gaze fixes on a car parked at the end of the block, the car does not jerk up and down. So when a filmmaker runs through the forest carrying the camera and filming the running movement, he's not actually capturing the feel of running. He's capturing chaos. The idea of making a movie is to get into the audience's heads. So by filming smoothly and cutting when necessary -- like the blinking of an eye -- the action should be closer to what everyone can relate to. Brad Bird's Ratatouille (393 screens) offers an excellent example of this. When his rat hero Remy explores the kitchen of the restaurant, Bird's "camera" swoops around the room at top speed, but it never loses the concept of the room. We're always aware of the room and our place in it.

That's the key: space. Even though Paul Greengrass's The Bourne Ultimatum is filmed entirely with shaky-cam, the space is always clear. The old-time Hollywood action directors like Howard Hawks and Raoul Walsh understood this instinctively. Let the audience see. Most of today's "action" directors, I suspect, very simply don't understand action, so they use the shaky-cam as a way to hide their ineptitude. The lack of action and choreography is covered up in the sludge of fast film and fast editing. What's even more perplexing is that nobody ever seems to notice or complain. (One of the most poorly made movies of all time, Gladiator, actually won a Best Picture Oscar.) Audiences are apparently used to shoddy work and wouldn't know good work if it bit them. We deserve better than what we're getting. All it takes is a taste of the good stuff before the bitterness of the bad stuff comes out.

It's a sci-fi action flick starring Hayden Christensen, and it's called Jumper. Sound like something you'd want to see? Eh, maybe. But if I went on to explain that the flick comes from the director of Go, The Bourne Identity and Mr. & Mrs. Smith ... and all of a sudden the movie sounds just a little more intriguing. (To me, anyway. I'm a Doug Liman fan.) Based on the novel by Steven Gould -- and adapted for the screen by the eclectic team of David S. Goyer, Simon Kinberg and Jim Uhls -- Jumper is about a young adult who has the power of teleportation. Which leads to all sorts of espionage mayhem and chases and such.

Co-starring alongside the former Anakin Skywalker are Diane Lane, Jamie Bell, Rachel Bilson, Tom Hulce, Michael Rooker and Samuel L. Jackson in a wig that looks like white astroturf. Fox presently has Jumper scheduled for that coveted February 15 release date, but if you'd like to click through the newly-updated official site, please do so right here. The brand-new trailer is also included, so stop back and share your thoughts. I hate to sound so negative, but I'm getting a distinct Operation: Stormbreaker vibe on this flick. Either way, the teleporting stuff looks really cool.

When it comes to the feature-length anime-action stuff, I consider myself a fan of the stuff -- but by no means any sort of passionate enthusiast or trivia-filled expert. My problem with most of these movies is a pretty common one: Despite all the stellar animation, cool characters and mega-nifty mayhem -- most of these movies have stories best described as ... indecipherable. Fortunately the latest by Japanese filmmaker Fumihiko Sori (Ping Pong) is cleanly-plotted and enjoyably accessible. Relatively speaking, anyway ...

Plus it has some of the most eye-popping animation this side of Miyazaki.

Vexille takes place in a semi-distant future in which Japan has hidden itself away from the rest of the world. Expelled from the United Nations and hidden behind a powerful satellite cloaking device, the country is knee-deep in a civil war of sorts. The evil company known as "Daiwa Heavy Industries" has taken to populating Tokyo with a race of humanoid cyborgs -- but here comes a team of do-gooders intent on kicking evil's ass! Most of the heroes are interchangeable gun-toters, but they also come complete with elaborately cool suits of flying body armor. And that's always fun.

With the new James Bond film Casino Royale rushing toward us at turbo speed (it opens on November 17 in the States), Cinematical tackles the question: Which Bond is the Best?

Most people have their stock answers ready to go for this one. It's either a quick, "Roger Moore" or "Sean Connery." Does anyone actually pick George Lazenby? I always end up feeling sorry for him. He went from hunk-of-the-moment in a chocolate bar commercial to potentially being one of the biggest stars on the planet. But would you want to follow in Sean Connery's shoes? Go rent On Her Majesty's Secret Service if you haven't seen it, it's worth a look. Plus it's the only James Bond film with a metareference. In the opening scene, Lazenby saves a woman from drowning and she slaps him before running away. He looks directly at the camera and says, "This never happened to the other fellow." Ouch. So, by default in our books, after only being in one film and forced to try to follow up the original, he's out of the running for best Bond. That leaves us with Connery, Moore, Dalton and Brosnan ...

Less a movie than a blunt instrument, Crank is an explosion of sex and violence, set to a deafening soundtrack and cobbled together by a crazed editor. From the look of it, first-time directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor wanted to make a compact film -- it's only 83 minutes (they're long, long minutes) -- but refused to leave out a single one of the insane images and visual flourishes they'd been collecting in their heads in preparation for their cinematic debut (both men come from an advertising background). As a result, the film has a terrible case of ADD: Scenes are chock-full of unnecessary visual touches that, while striking and interesting if used judiciously, quickly lose their power when they show up in every scene -- several times.

Jason Statham plays Chev Chelios, a hitman with possibly the most absurd name in the history of cinema. He awakens one morning with blurred vision -- the handheld camera shows us his point-of-view -- and in extreme physical pain, but with no idea what happened to him. Careening around his huge, warehouse-style apartment, he comes upon a DVD resting on his (of course) giant flat-screen television. And from the obscenity scrawled on its face, we can assume the disc wasn't there when Chelios went to bed. The star of the DVD is Verona (Jose Pablo Cantillo), a cringingly stereotypical Latino Villain who chews through the limited scenery as he gleefully tells Chelios he's been poisoned with "some Chinese sh*t", and has just an hour or so to live. So the movie opens with its central character already dead (much like D.O.A. did way back in 1950 -- and then again in 1988), and the bad guy's confession already out of the way: Forget solving a crime (already done) or avoiding danger (no point): Chelios gets to spend the whole movie trying to track down and kill Verona before his time runs out. Needless to say, blood will be spilled, limbs severed and cars crashed in the process.

A good parody is hard to spin beyond the here and now. Take "Weird Al" Yankovic, for example. The pop-music jokester has put out 11 regular albums since 1983, when the accordian-playing nice guy's spoof of The Knack's "My Sharona" (titled "My Bologna" and recorded in the men's room of his college radio station) started his career as a musician, comedic icon and food fetishist when it blew up on The Dr. Demento Show. However, every hilarious and unforgettable cut like "Eat It", "Like A Surgeon" and "Smells Like Nirvana" that hit was matched by fade-away tracks like the New Kids jape "The White Stuff" (an ode to Oreos), the Rocky III goof "Theme From Rocky XIII (The Rye Or The Kaiser)" or the misjudgment "Taco Grande" (a riff on Latin rough-boy Gerardo's only hit, "Rico Suave"). The secret to a successful parody is complex, involving a careful balance of picking a song that is big enough, worthy of a good-natured dressing down and most important, funny. The same is true with movies, and the latest in the popular Scary Movie series is a great example of what can go right and wrong with such an attempt.