Thus, I present to you the best of the trash you (probably) haven’t seen: “Hex.”

From my rough calculations, “Hex” appears to be the British answer to the cult phenomenon surrounding “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” First broadcast in 2004, “Hex” centers on a remote British boarding school, whose students and faculty become involved in a supernatural battle between witches and demons.

The first series focuses on Cassie, played by the delightfully talented Christina Cole, who discovers she has inherited supernatural powers and begins to see the fallen angel Azazeal, portrayed with great sex appeal by the dashingly creepy Michael Fassbender. As the two fall in love (as was ordained) Cassie becomes pregnant with his child, a rough equivalent of the antichrist who will bring about the destruction of the world. In the second series, the child rather suddenly becomes a teenager (Joseph Beattie) who must contend with the immortal witch sent to the school destroy him (Laura Pyper).

Though the summary I have given obviously indicates the series’ rather ridiculous nature, the inanity is only expounded by the fact that, from what I can tell, the writers had no clear direction from the beginning of the show. The first episode, in which Cassie discovers her powers and her instinctual feelings for Azazeal, hints at exploring Cassie’s past and focusing primarily on their relationship. However, a few episodes later, Cassie’s family history is completely forgotten and her relationship with Azazeal becomes confused and tortured. As the series continues, loose ends pile up with no real answer, plot holes appear from nowhere and the writing changes direction countless times without explanation or reason.

And yet despite the terrible writing, something about this show compels me to watch it over and over again. Perhaps I can blame it on the actors: Cassie and Azazeal both manage to portray immense depth even through the stilted, awkward script and their relationship becomes one of the highlights of the show. With charged sex scenes and explosive chemistry, Fassbender and Cole make the series absolutely addictive.

Plus there is something fascinating about the way “Hex” handles the now popular pairing of teenage and supernatural. Flooded with drugs, sex and alcohol, the series depicts young adult life quite accurately – abandoning romanticized notions for a clever level of reality. Yet it still delves into the world of angels and demons through special effects and many elements of the horror genre, marking various moments truly and unavoidably terrifying.

In the end, there is something I find positively enthralling about “Hex” (despite the painfully awful writing) and I can’t quite place my finger on it. I have ultimately thrown this show into my favorite trash television. It won’t make you think or develop you intellectually, but when a break from school comes around, it’s the perfect thing to indulge in.

“Hex” consists of two series and is available on DVD.

The brainchild of Joss Whedon, celebrated for “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and now “Dollhouse,” “Firefly” appeared in 2002, only to be yanked from programming halfway through the first season when the ratings were deemed poor by FOX. However, once the show was released on DVD, “Firefly” became a cult phenomenon, branching off into an entire franchise which ultimately led to the 2005 film “Serenity,” a continuation of the series.

“Firefly” centers on Captain Mal Reynolds, the commander of a spaceship called Serenity in a distant universe far into humanity’s future, who earns his living by smuggling goods to the disadvantaged people living far from governmental civilization.With a crew consisting of complex and difficult characters, Mal finds countless adventures as he attempts to hold his ship, his crew and himself together.

The characters in this show are positively wonderful; from the sweet and charming mechanic to the fierce woman serving as second-in-command and from the self-sacrificing doctor to the tortured girl with psychic powers, Whedon has added to this ship and this show an astounding array of intricate characters, each with flaws and issues which make him or her utterly real. The writing is only improved by the phenomenal acting in the series – though mostly unknown, these actors all bring their characters to life flawlessly, and thus they become amazingly, incredibly, real.

But “Firefly” also delves into deep themes and subjects which mark the show more as literature than as typical television. For example, through Shepherd Book, a preacher whose beliefs clash with most of the crew, the show delves into religion and morality; as Book learns to love these criminals, he must reconsider his perceptions of goodness. Through the relationship between Mal and the courtesan Inara, “Firefly” explores the intricacies of love and relationships, for, although they make an imperfect match, the two clearly love each other and must decide the path of their relationship. Through River, a girl experimented upon and turned into a psychotic, hopeless child, the show even goes into existentialist themes and contemplates the purpose of life itself.

Plus, the universe into which Whedon sets his adventures also stands as shockingly original; a combination of American and Chinese cultures after the destruction of Earth, the “Firefly” universe is situated on a set of distant planets transformed into a general approximation of Earth’s environment. Society is now bilingual, with both English and Chinese strewn throughout the script, and futuristic technology coexists with a rough way of living more reminiscent of a Western than traditional science fiction.

Because of these phenomenal new concepts and wonderful writing, “Firefly” had survived challenge after challenge to become a cult classic among thousands of dedicated fans.

“Firefly” is available as a complete series on DVD.

So it was only a matter of time until our favorite British TV company realized the phenomenon of “Twilight,” a strange conception of sexy, tortured vampires. From this line of thought comes “Being Human,” the latest import on BBC America. However, “Being Human” seems to take the best parts of the “Twilight” obsession and abandon all of the shallowness, thus exploring the darker, psychological side of the vampire myth.

The brainchild of “Doctor Who” writer Toby Whithouse, “Being Human” follows the story of three supernatural beings sharing a house in Bristol, England. Russell Tovey plays George Sands, an intelligent and socially inept young man who realizes after a brutal attack that he has become a werewolf. Running away from home, he encounters Mitchell, a handsome, tortured 100-year-old vampire given incredible depth of emotion by the debonair Aiden Turner. George and Mitchell decide to attempt life amongst humans, disguising their identities by working the night shift at a local hospital and renting a flat in a quiet neighborhood. That flat, however, is haunted by the ghost of a girl who recently died there: the quirky and compassionate Annie, portrayed by Lenora Crichlow.

Though the very nature of the youthful characters and the show’s sarcastic humor certainly add elements of comedy to the show, “Being Human” functions more as a drama and almost entirely as a character study. This sets it apart from most of today’s popular television and certainly from the plethora of shows jumping out of vampire fandom.

Instead of lusting after the characters or watching overwrought fight scenes, the audience of “Being Human” sympathizes with each of the characters as they explore the highs and lows of pretending to be human and coming to terms with their strange and painful identities, without the distracting force of a plot.

Although the writing lies somewhere between average and exceptional, and the concept only hides its derivation under a guise of originality, this series becomes exceptional thanks to the actors’ portrayals of the powerful emotions attached to their characters’ situations. Mitchell’s latest sexual adventure ended with a girl’s death, and throughout the first series he feels constant guilt for his actions. George’s desperation for a normal life creates a kind of hopeless vulnerability which Tovey renders absolutely heartbreaking. And Annie, trapped in countless questions about the events of her death, experiences the worst kind of solitude: the only people who can see her are George and Mitchell.

Though “Being Human” has a number of faults, the depth of characters, the fascination of a character study and the leads’ phenomenal acting cement its place as the best thing to come out of “Twilight” obsession. This show is on my list of favorite series this year.

“Being Human” is now shown on BBC America. The first series can be purchased on DVD. The second series will premiere in the United Kingdom in January 2010.

Dating back to the 1990s, “Coupling” follows the relationship of Susan and Steve over four seasons, from the original awkward meeting in a public restroom and Steve’s accidental proposal of marriage during a dinner party rant, to Susan’s eventual pregnancy and the beginning of their life together.

The series’ only writer is Steven Moffat, best known for his work on the British science-fiction TV show “Doctor Who” and his recent collaboration with Steven Spielberg on the forthcoming “The Adventures of Tintin: Secret of the Unicorn.” Moffat based the show on his early relationship with his wife, Susie, and therefore offers a unique and honest perspective of the difficulties faced by male-female relationships.

Many critics have described “Coupling” rather simply as a British version of “Friends” because of its six main characters. With three men and three women, the show faithfully explores both sides of the characters’ relationships. Though the themes explored in “Coupling” are far from innovative, Moffat accomplishes two feats that drive me to qualify it as one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

First, Moffat somehow manages to demonstrate both male and female perspectives on relationships with incredible accuracy and hilarity. For example, in the first series episode “Inferno,” Susan discovers Steve’s secret stash of pornography. When Susan tells her friends, they are positively appalled that he would watch such garbage. Steve later tells the women they should be honored that men spend so much time thinking about their bodies.

Second, Moffat’s writing includes a creativity seldom seen in the average sitcom. The second series episode “Split,” based on the events following Susan and Steve’s break-up, features a split screen through the entire 40 minutes and each side depicting one of the character’s attempts to deal with the aftermath. With so many parallels—friends taking them out to bars, attempts to call quickly and hang up – the use of the split screen allows Moffat to explore the literal concept of “splitting up” and to further comment on men’s and women’s intricacies.

“Coupling” attacks the stereotypes both genders place on themselves and each other in relationships. But most importantly, “Coupling” remains absolutely hilarious while doing so. Equipped with a more mainstream version of British humor, Moffat pushes his characters to extremes and makes them react in outrageous, comical ways that usually either exacerbate situations or enhance miscommunication to the point of no return – all while supplying great laughter along the way.

“Coupling” consists of four series and is available on DVD.

Definitely, Maybe, the brainchild of writer/director Adam Brooks (who has fantastic light comedies such as Wimbledon and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason under his belt) focuses on single dad Will Hayes (Ryan Reynolds) narrating his life story to his young daughter Maya (Abigail Breslin), who then attempts to guess which of the three women in his life ultimately became her mother. The choices run down to sweet and innocent Emily (Elizabeth Banks); sexual and ambitious Summer (Rachel Weisz); and cute and silly April (Isla Fisher). As the tale twists and turns, the audience becomes embroiled not only in Will’s life story but invested in finding the ending which will make Maya smile, a clever twist on what would otherwise remain the basic romantic comedy formula.

Though the storyline of the film certainly stands out from the others in the genre and seeps with the creativity of a writer indulging himself, somehow this film fails to work properly in its entirety. The script attempts to illustrate the complexities of each of the three women, spending long amounts of time on each of the relationships, and throw off the audience in any attempts to guess at the final identity of Maya’s mother by twisting and turning Will’s attention amongst them all; however, because Brooks is so eager to delve into all of the characters with his trademark realistic comedy, the film becomes incredibly tedious and slow. Each of the relationships, without the silliness of mainstream humor and antics or the melodramatic nonsense of modern drama, seems to last millenia, and all of the changes in Will’s affection makes him seem fickle at best and at worst irritating. By the time Maya accurately guesses her mother’s identity, the audience sighs a breath of relief for not having to worry about another painful change of heart, only to discover that Brooks has thirty minutes left to bring Will’s true love back into his arms.

In the hands of any other crew, the potential in the concept of Definitely, Maybe could still have shone through, but Brooks seems to have sadly indulged himself in his team and his position as well. The directing seems to emphasize all of the scripts faults in pacing and increased the tedium throughout the film, and none of the film’s technical aspects, such as editing, cinematography, soundwork, or even music, can salvage the brilliance the project must have originally promised, especially considering the rather average quality of the work — rather surprising, considering the caliber of crew working on the project, notably Florian Ballhaus as cinematographer and Clint Mansell as composer.

However, because of the slow pace of the film, the astute film junkie can take the time to deeply assess the acting involved in the film. Indeed, in scenes that seemed to last ages, Fisher shines like the sun, embodying the wit, fun, strength, and joy that exists within her character and acting as the perfect female lead for any romantic comedy. Reynolds works competently as the single father, basking in his shallow though substantial chemistry with the charming Breslin, whose winning smile and sweet laughter steal the heart of any watcher.

Yet Banks and Weisz fade in comparison to these three likeable actors. Banks’s naive college sweetheart character seems annoying after the first scene, missing the endearing side of innocence and landing on the pretentious, while Weisz’s vivacious and ambitious Summer comes off as hollow, flaky, and — dare I say it? — rather bitchy.

In the end, however, I must praise Brooks on a fabulous idea, though I must also put the brunt of my criticism at his feet for changing a great concept into something it never should have been — a demonstration of tedium marring the potential of what this film could have been.

Allen’s 2005 film Melinda and Melinda qualifies as both a comedy and a tragedy. As a group of playwrights convene for a pleasant dinner, one member poses a plot idea — “A woman barges in on a dinner party” — which is taken and developed into stories by two of the writers, one delving into comedy and the other into tragedy. The woman in question, Melinda, is brilliantly played in both tales by Radha Mitchell, though she joins different casts on each side of her coin; in one case, she comically falls in love with the man who completes her (Will Ferrell), and in another she falls into a deep suicidal despair after years of disappointment, betrayal, and painfully dashed dreams.

This is a fascinating concept for a film, particularly from the perspective of a writer delving into these questions every day, and I would assume that Allen’s experience as a writer may have been the motive for choosing these themes as the subject for his latest movie. Conceptually, this split plot works brilliantly in developing the questions of comedy and drama, laughter and despair, optimism and pessimism, and the use of one actress in the midst of multiple casts would theoretically make for fascinating twists and turns in the script.

Yet the problem with Melinda and Melinda lies in the final product. Though conceptually it works perfectly, in execution the film fails spectacularly.

Balancing two stories in a film is extremely difficult, a fact I mentioned before in my review of Julie & Julia. The pacing must be slow enough to keep the audience interested in both films without even the slightest confusion, but it must also be fast enough to keep the audience involved in the movie as a whole. The acting, special effects, etc. of one tale cannot overtake the other, for then the film becomes so out of balance that both become exhausting to watch.

Melinda and Melinda is a prime example of these mistakes. The pacing remains too slow to keep one interested in the movie and had me checking my watch half an hour in, even though I enjoyed each of the stories. Plus, the drama side of the story, starring Chiwetel Ejiofor and Chloe Sevigny, far outshines the comedic side with Will Ferrell. Though Ferrell fits wonderfully into his bumbling, joking character, a role seemingly made for him, he fails to mesh so nicely with Allen’s witty and subtle comedic dialogue, creating a strange and rather uncomfortable mixture. The cast on the drama side of the story, however, fits in perfectly to Allen’s strange and character-driven dramatic world, particularly Sevigny, who captures the vulnerability and conflict in the girlhood friend whose betrayal sends Melinda into her final despair.

In fact, the only bright point about this film that keeps the balance necessary for such a project is the phenomenal acting of Radha Mitchell, a relatively unknown actress who bursts out in starlight in every role she is given. Her two Melindas are just similar enough to be the same woman, yet different enough to fit into the two stories like pegs into holes, demonstrating a real insight into human nature rarely seen in current working actors. Melinda’s utter desperation in the dramatic tale, instigated by betrayal and fallen hopes, and her confused amusement in the comedic tale from a classic comedy of errors match their stories perfectly, and even her coldcut monologues seem to be taken directly from Allen’s mind and put into actions.

Oh, Woody Allen. If only you would occasionally turn your concepts into novels instead of movies; the world would be a much happier place.

However, beyond the typical inspiring tale, Julie & Julia has more than a handful of problems with it, which if solved could have turned yet another happy story into a truly memorable film.

First, taken originally from two books, Julie’s blog-turned-memoir and Julia’s collection of letters, the script as is would, I believe, make a far better read than it does a watch. Jumping back and forth between the stories, the movie never completely achieves a balance between the two women, and a cliffhanger on one chapter is completely forgotten by the time you see that story again. Plus, this narration technique effectively serves in slowing the film down, a fact that works well in hectic storylines but only makes these feel infinitely longer than their appropriate two hour time.

In addition to the narration problems, the script makes what I believe to be one critical mistake — the genre seems ambiguous at best, and at worst a light-hearted biography. As the film is far from melodramatic or full of action, it would seem that the best option would be to include as much humor as possible and classify it as a chick flick comedy; however, the humor never surfaces so obviously as to make you laugh out loud, and it rarely gives you more than a smile. Essentially, the film becomes nothing more than a biography of these two women, barely even an entertaining film “inspired by true events,” missing out on a great opportunity.

Though the script, I think, fails the potential this movie has, I would still recommend it to anyone looking for a nice, heartwarming tale that can inspire you to find yourself and follow your dreams. Amy Adams and Meryl Streep, two of my alltime favorite actresses, absolutely nail both of their roles — Adams as the young, desperate, hopeful writer and Streep as the frustrated, hard-working, spunky housewife-turned-chef. Backed up by a fabulous cast, including Chris Messina and Stanley Tucci as the two husbands, these two actresses save the film for me and are the sole reason I would suggest it as a pleasant, lovely film — though the script fails, Amy Adams and Meryl Streep make up for it.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army, however, fails in the area that the first movie exceeded most. The perfect balance between art and formula does not exist here; the bar has swung rather substantially to the side of art, with distractingly stunning cinematography, a complex and sympathetic villain, new species strongly reminiscent of del Toro’s work on Pan’s Labyrinth, and new deep and powerful issues rooted in the main characters. The shallow entertainment of the superhero movie fades in the path of del Toro’s artistic genius, a fact that makes me enjoy the film much more personally but also makes me consider it far less of a success.

Picking up from the first film’s end, Hellboy II follows the eponymous devil-hero, played with great realism by Ron Perlman, and his returning partners Liz (Selma Blair) and Abe Sapien (Doug Jones) from the Department of Paranormal Research, led by the pompous, arrogant, humorous beaurocrat brought perfectly to life by the fabulous Jeffrey Tambor. This time, they must face a renegade elf prince, Nuada, wonderfully portrayed by Luke Goss, who wishes to take the earth back from mankind because of their destructive nature with a mythological mechanical army made of pure gold.

Delving into a mysterious, ancient elf court, as well as all the races that accompany such a world, seems to have been too much temptation for del Toro, who served as writer, director, and producer of the film. The fascinating depiction of the elves, tall, thin, and blonde as a mild throwback to Peter Jackson’s elves in Lord of the Rings yet with strange facial tattoos that grant them a far eerier edge, is only the tip of the iceberg of the new world opening up in Hellboy II — elf guardians in bulky black coats with faces reminiscent of toucans’ bills, a squat troll with skin like a tumor hiding precariously as a grandmother figure, a fallen angel with eyes on her wings instead of her face, an elemental god unleashed on a city block, a magnificent elf king turning to ivory in his death. Each scene is filled to the brim with del Toro’s unique fantasy style, one that sends shivers up my spine as a writer and one that fascinates me for weeks as an audience, both in the stunning cinematography and the strange concepts so perfectly brought to life through special effects.

However, the film gradually becomes tangled in this fantasty style, strangling what remains of its mainstream appeal. Though these touches of fantasy helped the first Hellboy to shine past its formula, in this film the formula seems to be drowning in the midst of them. Though I loved this movie far more than the previous one, engrossed in the new species and in the complex script, I watched others more inclined to mainstream films leave the room grumbling about how disappointing they found the movie.

With del Toro signed on to a number of mainstream films in the next few years, including the much-awaited movie based on J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, I worry that critics’ admiration for the director in the wake of films such as Pan’s Labyrinth may have pushed him too far into a comfortable position of indulging all of his artistic whims. Though I love the his art and though I love his indulgences, there is usually a specific place for those ideas to shine through, and that is rarely in a multi-million dollar production; instead, it typically belongs to independently funded projects, such as Pan’s Labyrinth, or in films that don’t carry an automatic expectation, such as superhero movies and sequels. del Toro is a fabulous director, and in the first Hellboy film he showed that he can merge his art with the commercial; yet in the second he showed that even he can make a mistake.

Push tells the story of two psychics, a telekinetic young man called Nick (Chris Evans) and a clairvoyant 13-year-old girl called Cassie (Dakota Fanning, who slips rather seamlessly into a solid adult role). Swept into a quest fighting the Division, a governmental agency exploiting and experimenting on those with psychic powers, in the brightly lit city of Hong Kong, the pair must use their abilities to capture a secret Division drug, battle both Division agents and the Triad, a Chinese gang of psychics, and change their own futures to stay alonve. It’s a plot used over and over again, with enough pleasant changes to keep it from drudgery but too few to make it captivating, acted perfectly well by an adequate cast, though far from reaching any stellar performances.

In some ways, this charge of mediocrity is a compliment; for a movie so obviously meant to be just another shallow box office sensation, it’s nothing short of a miracle that Push manages to avoid the usual pitfalls — overwrought script, unrealistic dialogue, overdramatic acting, etc. Push sidesteps all of these mistakes by some surprising stroke of luck, but it doesn’t manage to make any of the right moves, either. It’s competent, perhaps adequate, but nothing more.

The only aspect to Paul McGuigan’s fantasy flick to keep me watching is the camerawork and cinematography, which shines boldly throughout the film and holds it just one level above utter mediocrity. With inventive camera shots to liven up every scene and the vibrant, bright colors of China framing the story, all partnered with near constant special effects, the one thing that keeps the audience interested in the visual appeal. Even as the characters and the plot grow tired, anticipation still rises about what visual tricks McGuigan will play next. With any luck, such a good eye for clever camerawork and a visually heightened reality will find in his next film a chance to balance all of the film’s pieces.

Unfortunately, if you’ve gotten past the developmental stage of only looking at the pretty picture, I cannot recommend Push. Outside of the cinematography, there’s nothing particularly strong and nothing particularly weak. It is the essence of mediocrity, and I am sadly left with nothing more to say.

The Ugly Truth, however, starring my favorite, beautiful Katherine Heigl and dripping-with-lust Gerard Butler, manages to save itself from the same dull, bland routine usually seen in romantic comedies with more than a handful of the topic which usually goes hidden in these films: sex.

Now, don’t misunderstand; this is as formulaic as every other romantic comedy I’ve seen. Heigl, a tightly-wound yet beautiful producer for a local news show, passionately hates the man who her boss has brought in to boost ratings, who hosts his own low-rate show about dating by espousing typical chauvanist, womanizing, demeaning propaganda, played by the slimy yet likeable Butler. When Heigl wants to woo her charming neighbor, Butler offers to help her out, and Heigl skeptically agrees. The plan, unsurprisingly, works perfectly, but they soon realize that they have fallen in love with each other.

Enter the general audience “aww” moment and a soft smile from every sentimental woman watching. It’s the same routine we’ve seen played out a thousand times before, and as much as I enjoy it I can’t rate it as inventive. What I do love, however, is the sexual vulgarity that worms its way in throughout.

Instead of letting sex go unstated through the film and use ploys like spilling drinks and tripping over furniture awkwardly to generate laughs, the Ugly Truth tackles the subject with full, vulgar contact. From the heroine accidentally having an orgasm at a corporate dinner to appearing to give her boyfriend a blowjob at a baseball game, from openly discussing the frequency of and techniques for masturbation (in both sexes, hooray!) to asking whether or not to fake an orgasm, from joking about lubricant to describing long hair as “something to hold on to,” the world of sex has a delightfully open outlet in this film.

This effectively accomplishes three things — first, it adds a healthy dose of crude comedy rather reminiscent of Heigl’s previous film adventure Knocked Up, which generates loads of laughs and plays on a common sense of humor; second, it introduces a newfound sexuality in all of the characters, which manages to flesh them out a great deal as well as make them far more likeable; and, lastly, it sets itself apart from every other romantic comedy released in the past few years.

At the end of the day, I rate this as a fantastic film, though at least partly for selfish reasons. It discusses sex in all of its incarnations, calmly introducing a topic usually taboo through crude comedy and actually questioning various aspects of it, a tactic which I am incredibly drawn to in both film and literature; and it merges vulgarity with the traditional formula of a romantic comedy, one which I admittedly succumb to, creating an at least slightly more original type of movie.

If you don’t particularly love thinking about and analyzing sex and if you don’t like formulaic films, the Ugly Truth is certainly not for you. However, if you’re a clone of me, this just may be added to your collection of personal, trashy favorites. In other words — for the general public, two and a half stars; for me, all five.