A soldier in Iraq (David Anders) is gunned down and dragged away into the desert. He comes home to LA for a full military funeral, but after being put in the ground, he rises. And goes straight to the apartment of his wastrel friend (Chris Wilde, who looks like David Spade but acts funnier). There, he realizes he cannot eat. Soon, he craves blood. He robs a blood bank but realizes he is better served appearing vulnerable and then feeding off of criminals (a mix of Charles Bronson in Death Wish and Dexter).

The first half of the film is fresh and clever.  The “what the fu**!” reaction of Anders to his plight is gut-busting and the aplomb with which Wylde greets his pal is the perfect pitch. The picture has a wicked sense of humor, harkening back to American Werewolf in London and Reanimator. This could easily have been a bigger budget, Paul Rudd/Seth Rogen project. Indeed, feeding your back-from-the-dead pal is the ultimate validation of a bromance.

Alas, two thirds in, and it runs out of gas. The plot shifts to the woes of Anders’s girlfriend, who still unconvincingly loves him with all her heart, even if he actually rots and stinks when unfed. It gets more and more absurdist, and after we dispense (in gruesome fashion) with the girlfriend, the movie doesn’t know what to do with itself.  So it opts for over-the-top excess and a high concept finale. The former is numbing. The latter comes off cheezy. The film’s low budget, hidden nicely by well-chosen LA locales and unambitious special effects, becomes an issue when we get into police chases, an overlong massive shoot-out in and outside of the subway, and sci fi nonsense that cries out “Student film.”

Still, promise from director D. Kerry Prior and a noble failure.

Tim Burton goes back to his roots (this is a remake of  Burton short film from 1984) with this clever and sweet story of a boy whose beloved dog is killed by a car.  Inspired by his science teacher, the boy brings the dog back to life, but does so in the midst of a heated science fair competition.  His classmates use his same scientific methods, and soon, the town is overrun by monsters brought back to life by the irresponsible kids.

Burton uses stop action animation, the same technique used for Coraline, and Burton’s own Corpse Bride and The Nightmare Before Christmas.  The process is well tailored to the macabre, old-timey haunting and rich in texture, especially in black-and-white, which evokes classic horror films.

I have two minor criticisms.  First, there is a subplot where the science teacher is run out of town because of his influence on the children. It’s a little too contemporary and feels a bit like an unfair shot in the culture wars, especially off putting when, in fact, the neanderthal townsfolk who feared the teacher are seemingly vindicated – the kids damn near destroyed the town.

Second, the ending feels forced, as if the test audiences couldn’t bear the downer of a dead pet.  So, the dog lives, which is pleasing, but contrary to what I thought was a well-developed theme about love and loss and the limits of science. In that way, I suppose Frankenweenie is hopelessly, sadly modern.

All good things . . . Whit Stillman lost his patience and made a lazy film. Rather than allowing us to cozy up to his affluent young characters, understand their milieu, and then enjoy their erudite yet innocent banter, he dispensed with development and jammed the quirky kids right down our gullet.

A transfer student to a tony private liberal arts college is identified by a trio of society girls who decide she needs their counsel and guidance. All four negotiate a lampoon of a Seven Sisters campus replete with neanderthalic frat boys, sneering campus journalists, and neurotic coeds.

There is no subtlety to this picture. The characters aimlessly drift into various Stillman exchanges, waiting their respective turns to say something Stillmanesque, like, “Do you know what’s the major problem in contemporary social life? The tendency to always seek someone cooler than yourself.”

There is more cleverness than that, but little intelligence, warmth or draw. Like Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut, which proved Kubrick probably had not had a sexual relationship in decades, Stillman seems too far removed from youth to master even a very broad comedy about young people.

And broad it can be. When one of the girls runs away to sort out her feelings after she finds her boyfriend has cheated on her, she goes to a low-rent motel. “Were you at a Motel 6?” her friends ask. “The Motel 4 – it’s even cheaper.”

Stillman has achieved bad Woody Allen. Not much fun, especially when he takes us out of Manhattan.

The film is often amusing, but the characters, never particularly realistic in Stillman pictures, are cartoons. Worse, every actor knows Stillman, and they’ve brought their Stillman A Game. The dialogue is stilted and even charmless. Oh for Chris Eigeman, who last I saw, stole a scene in HBO’s “Girls.”

The movie borders on a Whit Stillman spoof, though that really can’t be, at least until we get a proper David Mamet spoof.

He also cribs from his own work. A character has a fascination with a dance craze as social movement, just like a character in The Last Days of Disco. When you’ve only made 4 films, this is bad news.

It is no recommendation that it ends with two dance numbers.