The soul: Albatross or asset? It seems as if soulless people, unhindered by conscience, have a huge advantage in life. They calculate their options without sentiment and act decisively to advance their objectives. But could a person who is nagged by inner voices become like them? Should he?

An oddball cross between “Catch Me If You Can” and “The Insider,” Stephen Soderbergh’s “The Informant!” suggests that the Oscar-winning filmmaker is so sick of the last two decades of corporate malfeasance that he can only express his outrage as sputtering comedy.

Megan Fox, queen of cut-off jeans, lip gloss and hair toss, Fandango bait to the fanboys in the “Transformers” movies, makes a mess of herself in a teasing mess of a movie titled “Jennifer’s Body.”

Despite the lofty place they occupy in world cinema, filmmaking brothers Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne have never bothered turning their pensive, intimate camera on characters falling from great societal heights. No, their people-in-crisis are generally only two or three rungs from the bottom already, which makes the stakes not just desperate but dire.

Something cold and calculating lies at the center of “Paper Heart,” an ingratiating, mostly mock documentary by comedian and actress Charlyne Yi (“Knocked Up”).

Although there are technically a couple of weeks of summer left, the films of fall are upon us. Now is when movies get serious, when Hollywood starts thinking about Oscar. You’ll still find plenty of zombies and ninjas at the multiplex in the coming weeks, just not quite as many as you would have found in July.

When we first meet Seraphine de Senlis, it’s hard not to feel confused. This most ordinary of women, this overweight housekeeper trudging heavily through cobblestone streets in a shapeless black dress, she could not possibly be the subject of a major French motion picture, let alone one that won seven Cesars, including best film, best screenplay, best cinematography and best actress for star Yolande Moreau. There must be some kind of mistake.

First comes the noise: a systematic banging of metal poles underwater, a wall of sound that frightens the dolphins and sends them scurrying in the opposite direction.

CHICAGO – Today, young movie-watchers look increasingly like Molly O’Connor. A junior at the University of Dallas, she still goes to the cinema occasionally, but is often just as happy to hunker down on a bed or a couch with friends to watch a downloaded movie on a laptop that’s perched on a nearby desk or a chair.

This is the way we should remember Woodstock – a sea of people, a river of mud, a mountain of garbage and a whole lotta love.

Philip Cowan has a vision about the films shown at the Grand Cinema: more of them, shown longer and all appreciated from the comfort of plush new seats.

Robert Rodriguez channels his inner 11-year-old with “Shorts,” a childish but fun wish fulfillment-fantasy for kids that’s equal parts boogers, big messages and product placement.

“I’m not Forrest Gump, you know,” says the title character of “Adam,” uncharacteristically cracking wise as he holds onto a box of chocolates.

Hollywood’s two most indulged enfant terrible filmmakers have now made the worst two World War II movies of this millennium. With “Inglourious Basterds” Quentin Tarantino has topped Spike Lee (“Miracle at St. Anna”) in awfulness.

Alexis Bledel, the Gilmore Girl with the Traveling Pants, takes a baby-step into adulthood with a retro romantic comedy about looking for love and career fulfillment the minute you get out of college.