Opening in Orlando: Entourage, Gemma Bovery, Insidious: Chapter 3 and Spy 

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Entourage Once upon a time, an 11-year span between the launch of a TV show and the premiere of its spinoff film wasn't a very big deal at all. But these days ... well, let's just say that the real Aquaman almost made it to the movies first. Coming in just under the wire, here are the small-screen douchebags who foolishly cast their lot behind He Who Talks to Halibut, reunited for yet more Left Coast asshole-buddy-ism. Hey, at least Rahm squeaked to re-election in Chicago, because that "Ari Gold" business has a lot less cachet when your real-life bro is filling the 2 p.m. time slot on MSNBC. (R)

Gemma Bovery In this frog romcom, a French baker becomes alarmed that his gorgeous new neighbor may be following the same life path as Flaubert's Madame Bovary. Can he save her from meeting an ignominious end? Filmmaker Anne Fontaine (Coco Before Chanel) plots a meta-romp of a magnitude we haven't seen since the late '90s, when Timothy Olyphant seemed dangerously close to aping the career trajectory of Vince Vaughn. Whew! Dodged that bullet! (NR)

Insidious: Chapter 3 A few years ago, I came up with what I think is a novel way to forestall our society's Dermot Mulroney/Dylan McDermott confusion: I just refer to each of them as Dylan McDurwood. Yes, there's nothing like a hint of Darren Stevens to remind you to accept the things you cannot distinguish. Anyway, one of 'em stars in this prequel to the first two Insidious pictures, which shows psychic Lin Shaye fighting for the soul of a teenage girl. Franchise co-creator Leigh Whannell, who also helped inflict the Saw series on the world, gets to direct a feature for the very first time. Hey, Leigh: What took you so long? There are best boys who schmooze their way to the top faster than that. (PG-13)

Spy I hereby nominate Paul Feig for the Joan Harris-Holloway Award in recognition of his valiant attempts to do something for women in an industry that could barely give two fucks. No sooner had he announced his all-female Ghostbusters than Universal rendered the whole affair irrelevant by slating a male version for the very next summer. Don't worry, date rapists of Twitter: The "real thing" is gonna be along right quick to blot out your memories of those meddling cunnies. In the interim, you'll have to find a way to deal with Spy, yet another Feig/Melissa McCarthy collaboration, which casts the latter as a CIA agent in the thick of an international crisis. And get this: She's fat! As Mark Rothko once thundered, BY WHAT RIGHT DOES SHE SPEAK? (R)


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