Catch Me If You Can (IMDB) (Netflix)
Based on the true story of a hall-of-fame paper hanger and trickster Frank Abagnale, who kited millions of dollars in checks around the world in the 60s, courtesy of Pan American Airways. Leonardo DiCaprio has the lead, and Tom Hanks is the obsessive, humorless G-man just one step behind the con game curve.

This has more substance than the breezy romp it's positioned to be, maybe by being mostly true, and because Christopher Walken resonates as Abagnale's down-on-his-luck dad who is the oak tree to Leo's more successful acorn. DiCaprio is fine, but as with Gangs of New York, someone else–Hanks this time–has the more interesting role and exploits it most effectively, combining his rubber face, jerky body language, a Boston accent and heavy black glasses to great effect, carrying the comic relief load while typifying the narrow dedication of the ideal civil servant. Great post-holiday fare.

Chicago (IMDB) (Netflix)
Two-timing murderous dames, wondrous gams, mouthpieces and mealtickets, thrown together in a musical tribute to ambition and amorality. Rene Zellweger is a chorus girl manqué who gets exploited by her boy on the side, but not for long, and ends up in prison with a bunch of other leggy women who were severely provoked while premenstrual. Catherine Zeta-Jones is one of Zellweger's rivals for sympathetic publicity, and Richard Gere is the never-lose lawyer with more chutzpah than a Jewish cat with all nine lives.

While its recent predessor Moulin Rouge was groundbreaking but exhausting, Chicago is more conventional but lighter on its feet. To use the reviewer's cliche, it "crackles," with snappy 1930s patter, aggressive editing, endless black lingerie and no apologies for the outrageous behavior of its lead characters. Zellweger is as far from "you had me at 'hello'" as she can get and Zeta-Jones is bitchy to the core. Gere really sells it, and has to, because in reader Sara Schneider's eyes, he's strayed too far from his old bad-boy persona (those Buddhists will do that to you). Musical fans might quibble about some of the vocal performances (which are by the actors), but this is a musical that works for people who think they don't like musicals. Like me.

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (IMDB) (Netflix)
When director/producer Peter Jackson and his cohorts were pitching Lord of the Rings, their initial funder insisted that the trilogy be done as two movies, to reduce cost and risk. Jackson gulped and soldiered on, eventually shedding that vulgarian, but was convinced that Hollywood would only pay for two films (quick, name a non-animated fantasy flick that had done big business in the previous decade). During his quest for financing, after he aired a video presentation of the concept to New Line Cinema, the suit in charge said, "I don't get it." Hearts sank. "It's a trilogy. Why aren't there three movies?" And there was much rejoicing throughout Middle Earth, and in the glands of literate adolescents everywhere.

For a Part Two, this ranks up there with the second Godfather film. Trilogy aficionado and discerning cinephile Alan Asper found it "amazing," and though I never made it past The Hobbit and lack the details that would have filled in much of the backstory, I have to agree that this is a terrific movie. It helps to start with quality material that provides all the elements: good vs. evil, pure-of-heart romance, truly scary bad-beings and heroes who will sacrifice for the greater good, plus a top-shelf battle scene. Viggo Mortensen couldn't be more heroic as Aragon, and the pacing gives the audience time to breath without dragging out the proceedings, making this three-hour epic play like two hours. The CGI rendering farms rose to the task as well, with a digitized character, Gollum, who interacts unusually well with the human actors (the scenes were shot with an actor, who was later replaced by the digital version) and is unconventionally creepy.

Worth pretty much every one of the gazillion pennies it'll ring up, and a film that George Lucas should study frame-by-frame and line-by-line if he wants Star Wars: Episode Three to avoid embarrassing comparisons.

Santa Clause 2 (IMDB) (Netflix)
A sequel, with two Tim Allen characters, for better or worse. Santa discovers he's subject to a "Mrs." clause, meaning he's got to get married by Christmas Eve, or no more Santa, Christmas or happy children. Plus, his teenage son is acting out at school, so he's got some work to do, and creates an ersatz Santa to hold down the North Pole fort while he's back in the real world. Unfortunately, the clone has some misguided ideas of his own and begins to wreak havoc with the

The niece and nephew liked it, but can't explain why (the critic genes, such as they are, seem not have jumped any branches or are laying dormant). Mom thought they could have done more with it, which is true: there's not much sense of jeopardy given that half of the retail industry's economy is on the line, and it's pretty easy to see where most of this is headed. Yet it's done over $125 million at the box office, making the exhibitors, the studio and Santa very happy.

Gangs of New York (IMDB) (Netflix)
An epic struggle between two men – each a relentless, irrestible force – that may end tragically for both. And that's just the relationship between director Martin Scorsese and Harvey Weinstein, the head of Miramax Studios. Scorsese grew up in the New York gangs, and has been trying to make this film for 30 years. To do it, he had to go to Italy and build a 1.5 square mile re-creation of New York's tempestuous Five Points district from the mid-19th century, requiring a financial backer with equal brass, which Weinstein, the bête noir of the movie business, has in spades. Both men are control freaks and perfectionists, and each apparently met his match in the other.

The story allows Scorsese to explore all his favorite themes: religion, gangs, crime, violence and the immigrant experience. Leonardo DiCaprio's Irish immigrant father is killed by Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis) when Leo is just a tot, and sixteen years later he's out to settle the score, just as the Civil War is heating up, bringing about a new and unwelcome concept in citizenship: conscription. Leo befriends Cameron Diaz, a pickpocket and Bill's old girlfriend, at the point of a knife (the interesting part is who's holding it) and worms his way into the Butcher's inner circle.

It's a part of American history that's largely unexplored and needs telling, especially in the movies, and if effort and intentions guaranteed perfection, this would be one of the best films ever made. It's not, but you have to admire the scope of it, the noble ambition. Day-Lewis is already being talked up for an Oscar (no argument here) and the set should get best supporting actor. DiCaprio doesn't have the juicy part to balance off his co-star, but holds his own in the performance, as does Diaz. Some connective tissue, however, seems to have been lost in the editing, which might be a surprise given the two hour and forty-five minute length. Gangs of New York may have over-reached, but by forcefully exposing one of our darkest periods, serves a larger purpose than mere spectacle. Vegetarians might want to pass.

Personal Velocity (IMDB) (Netflix)
Three character studies of women in transition, each written and directed by Rebecca Miller. Delia, a former high school trollop and an impressively dislikeable human being, escapes from her abusive husband. Greta has settled in her life in more ways than one, but is then confronted with sudden success. Paula is newly pregnant, almost becomes the victim of a fatal accident, and picks up a hitchhiker in need of care. The title refers to our unique arcs of development, and how they're a combination of timing, circumstance and latent desire.

Miller is depressingly multi-talented, also being an actor, a sculptor and a writer of the short stories that formed the film. The narration has a certain literary quality, and quickly fills in the expository gaps and backstories — necessary given the ground that needs covering. The male characters, well, now I know how it feels not to share the writer's gender, but there are so many of them. While none of these stories is worth a full movie, they all stand on their own, and each has something to say that's in danger of being missed in the swarm of over-hyped holiday films. As loyal reader Janet Borggren observed, exactly the opposite of the new Lord of the Rings movie; I'm sure the other three people in the theater would have agreed.

Star Trek: Nemesis (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest, and if you believe the promos, the last Star Trek film. The Next Generation crew is aging nicely (couldn't say that about Kirk and company), and Riker is about to finally assume command of his own vessel. But wait, there's trouble on Romulus, which is all of a sudden missing a Senate, and a new player has emerged, who wants something very dear to Captain Picard. We're also introduced to the Remans, the Romulans' red-headed step-children, who have notions of upward mobility.

This installment has its own ambitions–it's darker, more thoughtful, less glib–but they're not fully realized. Picard and Data each are confronted with questions about their identity and what it means to be unique, and there's a nature/nuture thread, but it doesn't really explain the bad guy's motivation. The action generated a host of "why don't they just...?" reactions, and frankly, I was hoping we were past the days of weapons of mass destruction that took seven agonizing minutes to deploy. Picard's Patrick Stewart seems to have recognized these holes and taken his performance in as somber and introspective direction as possible; a heroic effort to counter-balance the script at the same time he's saving humanity.

As with the recent Bond film, Nemesis upholds the tradition without raising it to a new level.

Evelyn (IMDB) (Netflix)
Based on the true story about a landmark legal case in 1950s Ireland. Pierce Brosnan is the hard-drinking, irregularly employed father of three children, whose mother abandons them. Da runs afoul of the family-unfriendly child welfare laws and loses the kids, setting up his struggle to get them back.

It's a good thing everything's incredibly Irish, or this could be unwatchable. You've seen each moment before in countless movies of its ilk, from the drinking dad to the good nun, bad nun characters to the dramatic courtroom finale, but I was chuckling and empathizing even while ticking off the entire genre checklist in my head. Maybe it's the scenery, the lilt or the relentless heart that gives it that slipping-into-an-old-pair-of-sneakers feel. Loyal reader and Eire-phile Mary Murphy enjoyed it, and I, like a coed meeting her first Frenchman, was charmed within an inch of surrender. Yet, when the lights came on, I went home alone, knowing it was the right thing to do, but wondering what might have been.

A winner for the sentimentality-inclined.

Beat the Devil (IMDB) (BMW Films)
You won't find this nine-minute film in your local theater listings, but you might see it before the next feature you attend, and it's a great reason to get there on time (you can also download it at the BMW Films link above). After last year's successful marketing campaign, carmaker BMW has commissioned another set of "shorts" by top-shelf film directors like John Woo, Ang Lee and the late John Frankenheimer. The point of this largesse is to sell Bimmers, but calling these efforts "commercials" is a minor unjustice. Tony Scott (Top Gun, True Romance, Enemy of the State) directs this one, which features Clive Owen as The Driver, Gary Oldman as The Devil, singer James Brown as himself, the Godfather of Soul, and a shiny brand-new BMW Z4 roadster. The hardest working man in show business wants a new soul, and will drag-race the devil to get one.

Director Scott empties his very large bag of tricks to make this hyper-active onslaught, and while one's head would explode if it were a full-length feature, here the barrage of music, quick cuts, special effects and subtitles (Brown has enunciation trouble) is powerfully effective. There's no letup, right through the last scene, which is best left as a surprise. I've seen it three times, and could easily see it another three, and hope that its success will bring shorts back to the theater, and give us more of our money's worth.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown (IMDB) (Netflix) (Soundtrack)
The musical common denominator of the Motown era wasn't impresario Berry Gordy, but a loose bunch of studio musicians known as The Funk Brothers. Singers like Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, Stevie Wonder, The Supremes and others would come into the studio with some lyrics and maybe a concept for the melody, and the Brothers would do the rest. Name a Motown hit from the 60s, and they almost certainly played the music that transcended racial boundaries and made Detroit famous for something other than cars. I remember my parents hosting a party when I was eight or nine years old, and as I listened to the music from my bunk bed, I heard a knock on the bathroom door, and the words "Come on, honey, it's the Supremes."

This documentary finally gives them the recognition these musicians deserve, through the usual interviews with the surviving members and a reunion concert fronted by modern-day artists like Ben Harper, plus evocative recreations of key incidents. Missing are scenes with almost all of the big-name artists who made millions off the Brothers' talent, which is telling, but we don't really need their opinion, because the music, and its success, speaks for itself.

Analyze That (IMDB) (Netflix)
The sequel to Analyze This, the movie that for better or worse brought out Robert DeNiro's broadly comedic side. His wiseguy character is acting up in prison, alternately singing show tunes and going catatonic, which drags Billy Crystal in to see if he's really crazy. Of course, he's not, but the ploy springs DeNiro and sets him up as Crystal's house guest from hell, and an outplacement firm's worst nightmare. The rest of the loosely constructed story turns on DeNiro's coping with the real world: will he go straight despite the threats on his life, or build on his core competency, competitive threat mitigation (whacking people)?

From the outtakes running alongside the closing credits, this was fun movie set, and there were a fair number of laughs, particularly early in the film. Crystal excels at this kind of humor, which, despite the R rating due to the strong language, is pretty middle-of-the-road, easy "I'm hosting the Oscars" stuff. Seeing DeNiro cry is still a little creepy (where have you gone, Mr. Taxi Driver?). There's mirth, but it's not all that memorable.

Solaris (IMDB) (Netflix)
What would you do, given the opportunity to correct a tragic mistake and re-unite with the one you love, or at least a re-created version of your inamorata? How far would you go, and what would you sacrifice to get there?

The 1961 classic novel by Stanislaw Lem inspired a highly respected 1972 Russian film (playing now on the Turner Classic Movie Channel and the Independent Film Channel), but this is the first Hollywood version, by director/writer/cinematographer Steven Soderbergh, with George Clooney as the man with the black hole in his life, and Natascha McElhone as the chance to fill it. Although technically in the sci-fi genre, this is really a love story made possible by a writer's imagination, and Soderbergh wisely strips the technology to the bare essentials, keeping the story in the foreground.

The dialog is equally spare, as are answers to tough questions about the power of human longing. Clooney challenges those who think he's just an empty T-shirt, and McElhone impresses as the too-real and increasingly self-aware apparation. Soderbergh's photography is arresting without being too clever by half, which is more than can be said about Jeremy Davies, who might be one of the most mannered performers short of the early Jim Carrey. You might want it to move faster, and you might leave wondering what the film was all about, but you'll also know that you've been somewhere new.

Treasure Planet (IMDB) (Netflix)
Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island, animated, plus an assertively dubious interpretation of the laws of physics that my 4th-grade niece and nephew instantly deconstructed. Jim the troubled teen finds a map to Treasure Planet, commissions a voyage aboard a galleon/spacecraft, and does some growing up while searching for the loot and fighting off a ne'er-do-well crew.

There aren't many surprises, but some decent messages about loyalty, responsibility and selflessness. The voicing cast of Emma Thompson, Roscoe Lee Browne and Martin Short, among others, is sharp and the action well-paced. The kids responded well to the humor. Not the next Disney Classic by any stretch, but you could do worse.

Die Another Day (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest in a 40-year string of Bond flicks, with Pierce Brosnan and Halle Berry, who's recovered from her Oscar meltdown and plays an American agent from the National Security Agency (not that the NSA does this kind of wetwork, but no matter). This time the writers are picking on the non-Islamic leg of the Axis of Evil, the North Koreans, and gene therapy makeovers and death rays from space are the plot-enabling technologies. Refreshingly, the fate of the world doesn't even hang in the balance, just a critical piece of it.

As with most action films, this one starts out better than it finishes and progressively gets more conventional. The opening sequence is a doozy that Navy SEALs should check out, and not a throwaway one; it has consequences for Bond that set up the rest of film. All the trademark scenes with Q, Moneypenny and M are there, but they're fresher and even inventive at times. The action is mostly stunt-a-licious, with a couple chases across the Icelandic, um, ice, the plot more inventive, and the dialogue far less smarmy than the Roger Moore days. Also, the women have decent spy chops, reminiscent of Michele Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies (Berry's character will be getting her own movie). The final scene doesn't live up to the first 3/4 of the movie, but on whole, a very above-average Bond flick that won't convert the anti-Bond populace one whit but will more than satisfy fans of this venerable genre.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (IMDB) (Netflix)
(Warning: this review is rated "C" for Cranky, due a exercise/caffeine/sugar hangover, combined with viewing the film from a front-row seat only 8 feet away from the screen)

Harry's back with all his friends from the first movie, which did $965 million worth of business (#2 all-time), dodging danger and doping out mysteries that elude the Hogwart's braintrust, who seemed less concerned with their in loco parentis responsibilities than a drug-addled foster parent. There's a chamber of secrets that may or may not have been opened by this or that person, kids being petrified, and the school's in danger of closing, and so on.

The audience seemed to like it just fine, although many of the youngsters (and some of the parents) had trouble with the 2:21 running time (why do they insist on doing this for kids' movies?). Due to the chemical imbalance, I had trouble concentrating and it all seemed a lot like the first movie, although the kid playing Harry has traded in his continuously wide-eyed "I'm amazed" expression for something approximating grim determination. The other kid characters have far more personality. There's a new digital elf, Dobby, who's not nearly in the same annoyance league as Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars I & II, Kenneth Branagh debuts as a self-promoting empty cape of a sorceror, and this will be Richard Harris's last movie, but beyond these elements and some improved digital effects, not much new. If you have kids, you're going, so suck it up, and make sure they've had their nap first. And you've had yours.

Far From Heaven (IMDB) (Netflix)
It's 1957-1958, the International Geophysical Year, when life was simpler and more genteel, a seemingly idyllic time of family values that some wish we could return to. But probably not Julianne Moore's character, who's got an alcoholic husband (Dennis Quaid) trying to "cure" his latent homosexuality, a "colored" gardener (Dennis Haysbert) with whom she feels a special kinship, and scandalized friends who are no help whatsoever.

This is a restrained, thoughtful melodrama that re-creates a period in America when the tension between personal desires and societal norms bubbled beneath the surface, waiting to explode a few years later in the 60's. It's the semi-modern American version of a Jane Austen novel, and tricky stuff that could easily have become clichéd in the realization. Fortunately, the writer-director and actors keep a lid on the material, creating just enough pressure to rattle the pot but not blow its contents all over the ceiling. The Moore and Haysbert characters are a little too saintly, but not so much that you can't feel for their plight, and Quaid's performance is brave without being ostentatious. A film for the thoughtful adult.

Comedian (IMDB) (Netflix)
Jerry Seinfeld makes his way back to stand-up comedy after his hit sitcom has ended its phenomenal run. The challenge is that he's not recycling old material, but building up his act from scratch bit-by-bit, showing up late at New York City comedy clubs and asking for a few minutes to go on, try out some jokes and get back the funny. There's also a parallel story of still-struggling Orny Adams, who's working the same spots, asking Seinfeld if he should hang it up at the age of 29.

Even with the private jet that Seinfeld now flies in, it's a terrifying and anxiety-laden lifestyle ("Trying out new material is like working a normal job in your underwear"). Neither of these guys are particularly charming offstage, but the commitment they exhibit to the craft and their uncontrollable need to perform are almost endearing. Adams is incapable of being happy for more than a few minutes, and an awed Chris Rock tells Seinfeld how the venerable Bill Cosby still does two 2-hour-and-twenty-minutes shows a day, of new material no less, just when Seinfeld's proud of reaching the hour mark. While more could have been done with this subject (Seinfeld was the executive producer, and presumably had a lot of say over what got shot and the final cut), it's still a compelling portrait of two people driven to succeed, whether they enjoy it or not.

Femme Fatale (IMDB) (Netflix)
After an impressive string of box office stiffs (Bonfire of the Vanities, Mission to Mars, Snake Eyes), director Brian De Palma (Carrie, Scarface, The Untouchables, Mission: Impossible) moved to France to lick his wounds, then write and shoot this stylish-but-absurd noir thriller. Supermodel Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is the bad-ass femme and Antonio Banderas the struggling photographer who crosses her path, and as with the recent The Truth About Charlie, there's a McGuffin (Alfred Hitchcock's term for the thing that everyone's chasing after), lots of guns and it's set in Paris, but the movies couldn't be more different.

The upside of the writer and director living in the same head is that the writer's vision doesn't get mucked up during production, but there's also no one to question his thinking. The metric tonnage of coincidences and glossed-over plot holes would strain the suspension cables on the Golden Gate Bridge, so analytical types with high blood pressure are advised to steer clear (there's a twist toward the end that resolves some of the absurdities, but it'll be far too late for these people, or just tick them off further). Banderas has never overwhelmed with his performances, and Romijn-Stamos is still more supermodel than actor, but thankfully she hasn't picked up any annoying scruples about taking her clothes off (wait until the first award nomination, though).

Those who appreciate filmmaking bravado and can check their left brains at the door, however, should give this a shot, because De Palma knows where to put and move a camera, build suspense and cut a film together in ways that few others can.

Nosferatu (IMDB) (Netflix)
The 1922 German classic Dracula story, with the names changed (Dracula is "Count Orlock"), but this is the original from which all the other vampire movies have sprung. It played at the local art house, complete with a live organist to round out the experience.

Eighty years is a long time to ask a film to stand on its own two feet, so Nosferatu has to be seen as a historical artifact--but an important one. It's a movie that not only defined its genre, it now highlights how far we've come technologically and in the language of film. What was a groundbreaking moment of horror then is often a giggle-inducing cliche now, and the young kids in the audience didn't seem to require counseling at the conclusion. Still, there are some compelling moments, and it's a movie that every horror/vampire film buff should see, so they can give props to whom they're due, director F.W. Murnau.

For a well-done remake from the modern era, try Bram Stoker's Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola, and for an entertaining speculation that Max Shreck, the actor playing Orlock, was so good in Nosferatu because he actually was a vampire, see Shadow of a Vampire.

Roger Dodger (IMDB) (Netflix)
Roger Swanson (played by George C. Scott's son Campbell) is an ostentatiously articulate ad copy writer with a utilitarian view of relationships (as does the woman in his life) who suffers a blow to his self-esteem. Fortunately, his 16-year-old-nephew Nick (Jesse Eisenberg) shows up looking for advice on meeting the ladies, and Roger can't resist the opportunity to mold Nick to his cynical world view, taking him on a one-night post-doc seduction seminar through the New York City singles scene.

There was a recent indie film on the same topic that demonstrated the pitfalls of this sub-genre and never got out of the one town it opened in, but "Roger" shows that you can teach an old premise new tricks. Eisenberg manages to be simultaneously naive, desperate and charming, and Scott is misogynist, tour guide, performance coach and evolutionary psychologist all rolled into one very entertaining and forceful package. The women (Isabella Rossellini, Jennifer Beals and Elizabeth Berkley, among others) are neither victims or saints, and manage to pull off some tricky sequences with grace. I could have done without the dim lighting and poorly color-balanced photography, but these are minor flaws in a gem that cuts darkly comic glass.

Those who liked "Igby Goes Down" should also enjoy "Roger."

Auto Focus (IMDB) (Netflix)
That a German World War II prison camp could be the setting for a highly successful TV sitcom (Hogan's Heroes) has stood out as an entertainment industry oddity, but but that strangeness is surpassed by the troubled private life of its star, Bob Crane (played by Greg Kinnear). He was a sex addict before there was a term for it, and enabled by hipster John Carpenter (Willem Dafoe), makes a long trip down the behavioral rathole.

Paul Schrader has made a career of writing or directing about people's dark sides, notably Taxi Driver, Hardcore, Cat People, American Gigolo and Affliction. Auto Focus extends that vein, and is a powerful comeback to the smirk that comes to some peoples' faces when they hear that someone suffers from sex addiction. From the cheesy 60s and 70s decor to the watery black-and-white videos Crane and "Carpie" make of their exploits, there's nothing glamorized about the lifestyle, and Dafoe is the poster child for "the wrong kind of people" you could meet along the way. If you go to see skin, you'll get it, but you're much more likely to be repelled than aroused.

The Truth About Charlie (IMDB) (Netflix)
A Jonathan Demme remake of the 1963 Grant/Hepburn (Cary/Audrey) vehicle Charade, with the two lead roles going to Mark Wahlberg and Thandie Newton. Newton's cad of a husband, Charlie, gets done in, and Wahlberg runs into Newton suspiciously often all over a very rainy Paris while some bad guys (and a gal), an American government official (Tim Robbins) and an aggressive police detective (Christine Boisson) each manipulate her for their own ends. What's a widow to do, and who's she going to trust?

Demme brings an energy and style to the film that I suspect the successful original didn't have, and the score/soundtrack nicely supports that sensibility, but Marky Mark's no Cary Grant (some vocal cord stretching might help bring his voice into adulthood) and the relationship between him and Newton generates less heat than the autumnal Parisien skies. On balance, watchable, but a good rental alternative would be The Thomas Crown Affair remake with Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo.

Barbershop (IMDB) (Netflix)
What was the fuss all about, that brouhaha about one of the characters saying that Rosa Parks didn't do anything special that day on the bus? It was a barbershop for Pete's sake, a free speech zone where any nitwit can have an opinion, like the corner bar, the op-ed page or a sports call-in show.

Fortunately, the movie is more than the controversy it engendered, and more than guys spouting uninformed opinions. There's a story here, about one of the rapping Ices--in this case, Cube--who owns a struggling South Side Chicago barbershop and makes a business decision he soon regrets, and a couple of mooks who steal an ATM devoid of money. And while the characterizations aren't always the most imaginative, and a little too much explicit telling instead of just implicitly showing, there's plenty of heart. Cedric the Entertainer is also such a font of slightly outrageous opining that the film chugs along to a satisfying conclusion. Not destined to be a comedy classic, but an endearing little movie that gently humanizes a part of society that's closer than we sometimes want to admit.

The Good Girl (IMDB) (Netflix)
Friends' Jennifer Aniston goes indie, with this morality tale of a bored, restless wife in a small Texas town. She gets caught up with a younger co-worker who insists on being called Holden (as in Caufield), and you know there's going to be trouble. Everything that could go wrong with this fling in fact does, creating an ever-stickier web that Aniston seems unable to untangle.

Fellow viewers liked the relaxed pacing, Aniston's performance and less-than-Hollywood ending, but I had trouble with some broad, unflattering portrayals of small-town Americans, some too-easy laughs and the I-see-where-this-is-headed storyline. Aniston does have some acting range beyond what's required in a sitcom, and Tim Blake Nelson's role of the husband's best friend displays edge and texture, but overall it's less than special.

Punch-Drunk Love (IMDB) (Netflix)
If you were a guy with seven sisters who liked to call you "Gay Boy," you might be a lot like Adam Sandler's character, Barry, a struggling, lonely entrepreneur with a torqued-up psyche and a few anger management issues. In an effort to connect with someone, anyone, he gets caught up with some predatory criminal types, and the girl he doesn't deserve (played by Emily Watson, who was very affecting in the recent Red Dragon and last year's Gosford Park).

This is not your typical Sandler, the comedian-writer-producer whose patron saint can only be H.L. Mencken, but a deft romantic comedy from Paul Thomas Anderson (Boogie Nights and Magnolia). The offbeat story and score, plus Barry's mix of mostly affable pathologies, create this not-unpleasant tension that's broken periodically by small eruptions of violence between Barry and the bad guys, and sweetness between him and Watson, who wisely underplays her part to balance off the manic Barry/Sandler. A small movie that plays big.

The Transporter (IMDB) (Netflix)
OK, let's go slumming. Jason Stathan (from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch) is the ex-special forces operator and titular courier of sensitive cargo who violates one of his three self-imposed rules, "Don't Open the Package," and unleashes a Pandora's box of complications that, ah, drives the movie to its conclusion.

"Drive" might be a little generous. The first half is promising, with a decent chase scene through Nice, a damsel in distress with moxie and a we're-not-taking-ourselves-too-seriously puckishness. It all goes pear-shaped, however, when at the end of Act Two, the screenwriter apparently chucked the typewriter at the stunt coordinator and said "My work here is done. Bring it home, Philippe." The girl's role is reduced to squealing in the back seat of Daddy's car and Stathan's character, bucking to be the British Jackie Chan, bores through a panoply of Euro-thugs with mind-numbing ease.

Martial arts buffs might get off on this one, but few others.

Red Dragon (IMDB) (Netflix)
The prequel to Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, and a remake of Manhunter. Anthony Hopkins returns as Dr. Lecter, with Edward Norton as the former FBI agent pulled back into the profiling harness. This time Ralph Fiennes (the commandant in Schindler's List) is the psycho, and Emily Watson is a blind woman who unwittingly befriends him.

"Dragon" starts fast and steadily rachets up the squirm factor, and Hopkins is as creepy as ever, but what distinguishes it from the rest of the series is the relationship between Fiennes and Watson, which generates a host of strong emotions. The last big scene will be anticipated by many, but is fresh enough that it works.

Moonlight Mile (IMDB) (Netflix)
We open with parents (Dustin Hoffman and Susan Sarandon) and a young man (Jake Gyllenhaal) preparing to attend the funeral of a young women; their daughter, his fiance. She was in the wrong place at the worst time, and now everyone is coping in their own way with the aftermath. Complicating matters is that Jake is living with his in-laws, was about to go into business with Dad, and has additional burdens placed on the hell he's going through.

On paper, this seems to contain enough melodrama potential to gum up every gear in the projector, and there are most definitely those kind of moments, but good writing and great acting, plus a relationship Jake strikes up with newcomer Ellen Pompeo, are able to break free from the sticky bits to move the story along. Gyllenhaal, the brother of Secretary's Maggie, has the goods, as does the rest of the cast, although Sarandon's part seemed written a little too hip for credulity, and the movie's title seems to be the concoction of a publicist favoring alliteration over relevance and meaning.

On the whole, well-conceived and executed.

Spirited Away (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest animated feature (or as aficionados of the genre say, anime) from the "Japanese Walt Disney," Hayao Miyazaki, who also wrote and directed Princess Mononoke. Our protagonist is Chihiro, a timid and slightly spoiled 10-year-old who becomes trapped in a spirit world of anthropomorphized frogs, radishes and assorted tubers. Her parents are stuck in this same world, but they've been transformed into pigs, and desperately need saving before they become breakfast bacon. With a little help from the friends Chihiro makes along the way, she transforms into a plucky "you go girl" hero and it's no surprise that everything turns out just fine at the end.

The animation is spectacular (it's difficult to tell if the digital projection in the theater contributed to the quality) and the level of creativity far exceeds what you'd see in any American animated feature. On the other hand, it's clearly a children's movie, with plenty of made-up-on-the-spot logic and personality shifts (reminiscent of a lucid dream state) that kids will let slide and grown-ups might find tiresome. It's also a bit long for an animated feature at 124 minutes, but judging from the army of animators listed in the credits, that may be an effort by the Japanese government to boost the employment rate. Some great messages about conquering one's fears and fulfilling your responsibility to others that parents will appreciate.

Secretary (IMDB) (Netflix)
It was never like this at the big firm. Maggie Gyllenhaal is a reluctantly de-institutionalized submissive who also dabbles in self-injury, and James Spader is the lightly sadistic lawyer who doesn't like her typing skills. It's a match made in Krafft-Ebing heaven. As with any boss-secretary relationship, however, there's a subtle tug-of-war over who's really in charge, and inside each character as they come to terms with what really makes them happy.

There's not a clichéd moment in the script, which makes every word count and keeps things interesting, albeit at a leisurely pace. Given his career-long stranglehold on endearing creep parts, Spader is nicely typecast but doesn't mail it in, and Gyllenhaal nails what should be her breakout performance; she's got nuance, spunk and a glowing comic charm that you wouldn't expect from such a role. Much fun in the I'm-so-naughty-for-seeing-this sense.

Sex and Lucia (IMDB) (Netflix)
A woefully inadequate title for this rich, complex and sometimes confusing movie; try "Sex, Lucia, Lorenzo the writer, Two More Women, Another Guy Who's Really Well-Equipped and a Senseless Tragedy." The range of plot summaries in other reviews gives one the sense of being in a film criticism version of Rashomon.

We move back and forth in time, and between reality(?) and Lorenzo's writing. There's also plenty of con brio action that, as stimulating as it is to watch (Paz Vega may be the most beautiful woman in film today), seems at the end to have been mostly a diversion from more substantive but murkier messages. Get to the theater on time, don't check out mentally if you lose the scent for awhile, and you might be rewarded.

Lawrence of Arabia (IMDB) (Netflix)
An epic's epic, nominated for ten Oscars, winner of seven, re-released for at least the second time. Peter O'Toole, Alec Guinness, Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn, Claude Rains, Jack Hawkins, Jose Ferrer and Anthony Quayle. Written by Robert Bolt (Dr. Zhivago, A Man for All Seasons) and directed by David Lean (Dr. Zhivago, Bridge on the River Kwai). Surprising relevance to today's events.

Not taking advantage of this opportunity to see this on the big screen verges on the criminal, but take a nap and pack a lunch; it's 227 minutes long.

Igby Goes Down (IMDB) (Netflix)
Kieran Culkin is Igby, the too-cool-for-any-school teen (parochial, prep and military--nailing the disaffectedness trifecta) with an institutionalized father and a pill-popping, shrewish mom (Susan Sarandon) who's dying of breast cancer. He gets beat up at least three times and the opening scene has him and brother Ryan Philippe killing their mom. A sure-fire comedy premise.

Sure, but the writing is knife-edge sharp, charming without ever becoming maudlin, varied in tone while holding its center. Kieran is the least cute and maybe the best of the acting Culkins, and the rest of the cast is rock-solid and even inspired, adding Jeff Goldblum, Amanda Peet, Claire Danes, Bill Irwin and especially Jared Harris to an already rich mix of alienating personalities.

War Photographer (IMDB) (Netflix)--na
Robert Capa, perhaps the most famous combat photographer ever, said "if your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough." It wasn't an empty aphorism; a landmine in Vietnam killed him in 1954.

This Oscar-nominated documentary of today's version of Capa, James Nachtwey, adopts his credo, using tiny video cameras attached to Nachtwey's still camera as he documents the aftermath of Kosovo and Rwanda, the workers' hell-on-earth in the sulphur mines of Indonesia, the continuing tragedy in Ramallah. It's tough viewing, not from poor execution, but from its unflinching images of the worst aspects of humanity, and Nachtwey's compassionate dedication to bringing them back to the rest of the world.

24 Hour Party People (IMDB) (Netflix)
Beginning in the late '70s, Manchester, England was the leading edge of the punk music scene, and TV host and idealistic music impressario Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan) was its muse of sorts, helping bring seminal acts Joy Division, New Order and Happy Mondays to the world through his Factory Records label and the Hacienda nightclub.

"Party People" recounts Wilson's rise and fall through his own Cambridge-educated eyes (as he continually remind us, just like Harvard alums), and with Coogan's wry comic touch and well-executed breaking of the fourth wall by director Michael Winterbottom, it's an inventive, entertaining and even educational ride through an important part of modern music history (Joy Division's name had an appalling Nazi origin). Here's hoping Coogan makes it into more films.

City by the Sea (IMDB) (Netflix)
There are days when it seems that every bad decision you've made in your life comes back to haunt you. NYPD Detective Vincent LaMarca (Robert de Niro) thought he had finally built a simple cozy life for himself, but then his estranged junkie son is accused of murdering a drug dealer, and the dealer's boss comes looking for revenge. Then it gets worse.

De Niro is mostly his competent self, and the moments between him and girlfriend Frances McDormand are the best parts of the movie. Seeing De Niro cry somehow just doesn't seem right, though, and the rest is stubbornly bleak, with little action or humor to break it up, and the pacing in the first half was slow enough to prompt a fellow audience member to say "I kept looking for a remote control to change the channel." The film takes off in the second half, but not before its undercarriage gets torn up by the trees at the end of the runway.

One Hour Photo (IMDB) (Netflix)
Following the disastrous Death to Smoochy and the well-regarded Insomnia, Robin Williams completes an exploration-of-the-dark-side triptych with this mesmerizing character study of a lonely, tightly wrapped photo shop clerk (he would say "craftsman") who covertly adopts the Yorkins. They're an iMac'd, Mercedes-driving, stainless steel kitchen brand of perfect nuclear family, or so Williams has believed, but as he gets closer, he discovers a flaw under the veneer, causing him to respond the only way he knows how.

While many of Williams's roles have been overly sentimental or "too Robin," he's well-restrained here, and submerges under the make-up to truly become Sy the Photo Guy. The creepiness and tension ratchets up smoothly and smartly, and while it's a reasonably challenging film, there's nothing gratuitous about the action. Will do for photo stores what Fatal Attraction did for extra-marital affairs and Marathon Man did for dentists. Me, I've switched to digital.

Mostly Martha (Bella Martha) (IMDB) (Netflix)--na
A charmer, with the title character as at least the second-best chef in Hamburg, a neurotic whose life gets rapidly more complicated when her niece comes to stay and a new cook threatens her dominance of the kitchen. For Martha, preparing great food is her raison d'etre, but as she's beginning to realize, not enough to make her truly fulfilled.

There are some Lifetime Channel moments, few surprises, and the tasty soundtrack is a little repetitive, but Martina Gedeck's performance is first-rate, sucking you into her world, and foodies will be in their element with the kitchen scenes. A confection for sure, but with more than just empty calories. Stick around for the credits.

Possession (IMDB) (Netflix)
A big departure for Neil LaBute, director of often-savage contemporary comedies like Your Friends and Neighbors, In the Company of Men and Nurse Betty. "Possession" is about two simultaneous and problematic romances set in present day and Victorian England, the current one between academics Aaron Eckhart and Gwyneth Paltrow, who are trying to expose a juicy storyline about a famous married poet (Jeremy Northam) and his possible lover (Jennifer Ehle), who had been thought to be exclusively in a "Boston marriage," but may have played with the other team as well.

A more perceptive friend saw some continuity problems and a few actions that were inconsistent with either a character or the times, and there were even a couple of "wait a minute" moments for me. Despite these flaws, Possessions is both an entertaining and moving examination of relationships that, in the hands of decidely un-saccharin LaBute, doesn't deserve to be called a chick flick (the previews were full of trailers for those, karmic payback for the summer popcorn string we've enjoyed). The witty dialogue was marred only by the chucklehead sitting behind me, low profile actress Ehle has a breakthrough role as Northam's object of affection, and the transitions between the past and present are clever without being ostentatious.

Signs (IMDB) (Netflix)
M. Night Shyamalan's latest spiritual thriller (after Sixth Sense and Unbreakable) starring Mel Gibson and crop circles. It's a multidimensional highwire act, balancing Gibson's loss of faith after a senseless tragedy, a series of unexplainable events, and mounting tension interspersed with relief valve humor.

Reactions to movies are often a function of expectations, sometimes inaccurate ("I thought it was going to be more...), and with the recent onslaught of sequels, increasingly well-managed ("I loved it; it was just like the first one."). With Shyamalan, you're getting thoughtful suspense with a message, not a creature feature, so it's important to keep that in mind walking in, and perhaps so should have the writer-director. The first nine-tenths of the movie were very strong, with a great cast hitting all the right notes (he seems to be an excellent director of kids) and careful pacing, but when the last veils were lifted, the presumably beautiful exotic dancer turns into the attractive college girl down the street; it does the job, but it's not all you had hoped for. Worth the trip for the 90% that's top shelf.

XXX (IMDB) (Netflix)
The pitch meeting must have gone very much like: "It's James Bond with a modern sensibility. Make him a buffed-out American, lose the tux, give him a bunch of tattoos and score it with headbanger music." Not a send-up like Austin Powers, more of a "move over, Jimmy, and let someone else take a crack at this goldmine."

Xander Cage (Vin Diesel) is a one-man Dirty Dozen, blackmailed into working undercover for the National Security Agency (wrong spy outfit, guys) after pulling one too many menace-to-society publicity stunts. After that, it's a 007 film step-for-step, complete with a greasy unshaven Eastern European megalomaniac, willing bimbos and gadgets supplied by a junior version of Q. The stunts are more spectacular, if less believable, and the dialog hipper, if less witty. More than a Bond flick in many ways, but also less. Bring your earplugs.

Blood Work (IMDB) (Netflix)
A Clint Eastwood directed and headlined "police procedural," as they're called, but not much of a whodunit, given the blatant over-casting of a supporting role. Eastwood plays a retired FBI profiler with a transplanted heart who gets dragged into a murder case by the victim's sister (Wanda de Jesus). The new ticker is an inspired device to motivate our hero and create some vulnerability, but he's otherwise catnip to the much younger ladies in the film, even with a twelve inch scar running down his chest. All of this would be inspiring to the aging male but c'mon, the guy's seventy-freakin'-two years old.

Audiences will appreciate the laconic Eastwood style, the piecing together, the comic relief from, ah, comedian Paul Rodriguez, and a few Dirty Harry-esque touches of screw-the-procedures action. On the other hand, there are some clunky line readings (Clint doesn't shoot a lot of takes), little suspense and an ending that's stylistically uncharacteristic of the rest of the movie. Eastwood fans will be fine, but mostly a modest film with much to be modest about.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart (IMDB) (Netflix)
The most common search string to find Short and Sweet Movie Reviews is "sweet movie." There's the key word match, of course, but apparently a number of people are just looking for an endearing little film to get them through the evening. "Heart" might be one of those, but it's not the romance these folks were probably looking for.

Still photographer Sam Jones profiles Wilco, a highly respected Chicago band that still has yet to break big. As with so many lucky documentary filmmakers, he got more than he bargained for: the record company rejected their Yankee Hotel Foxtrot submission, leader Jeff Tweedy fired long-time member Jay Bennett, and the CD finally got released a year later in nicely ironic fashion. It's an art vs. commerce story, but we're not beaten over the head with that chestnut, and there's something about a bunch of seemingly decent guys trying to make music their way that plays better than it reads. Although "Heart" won't make anyone forget The Last Waltz or Woodstock, it's also a refreshing alternative to seeing entourage-laden bad boys moaning that no one understands how tough it is out there. Best suited for Wilco and documentary fans, but also for the searchers of sweet little movies with a beat.

Full Frontal (IMDB) (Netflix)
Steven Soderbergh returns to his low-budget Sex, Lies and Videotape roots with a half-film-half-digital movie-in-a-movie-in-a-movie, give or take a movie. Soderbergh's favorite actress Julia Roberts joins indie film diva Catherine Keener and a cast of other competent B-list actors in one of those multi-storyline hall-of-mirrors Escher drawings that seem to attract directors with pretensions (cf. Thirteen Conversations About One Thing, Magnolia, Short Cuts). In the case of Soderbergh, who's made an impressive series of critically and commercially successful films (Out of Sight, The Limey, Erin Brockovich, Traffic, Ocean's Eleven), it might be misplaced guilt or just a storytelling Pilates exercise.

Plot outlines would be tedious, but there's a bunch of Hollywood nose-tweaking (and where's the challenge in that?), a lot of self-absorbed behavior, clearly improvised scenes and people testing other people for no damn reason. Give Soderbergh points for continually tackling different film styles, but here the constant internal refrain is "where's this going?" and the answer might be "to video, quickly."

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (IMDB) (Netflix)
Time to catch up to some of the box office back markers. This little slice-of-life comedy "has legs"--it's been in theaters for several months and is enjoying good word of mouth, so there's something going on here.

Nia Vardalos, who also wrote the screenplay, plays a Greek-American woman on the verge of spinsterhood who "meets cute" with hunky non-Greek John Corbett ("Aiden" on "Sex and the City"). Hilarity apparently ensues as every oil-and-water situation between Greeks and WASPs is mined for comedy gold, but they don't dig very deep, so while the film is unassumingly charming and is indeed a crowd-pleaser, it's more a catalog of genre moments than a real story that stands on its own two feet. Some nice bits from SCTV's Andrea Martin, who adds much-needed edginess.

Austin Powers in Goldmember (IMDB) (Netflix)
Mike Myers has outdone himself, which is a mixed blessing. In addition to reprising Austin Powers, Dr. Evil and Fat Bastard, he surpasses Peter Seller's Dr. Strangelove trifecta by playing Goldmember, one of Myers's weakest characters. A very fun opening sequence starts this second sequel with a bang, providing big-name cameos from half of the entertainment industry. After that, the rest of the story is just a setup for the onslaught of jokes, which are focused mostly on the middle ground -- of the human body, front and back -- and play directly to the squealing teenage girls and snickering teenage boys in the audience. However, the sheer tonnage of gags wears down your defenses, and you end up chuckling and chiding yourself at the same time.

The guiltiest of legal pleasures, but not nearly the best.
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For a grown-up's antidote, rent Ronin, an extremely realistic and humanistic spy thriller starring Robert DeNiro and directed by the great and recently late John Frankenheimer. It combines Frankenheimer's passions for France and fast cars (he also did Grand Prix) in what turned out to be his last theatrical release. Not the most suspenseful story, but intelligent, well-written and well-acted, no special effects to speak of and an educational director's commentary track.

K-19: The Widowmaker (IMDB) (Netflix)
This is a bit of a rarity, a Hollywood film without any American characters or written from an American perspective, an action film from a female director (Kathryn Bigelow), and Harrison Ford playing a not-particularly likeable character (In What Lies Beneath they played up his usual good-guy persona to set up the reversal later). Inspired by a true story, K-19 is a gremlin-infested Soviet submarine rushed into service during the Cold War, and Ford is the kick-ass-and-take-names captain sent to replace the fatherly Liam Neeson, who's staying on the boat to help out. That's not a recipe for teamwork, and it seems that Ford's overwhelming sense of duty to the Motherland is writing checks his untested boat can't cash.

There's enough foreshadowing of doom to cover the ocean they sail in, but the movie rises slightly above the diminished expectations set by one of the worst trailers made in years. The key word, however, is "slightly." The exchanges between Ford and Neeson are trite, and even though K-19's based on a true story, Crimson Tide covered a lot of this ground with more verve. On the other hand, there's some decent character development over the course of the movie and a pretty damning indictment of the Soviet approach to management (create an environment destined to fail, then when it does, punish the people who were forced to use it). It's ultimately about why real heroes make sacrifices, not for God and Country, but for the guy in the next bunk.

Read My Lips (IMDB) (Netflix)
A French award winner, but don't hold that against it. Leading a life of very quiet desperation (she's almost completely deaf), a put-upon secretary connects with an even more hapless ex-con, and they begin to help and use each other for increasingly higher stakes. In other words, a relationship movie, but of the noir variety.

Although the secretary's lip-reading skills exist to enable a key plot point, the film also uses that as an opportunity to effectively take us into a different world (Helen Keller reportedly said that while her blindness cut her off from the world, her deafness separated her from people, which was much worse). There's an unremitting undertone of bleakness, a growing overtone of violence (sometimes bordering on gratuitous), and a secondary storyline that seems pointless even at its resolution, but at the end of the day, heart, uncompromised vision and artistic sensibility win out.

Reign of Fire (IMDB) (Netflix)
Mad Max meets Mothra. Not a favorite genre, but it was a slow day at the office and far too hot to go home.

Some Londoners dig a tunnel, awakening a swarm of fire-breathing dragons who go on a scorched earth rampage that leaves only pockets of survivors scattered around the world. Running the UK contingent is Christian Bale, who's holding his own against the beasts until Matthew McConaughey, crazier than George S. Patton on crack, drops in with his tanks, helicopter and "the best defense is a good suicidal offense" doctrine.

The dragons are decently menacing, but the whole enterprise has a broken steering linkage, careening between "that's cool" and "I don't think so." McConaughey seems to have decided "screw it, if it's gonna be this bad of a movie, I'll have some fun with it" but Bale keeps a stiff upper acting lip, thinking he can bring some dignity to the proceedings. He chose ... poorly.

No hearts pounding in this audience.

Road to Perdition (IMDB) (Netflix)
When sons find out what their fathers do for a living, it's often a moment for incomprehension, indifference or disappointment. But Tom Hanks is no abstract paper pusher, and when his 12-year-old discovers his profession, the bonds of trust will be tested, and people are going to get killed.

This is only Sam Mendes's second film (following the critical and commercial success American Beauty) after dominating the London stage scene, but he's learned a great deal from the early days of his directorial career, when Steven Spielberg had to sit him down with the dailies and explain to him how to shoot footage that would actually cut together. It also helps that he has three generations of acting pros in Hanks, Paul Newman and Jude Law, a hall-of-fame cinematographer (Conrad Hall), and a haunting score by Thomas Newman. Chicago and the Illinois plains haven't looked better, and Mendes's theatrical sensibilities exploit this larger Midwestern canvas to great effect. Paul Newman nails his supporting bit as patriarch of the extended Rooney family/gang, Hanks adroitly balances the father-as-hit-man duality (although he could be a little more evil when he's in enforcer mode), and Law is enjoyably unsettling as the crime photographer who creates his own subjects.

The overall effect is perhaps too restrained, possibly from the actors being so respectful of each other's abilities that they're overly afraid to "get caught acting" by their peers, but this is straining to find flaws. At the risk of creating unmeetable expectations, pencil pretty much all concerned in for Oscar nominations. (For a very different family-man-as-hit-man drama, try the unjustifiably unseen Panic, with William H. Macy, Donald Sutherland, Barbara Bain and Tracy Ullman.)

Patton (IMDB) (Netflix)
"God help me, I do love it so." The 1970 biography of George S. Patton, warrior, philosopher and glory hound, co-written by now-famous director Francis Ford Coppola, and winner of seven Oscars. Tempted by the chance to see it on the big screen, and melting in the heat, a hundred or so moviegoers (many of whom had only seen the movie on TV, about 30 times for one fan) crowded into the local revival house for the movie that George C. Scott was apparently born to play.

That first scene, with Patton addressing the troops in front of a frame-filling American flag, is itself an award-winner, and kicks off a tour de force performance by Scott, and a vivid portrait of one of the most interesting and successful generals in U.S. history. The crowd ate it up.

Men in Black II (IMDB) (Netflix)
Director and former cinematographer Barry Sonnenfeld has come a long way since Penny Marshall tried to fire him off of "Big," and even further from his days of paying the bills by shooting porno films. Will Smith ("J") and Tommy Lee Jones ("K") are back, as is Rip Torn ("Zed"), the worm guys, Frank the Pug and Tony Shaloub as the slimeball whose head grows back. Lara Flynn Boyle (Jack's girlfriend in real life--yes, him) is the one-woman axis of alien evil, and emerging ingénue Rosario Dawson is the girl in jeopardy and the object of J's affection.

The crowd was delighted by a constant barrage of action, gags and quips, and the MIB franchise remains fresh, because the movie stays locked onto its mission of fast-and-sly entertainment. Will Smith can do this in his sleep after carrying the whole load in Ali, and the rest of the cast pretty much holds up its end, although Dawson's part is under-written, giving her little to do except look winsome. Summer ephemera at its best.

The Fast Runner (Atanarjuat) (IMDB) (Netflix)
The professional reviews are almost universally glowing, friends liked it, and some French people gushed afterwards "I cannaught believe dat it wos almost tree hours longue--de time flew like a leetle sparrow" but put me down for "pending further review." I missed the crucial first minutes, couldn't clearly distinguish the male characters (Sara--sorry to disappoint), and was distracted by the constant clicking of some audience member's artificial heart (one assumes), so getting through this first-ever Inuit language film was a struggle and I'll need a replay to give it a fair shake.

It's filmed on location in the Arctic with a mostly amateur Inuit cast, and tells the tale of a tribe beset by more intrigue and shenanigans than Peyton Place, putting the lie to the romantic canard that those simple folks live in unfettered peace and harmony. The acting is what you'd expect, but the photography is pretty impressive in a documentary sortof way, plus you get to see a naked guy running on snow and ice for an impressively long time and some cool Inuit-style sunglasses made of animal bone (Oakley: take note). Very much in the tradition of Himalya: L'enfance d'un Chef.

The Emperor's New Clothes (IMDB) (Netflix)
The emperor in this speculative fable is Napoleon (Ian Holm), chafing in exile on St. Helena, and his new clothes come from Eugene (Holm again), a seaman who becomes his double to support Napoleon's plan to escape and regain control of France. The early trading-places scenes of The Little Corporal awkwardly fitting in as a member of the proletariet, and the nebbish Eugene getting in touch with his inner emperor are clever and amusing enough, but complications ensue, and the movie quickly extends beyond a conventional fish-out-of-water comedy, and deepens into a more enduring story about understanding what and who is really important.

To hold together a character study like this, Holm (one of the busiest film actors ever with over 100 roles--he was the Ash the android in Alien) needs to be terrific, and he is, as is the new Meryl Streep of accents, Iben Hjejle, the wonderfully naturalistic Danish actress who was John Cusack's girlfriend in High Fidelity. If only she'd be co-opted by Hollywood so we'd see more of her work.

A satisfying anti-blockbuster with plenty of enjoyable little moments.

Thirteen Conversations About One Thing (IMDB) (Netflix)
A friend asked just the other week, "when are you going to really paste one of these movies in a review?" I explained that that would be unlikely, since I only see movies that I expect to like, and don't go in for the summary judgments you get from those professional reviewers. Then the projector started...

The title seemed so forthright and self-effacing, but what got delivered was a shining example of Tom Stoppard's "imagination without skill gives us modern art." The Sprecher sisters, Jill (director and co-writer) and Karen (co-writer), mix the multi-threaded story structure of Short Cuts and Magnolia with a dollop of the reverse sequencing of Memento (I think, I'm still not sure) to needlessly confuse and torture the audience , while an assortment of fairly miserable people whinge about why they're unhappy and how fate controls our lives ("Have a few story ideas kicking around, but none of them add up to a complete movie? No problem, just jam 'em together into one feature and call it art!"). I usually avoid reading other reviews to avoid contaminating my own blinding cinematic insights, but after reading several of the many favorable ones just now to discover what I missed, I still don't get the genius of all that is Sprecher, or the fifteen producers (go ahead, count 'em.)

There are action-driven popcorn movies and there are character-driven art films, and then you've got muddled efforts that puzzled-but-insecure viewers assume must be brilliant. Or they're a lot smarter than me--one or the other.

Minority Report (IMDB) (Netflix)
The year is 2054, and pre-cognitive humans can foresee murders up to four days in advance, allowing the cops to arrest you before you've done anything--Attorney General John Ashcroft's recurring wet dream scenario. Tom Cruise runs the PreCrime unit, which is infallible, or so everyone thinks, but Cruise somehow is "tagged" for a murder he has no intention of committing, and is soon on the run from his own men, who have jet packs, robot spider scouts and "sick sticks" that make you puke your guts out if they touch you. It's the old find-out-who's-framing-you-before-the-cops-catch-up scam, but done with extra verve and intellectual depth.

Minority Report is based on short story by Philip K. Dick, one of the most imaginative writers of the past century, and probably one of the craziest. He wrote the books that inspired Blade Runner ("Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" and Total Recall ("We Can Remember It for You Wholesale"), plus is said to have planted the seed for The Truman Show. Dick's a good source for Steven Spielberg, who has been increasingly attracted to darker, more complex material as his kids grow up.

The film has been processed to bleach skin tones and blow out the highlights, hinting at what botched LASIK eye surgery feels like, but looks terrific. I was less enthused about the camera shaker used during the action scenes--the theater's projector seemed about have a meltdown. The reach of the CGI effects often exceeds its grasp, there are one or two plot points that don't hold water, and the endgame is straight out of the thriller screenplay pattern book, but this film has something for just about everyone: action, plot twists, creepy characters and wit (the large number of product placement bits look like my old consulting firm's scenarios about future of consumer shopping, serve nicely as comic relief, and probably funded a fair chunk of the budget). Underlying the glitz is a tender and affecting commentary on the nature of loss, and Samantha Morton is especially touching as one of the pre-cogs.

The best big movie of the year so far.

The Bourne Identity (IMDB) (Netflix)
The bad guys always rely on extreme negative reinforcement ("the price of failure is death, Number 32"), which doesn't seem like a very good recruiting or performance management strategy. Matt Damon is the man who can't remember his name or why he has two bullet holes in his back, but starts to put the pieces together with the help of Franka (Run Lola Run) Potente while fending off a bunch of hit men sent by his CIA handler, Chris Cooper, who has been ordered to clean up the mess Damon created, but can't remember.

This is an old-fashioned thriller that thankfully doesn't have a terrorism angle, special effects or more than one explosion, just lots of bent sheet metal from a Paris car chase (the vintage Mini Cooper almost steals the movie) and a creative way to break one's fall. Damon is well cast as the vulnerable-but-competent killer, and Potente compares almost favorably to Faye Dunaway's terrific performance in Three Days of the Condor (a highly recommended rental). It doesn't have the emotional depth or suspense that "Condor" had, or even the more recent "Ronin" (another rental recommendation), but there are some nice moments between Damon and Potente, and a sense of realism that very recent thrillers have missed.

Windtalkers (IMDB) (Netflix)
Director John Woo (Mission Impossible II, Face/Off) reaches beyond his center, which is the slick, modern-day action pic, and make a World War II movie about the Navajo codetalkers. The U.S. developed a code based in the Navajo language, which at the time had never been translated into German or Japanese, and used Navajo soldiers as human encryption/decryption machines, which resulted in an incredibly efficient and unbreakable communications system. Taking the story beyond docudrama is the screenwriters' assumption that the military valued the code so much that they assigned minders to protect it, meaning first to protect the codetalkers, but more importantly, to kill them if they were in danger of being captured by the Japanese. Nicholas Cage is the self-loathing Marine assigned to one of the Navajo and, given that a bunch of his buddies just died because he followed orders, he's not at all happy about this unsettling assignment.

As you might imagine, the battle scenes are pretty intense, although not as impressive as you'd expect from Woo (the grenade and mortar explosions are juiced past credibility, and he seems otherwise constrained by the restrictions of a period piece), it gets hokey and there's a redneck racist storyline that doesn't work very well, but Cage does a great job of riding the curmudgeon/hero ridge and his performance is one of the few things that makes this effort worth a visit.

Bad Company (IMDB) (Netflix)
It's uneven, it's derivative and the action scenes are sub-professional, but it's got Chris Rock strapping this action comedy on his back like Magic Johnson did with the Lakers in Game 6 of the 1980 Finals against the Sixers (Kareem was injured and Johnson, a guard, played center and scored 42 points). The Lakers won the game and the series, and Bad Company manages to keep the audience in the movie, with difficulty.

Rock is the screw-up ticket scalper and chess hustler whose girlfriend is about to leave him, and to add to his problems, the CIA insists that he help them save the world by impersonating the twin brother he never knew he had and buying a suitcase nuke off of the bad guys before some worse guys do. There are the typical training scenes, some "I don't think he's going to be ready in time" hand-wringing and off course the love-hate relationship between Rock and a slumming Anthony Hopkins (Merchant and Ivory must be on sabbatical). With all that going against it however, Rock's boyish irrepressibility camouflages the film's many flaws. As one exiting patron said, "much better than Sum of All Fears."

CQ (IMDB) (Netflix)
In the Francis Ford Coppola family, everyone makes movies, and CQ is son Roman's first theatrical film as director. It's a meta-movie, set in late '60s Paris, with Jeremy Davies (the coward in Saving Private Ryan) as the editor of Barbarella-like sci-fi flick that's missing an ending, and Angela Lindvall as the leather-jumpsuited super spy. Davies is also making a pretentious, "honest" personal film about his life, and finds himself bouncing between art and commerce, and reality and movie reality. It doesn't help him that Lindvall, a supermodel-cum-actress, is almost perfect as the bimbosity-free sex kitten distraction, and that he becomes responsible for salvaging the film after the director gets fired by producer Giancarlo Giannini (you may not recognize the name, but he's been the premier Italian actor for four decades).

I went to this because I had just finished his dad's biography, liked the preview, and had sat next to Roman on a flight from Paris to Chicago a couple of years ago (probably while he was working on this movie). We didn't say a word to each beyond "hello" (he has that kind of face that doesn't invite conversation, and a famous person's way of not making eye contact). There are a host of themes running through the film (obsession about work, wanting an alter ego, the need for self-expression)--maybe too many, because none of them really stick emotionally, and Davies isn't able to get you to really care about his problems. For lovers of the filmmaking process and slightly campy bad-movie humor.

The Sum of All Fears (IMDB) (Netflix)
My frustration stemming from this latest Tom Clancy thriller exists on two levels: the flawed, creaky and politically wussified plot and the all-too-vivid reminder, particularly given the real-world revelations of the past week or so, of the government's inability to communicate vital information in a timely manner.

Calista Flockhart's beau Harrison Ford has been traded in for a younger Jack Ryan model (no doubt Ford's ex-wife thinks that's fitting), Ben Affleck, as the CIA analyst who, straight out of The Hunt for Red October, is the only American with 20-20 insight into the Russians, who are being set up by some Neo-Nazis (a convenient oil-free villain) as the patsy for a successful nuclear explosion in the U.S. (no spoiler here, check the trailer). Affleck discovers some key information that even the FBI would have passed along, but of course he can't, which escalates everything into a cliffhanger that Fail Safe and Dr. Strangelove handled more courageously.

The above rant is mostly a time-delayed detonation of my own that's occurring while thinking through this review--there are plenty of things to enjoy, like Affleck being a worthy successor to the Ryan mantle, Morgan Freeman gives his usual mensch-like performance (he badly needs some roles that exercise more of his skills, however), Liev Schreiber adds some depth to wet-work spook Mr. Clark. Director Phil Alden Robinson manages to give this Clancy episode a much artier look than its predecessors (Field of Dreams is his sole other film of note--the "directed by Phil Alden Robinson" tag line in the commercials made it sound like he was a Francis Ford Coppola-esque auteur, which is ironic, since he clearly went to school on Coppola's montage technique for the ending). The safety tip for this one is: go ahead and see the movie, just don't reflect on it later.

Dogtown and Z-Boys (IMDB) (Netflix)
A narcissistic but entertaining documentary of a group of skateboarders in the 1970s, who grew out of the Southern California surfer culture, transformed the sport and, in their eyes, were the inspiration for the X Games and snowboarder culture. This film shows how you can take a bunch of grainy photographs, 8mm footage, and present-day interviews and put together an interesting, evocative story about the birth and evolution of a sub-culture. Were the History Channel this edgy...

Narrated by Sean Penn (holy shades of Ridgemont High), it chronicles the history of Dogtown, which connected the south of Santa Monica, Venice and Ocean Park, California, and the wrong-side-of-the-tracks kids who translated surfing to the dried-up pools of the California drought, took advantage of new technology (from clay to urethane wheels) and created a big-business sport. The only downer at the end is the realization that the film was made by some of the Z-Boys themselves, adding after the fact a sense of self-promotion and re-living of the past, but it's a piece of Americana that hasn't been shown, at least not nearly this definitively.

About a Boy (IMDB) (Netflix)
My mom said, "nothing special" and after all it stars Hugh Grant, so I was prepared to not like this message comedy much at all. He's is a self-professed emotional island who's happy to live off his dad's song-writing royalties, and would be quite the cad if he weren't such a ne'er-do-well. He does need the occasional girlfriend, however, and cooks up what he thinks is the perfect solution--recently single moms who need a transitional guy for awhile until they realize they're not ready for a deep relationship, and will dump him before he has to do the same to them. Brilliant strategy, but the execution is flawed, and he ends up being adopted by a hasn't-hit-his-stride kid with a mom with more than enough issues to make Hugh look like a role model.

Well-managed expectations aside, "Boy" does have a few things going for it, such as a Nick "High Fidelity" Hornby novel for a starting point that keeps the sap from flowing too heavily, and a Grant who's lost the prep school 'do and is virtually stammer-free. Unlike the TV sitcom Seinfeld, in which the point was that there was no point, "About a Boy" is very much about the message; our relationships are what makes it all worthwhile. Women will be satisfied by the ending, and guys can give in on the "which movie" decision without only a little pain, and build up points for Sum of All Fears or Undercover Brother.

Insomnia (IMDB) (Netflix)
They say that cops and criminals live two sides of the same psychosis, and any number of films and books have worked this theme, but few as smartly as this drama. A teenage girl has been murdered in small Alaska town, and two Los Angeles detectives have been dispatched to ostensibly help solve the case, but also to get the hell out of Dodge as an internal affairs investigation heats up. Al Pacino is the famous homicide dick with some secrets, Hilary Swank the eager, hero-worshiping local and Robin Williams as the key suspect, and the three get hung up in a complex cross-linkage of motivations and, for lack of a decent piece of non-jargon, co-opetition, that knocks together means, ends and living with consequences.

Director Christopher Nolan, who wrote and directed the innovative Memento, adapts a well-regarded 1997 Norwegian film of the same name (currently playing on the Independent Film Channel). Because this is a remake, you can bemoan the lack of Hollywood creativity (this is a summer of remakes and sequels), but the fact is that very few people saw the original, and a lot of people are going to pay to see this version--and they should. It's atmospheric, clever, and well-acted all-around; Pacino is at his weariest, Swank hits all the right notes as she loses her naïveté, and Williams exudes a restrained schtick-less creepiness that shows just how scary-looking a guy he is when he's not mugging for the audience.

The Salton Sea (IMDB) (Netflix)
A stylish, imaginative, violent noir featuring Val Kilmer's first decent role in years. The film begins near the end, with Kilmer playing trumpet in a room that's becoming enveloped in flames, then flashes back to show how he got to that sorry state. The setting is Southern California's methedrine sub-culture, which is not for the easily appalled--Vincent D'Onofrio is the completely warped "cook" and dealer nicknamed "Pooh Bear" because he lost his nose to the drug and wears a plastic substitute ("Badly done facial prosthetics--the anti-drug"). Why Kilmer gets mixed up in all this and what he does to extricate himself makes for an original, if more than a little disturbing story. Peter Sarsgaard has a nice turn as Val's naive, trusting fellow tweeker, and there are sprinkles of I-shouldn't-be-laughing-at-that humor.

If you liked Memento and/or Sexy Beast, you'll probably be on solid ground.

Star Wars: Episode II -- Attack of the Clones (IMDB) (Netflix)
When you're down and out, send in the clones. The Star Wars saga picks up steam after director George Lucas hit the excitement reset button in Episode I, featuring a half-dozen action sequences; the introduction of Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen), Luke's dad and you-know-who; a romance between Anakin and Senator-demoted-from-Queen) Amidalah (Natalie Portman, who reveals that she's been spending plenty of time with her Abdomenizer) and some confusing webs of intrigue that only aficionados will attempt to unravel.

Although the film was shot entirely digitally, I saw it in a conventional film projection theater on a medium-sized screen, and it looked pretty good. The sophisticated computer-generated imagery effects support some extremely ambitious and effective action scenes and art direction--if only Lucas's dialogue-writing skills had followed the same learning curve (if I heard Obi-Wan say to Anakin "blah-blah-blah, my young apprentice" one more time, there were going to be some non-digital special effects generated all over the theater floor). The romance has minimal heat, and the movie feels like a grand Act II, which in essence it is, being the set-up for third/sixth/last episode, which will be released in 2005.

Happenstance ("The Beating of the Butterfly's Wings") (IMDB) (Netflix)
A slightly conceptual morsel-ette about the random interactions that determine how our life turns out (the beating of the butterly's wings in one part of the world sparks a set of events that become a hurricane in another part of the globe--the chaos theory metaphor) and the web of connections people belong to. Audrey Tautou, from Amelie, heads a cast of dozens of people who run into each other, don't run into each other, make choices, or let chance determine those choices for them.

There are some nice little moments sprinkled throughout, but the film never builds to hurricane velocity, or much of any kind of dramatic vortex. The butterfly might have been flapping his wings off, but he did it in a sealed container. For a more affecting take on the power of chance, try renting Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow.

Unfaithful (IMDB) (Netflix)
From 1934 until the late '60s, Hollywood films were subject to The Production Code, which --among its many specific rules--required that any character's bad deeds were punished. "Unfaithful" could not have been made under that system, but is a better movie for escaping those constraints.

Diane Lane is the wife who strays, and with this role, Richard Gere has ridden his career arc from American Gigolo to cuckold. Olivier Martinez is the young seducer, and succeeds in titillating all the women in audience while making the guys just want to smack his skinny little French--well, you get the picture. The performances are strong (director Adrian Lyne, who did 9-1/2 Weeks, Fatal Attraction and Flashdance, demanded an exhausting number of takes from the actors) and the technique of pumping smoke into the set provides an arty feel. The kid who plays Dewey (my favorite character) on "Malcolm in the Middle" does a good job as the couple's son. What takes this film up a notch is that there's no convenient justification made for anybody's actions: the affair, what happens when it all goes pear-shaped, and the aftermath. In one respect, no one gets off easy, but strict moralists will be frustrated.