The Italian Job (IMDB) (Netflix)
One effect of BMW's extremely successful reintroduction of the Mini Cooper is a remake of the the 1969 caper flick of the same name. In the original, Michael Caine and Noel Coward were featured, here we get Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron and friends trying to settle a very personal score with Edward Norton, who double-crossed them in Italy. They've traced him to Los Angeles, where most of the action takes place.

This is a summer movie that suffers in comparison to this summer's action flicks like Matrix: Reloaded and X-Men, or even the more comparable Ocean's Eleven; it lacks the intensity and ambition of the first two, and the stylishness of the latter film. Almost everything that happens early on is an obvious set-up for use later on, the dialogue isn't sufficiently authentic for B-List actors like Wahlberg to sell, and faithful reader Peggy Folz felt that even Norton's performance was flat. The action scenes, which one would think were the point, are nothing to write home about. Fortunately, the supporting cast of Seth Green, Mos Def and Jason "The Transporter" Stathan (apparently already typecast as a wheelman) fare better, providing the comic relief and all the charm.

The hormonally flooded teenage girls in the front row liked it, gearheads will have fun watching the Minis cavort through and under L.A., and there are some funny moments, but I'm guessing that the stronger play is to track down the original.

Winged Migration (IMDB) (Netflix)
A documentary about birds and, well, their migrations. The filmmakers cover all the continents and an overwhelming variety of birds, from Rockhopper Penguins to Arctic Terns, which annually fly 12,600 miles from the Arctic to the Antarctic, and back (stupid terns). Without special effects or computer-generated imagery, we're along for the ride, so close that we can hear the wings beating.

If the birds are the stars, the photography and the flying technology used to get the cameras right inside those ragged V-formations should also be on the marquee. The army of photographers used ultralight planes and other non-instrusive craft to fly among the birds, and it's extremely dramatic footage that stands on its own (there's a scene of herd of crabs closing in on injured bird that's truly gripping). Unfortunately, they couldn't resist the urge to overlay some Jacques Cousteau-esque philosphical narration, but it's sparsely used. The music is also sporadic, and of uneven quality, and there are a few politically oriented scenes that seem out of place (the play-it-straight footage will on its own melt the heart of the most hardened clear-cutter). What was underdone, unfortunately, were the bird and place names, and the American Bald Eagle, which only makes a cameo appearance.

A far-above-average nature flick long on stunning visuals and short on explication.

Bruce Almighty (IMDB) (Netflix)
Take the Lord's name in vain too many times, and you could be in Jim Carrey's shoes, possessing "maybe you can do better, wiseguy" powers from The Man Upstairs (played by Morgan Freeman). The only problem is that Carrey's character, an ambitious, self-centered (of course) TV reporter, lacks the wisdom to use them properly (natch), and you can guess most of the rest. Basically, Carrey's bolting on a new body to his trademark comedy chassis after a dalliance with maturity in The Majestic. In a fairly thankless role, Jennifer Aniston plays the love interest he doesn't deserve.

This is "It's a Wonderful Life" with a different divine intervention and a pull-my-finger sensibility, typified by a dog peeing on furniture and a monkey crawling out of an extremely undesirable place. The eight-year-olds loved it. There's also some confused theology and theme development, but that's not why his fans see these films, so no point in deconstructing those dimensions.

If you are one of those fans, nothing can be said to talk you out of going, nor can any argument be made to non-fans to see it.

Spellbound (IMDB) (Netflix)
No, not the 1945 Hitchcock thriller with Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck, but a documentary about the national spelling bee. The film tracks eight kids and their families from their regional competitions to the nationals, complete with ESPN coverage.

This is a unique kind of "reality" TV; it's honest, for starters, and the tension is organic, not manufactured. We also see the best in people, particularly the kids. They're a fascinating and diverse group, ranging from the to-the-manor-born overachiever to a daughter of non-English-speaking Mexican immigrants to Harry, perhaps the geekiest kid you'd ever want to meet. It's also a thumbnail for upward mobility and meritocracy (you either spell "logorrhea" right or you don't, and you don't get special dispensation for being an Indian kid from Texas who gets the word "yenta"). Former spelling bee competitor Sara Schneider had hoped for more discussion of the cultural significance of this quintessentially American tradition, but I enjoyed its "we're in, we're out, nobody gets hurt" economy of style. A great little role model flick for that unmotivated sixth-grader.

Identity (IMDB) (Netflix)
It's another one of those dark and stormy nights, complete with an eleventh-hour stay-of-execution plea and a Bates-ish motel hosting an assemblage of mostly disagreeable ne'er-do-wells. The latter start dying at an alarming rate, of course, and the dwindling group of survivors (John Cusack, Ray Liotta and Amanda Peet, among others) are freaking out while they try to figure out who the killer is—before they're all dead. Then it gets weird.

Keep reading, though, because this is a first-class implementation of a second-tier genre, or at least an ambitious attempt. There's an extra layer here that doesn't become apparent until very late in the story, and that twist will either provoke the reaction of "mmmm, clever" or "not fair!" It may not be quite enough to sell people who never see this kind of film, but should work nicely for aficionados and would be a good introduction for those up for a little cinematic slumming.

Down With Love (IMDB) (Netflix)
What Far From Heaven did with 1950s melodramas, Down With Love does to 1960s romantic comedies, by being faithful to the genre, but also sending it up, way up. Rene Zellweger's character has written a how-to manifesto for women to think about romance and sex just like men—that is, hold the former and go heavy on the latter. Ewen McGregor is a ladies' man and investigative journalist who first ignores her, then when the book becomes a world sensation, decides to expose her for what he suspects she really is—a poseur who really just wants a house and 3.2 children. Campy hilarity ensues.

As one who didn't think he liked campy hilarity, this movie was a pleasant surprise...then cause for concern; a possible indication of latent tendencies. Putting identity issues aside for the moment, the movie has an intelligent script that mines the Austin Powers comedy territory, Zellweger and McGregor commit all the way to their roles, and the pace is brisk. Brisk, but about 15 minutes too long, if that makes any sense. The umbrella joke plays out before the finish, diluting the payoff. Fans of Doris Day/Rock Hudson flicks will get the most out of this one.

The Matrix: Reloaded (IMDB) (Netflix)
"Hmmmm, upgrades" pretty much sums up this second segment of the Matrix trilogy. It tells a convoluted story that only Star Wars and Lord of The Rings devotees will fully appreciate, but the fate of humanity is at stake, naturally, and is being played out in two realms—the physical world and the ultimate virtual reality environment called The Matrix. The conceit is that we're all actually living our "lives" in this soul-less simulation, but there's a liberation movement of sorts that has unplugged and escaped to a Dante-esque locale called Zion (stay tuned for that Arab market re-write). Think "sci-fi meets fantasy meets Tron meets Enter the Dragon." Keanu Reeves ("Neo") is the reluctant messiah, Lawrence Fishburne ("Morpheus") the true believer, with Carrie-Anne Moss ("Trinity") as the black-leathered warrior with an oversized heart. And sunglasses, don't forget about the sunglasses.

As an imperfect analogy, if The Matrix were an SUV, the first installment was a Willys Jeep (revolutionary in its day) and the current one a Porsche Cayenne Turbo, but lugging a 40-foot trailer of expository baggage behind it. Actually, both had their Lincoln Navigator excesses (I have little patience for elaborate mythologies and Zen koans), but it seems particularly a bit much in Reloaded given how large a dose we got in the first movie, and some of the Zion council scenes seem stolen from recent Star Wars episodes (this isn't a compliment). One exception is Lambert Wilson's bravura take on cause and effect; it takes a Frenchman to pull off this level of pretentious philosophizing.

When it stops telling and starts showing, however, Reloaded rocks, with non-stop, almost overwhelming special effects (in this respect "more is more," including a cloned-many-times-over Agent Smith fight scene that made the audience a bit giddy), some touches of true human-to-human caring, and frequent tweaks of sly humor. The only competitor for an SFX Oscar for will be The Matrix: Revolutions, due in six months. Extra credit will be given to those who can explain why Princeton University African-American Studies professor Cornell West has a cameo appearance.

Confidence (IMDB) (Netflix)
As Wall Street, dot-com'ers, and grifters all know, there's a sucker born every minute, waiting to be fleeced. The marks just need a little bit of greed to set the hook, and you just have to anticipate the contingencies. The only fatal error is reeling in a minnow that's actually a shark. Ed Burns does just that, unwittingly bilking The King (played by Dustin Hoffman), a guy you don't want to cross. Now he's got to make up for his unwise target selection. The movie starts fast, with Burns lying in a pool of blood, then relies on flashbacks to show how he got that way.

Burns is one of those hyphenates—writer-director-actor—who should stick to just acting. His own creations tend to be self-absorbed and talky, and given his paint-scraper voice, all the more grating. He's balanced here by a colorful assemblage of character actors, plus Hoffmann, who's a leading man in a character actor's brain, and Andy Garcia, whose careers has leaned toward the soulful pretty boy. Both clearly relish the opportunity to play offbeat parts, but Garcia does a far better job as a sleazy Customs agent, and Hoffmann goes wildly over the top (apropo of almost nothing: when Method acting devotee Hoffmann was ostentatiously struggling to nail a scene in Marathon Man, an exasperated but well-meaning Sir Lawrence Olivier asked "have you tried acting?"). Confidence works through slick direction, photography and editing, and by gutting the story through like a burglar; eventually winning you over. Not as charming as 2001's Ocean's Eleven, nor as classy as this year's The Good Thief—just a service-able con game flick.

The Dancer Upstairs (IMDB) (Netflix)
In an un-named Latin American country, a series of terrorism incidents takes over the life of Javier Bardem, a detective and former disenchanted lawyer with no small amount of ambivalence toward the current government. He befriends his daughter's ballet teacher (Laura Morante) while searching for the mysterious "Ezequiel," hoping to beat the more thuggish Army to the collar (that Posse Comitatus Act is looking better all the time). It's the directorial debut of John Malkovich, a former Chicagoan, Steppenwolf Theater cast member and—according to his recent press tour—budding men's fashion designer.

Creative endeavors mirror their creators, of course, and even though it's based on a Nicholas Shakespeare novel and screenplay and he doesn't appear in the movie, this film is Malkovich—languid, quietly stubborn and oddly detached. Nothing is rushed and little is explained, requiring a patient (possibly sedated) audience but offering terrific photography and a chance to watch two of the most interesting faces in film, Bardem and Morante, carry much of the narrative freight. The overall mood is sensual without being particularly erotic, and for a character-driven political quasi-thriller, it's not all that suspenseful, leaving one satisfied but not quite sated.

X2: X-Men United (IMDB) (Netflix)
Let the sequels begin. Including "prequels," there will be 25 of them this summer, a record, so settle back and wallow in the old-pair-of-sneakers derivative-ness. You really have no choice.

The beleaguered mutants now face a neo-conservative General Stryker (Brian Cox), who has adopted a pre-emptive strike doctrine and tactics of impressive cynicism and cunning. The survivors of round one are back, freshened by a teleporting, blue-skinned, spiritually troubled Alan Cumming.

As sequels go, this might not be Godfather II, but it's not the second Cannonball Run, either. Little time is wasted on character development (you should have been paying attention during the first installment), which means we can get right to the action, special effects and alienation/diversity issues, all of which have been racheted up in intensity and competence. While too-often this sequel turbo-charging seems desperate and draining, here it's an improvement—this is a comic book movie after all, balanced with moral ambition and a bittersweet ending that lingers on the brain.