The Hulk (IMDB) (Netflix)
Ang Lee's take on the poster child for anger management therapy, with Eric Bana as the super anti-hero, Jennifer Connelly reprising her Beautiful Mind role as deeply troubled guy's love interest, plus Sam Elliott as her over-protective dad with strategic weapons capability and Nick Nolte as the Hulk's long-lost father.

This movie highlights Ang Lee's strength as a director of character-driven films like The Ice Storm and Sense & Sensibility. Here, he seems determined to make this the grown-ups' comic book flick, and through some strong writing and restrained performances by Bana and Connelly, wins on that score, but at the risk of not meshing with the necessary high-key action sequences. He's also undermined by a reach-exceeding-its-grasp CGI challenge in rendering a large green humanoid that doesn't have a costume or distracting superpowers. It doesn't quite work, so the film seems bi-polar; a heartfelt, high-quality troubled romance butted up against a kill-the-misunderstood-monster flick.

Worth seeing for the nearly fulfilled ambition.

A Decade Under the Influence (IMDB) (Netflix)
One of the benefits of attending prep school in the early 70s was the opportunity every Saturday night to see nearly first-run movies, all selected by Mr. Stevenson, an English teacher with an eye for the R-rated. Many of those same films are featured in this documentary about American filmmaking during that turbulent decade, when the studios realized they had lost touch with their audience and let a host of outsiders, including Martin Scorsese, William Friedkin, Peter Bogdanovich and Francis Ford Coppola, in on the action. In return, we got Taxi Driver, French Connection, Last Picture Show and The Godfather, and a host of other groundbreaking films that were notable because they were also commercially successful.

Because my cinematic coming of age coincides with the heart of this documentary, it had a special resonance that may not be shared by others. Yet the 70s were a special time in Hollywood that might never be duplicated in terms of risk-taking, innovation and social awareness (certainly not in this Year of the Blockbuster Sequel). The two dozen filmmakers and actors interviewed here have put enough distance from those times to reflect intelligently, if somewhat nostalgically and uncritically, and one wishes for an even broader array of personalities. While not the definitive catalog of the decade, and mostly for the film lover, it's well-crafted and accessible, and has enough insights to give the period its due.

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.

A Mighty Wind (IMDB) (Netflix)
A fix for those of you impatiently awaiting the next PBS pledge drive. Mockumentarians Christopher Guest, Eugene Levy and pals (This Is Spinal Tap, Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman) have their satirical way with folk music, the device being a hastily arranged live reunion concert of washed-up groups from the 60s. Kindof a "we're gettin' the band back together," three times over.

Success in this genre-ette requires balancing exaggeration with verisimilitude, ridicule with affection, and objectivity with thematic punch. And while it doesn't break much ground in the process, "Wind" achieves these happy media quite gracefully, amid sweater vests, dickies, balding pates and over-compensatory facial hair. Levy is the standout as troubled sweet soul Mitch Cohen of Mitch & Micky fame, closely followed by Fred Willard as the shamelessly crass promoter, shamelessly reprising his shamelessly crass commentator moves from "Best in Show." Just what the psychiatrist might have ordered.

The Good Thief (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nick Nolte is the title character, Bob, a washed-up junkie with a gambling habit (no, this isn't Nolte's life story). After losing big at the track, he's seduced by the opportunity for a big score in Monte Carlo, and befriends an oh-so-precocious girl of loose morals (introducing the devastating Nutsa Kukhianidze). It's a complicated scam, with a multitude of feints and misdirection thrown at the cops, who seem to be more interested in preventing the heist than putting Nolte in jail because, you see, he may be a crook, but they've grown accustomed to his craggy face. Think "Ocean's Eleven: The Noir."

And a stylish and stylized one it is, acknowledging the genre without being formulaic, juiced with plenty of snappy throwaway dialogue. Kukhianidze's lines are wise too far beyond her years, but she's got a presence that almost pulls them off. Director Neil Jordan, best known for The Crying Game, has remade Bob Le Flambeur as a Hollywood feel-good piece disguised under a gritty, sensual shell. There's no small amount of deus ex machina in the plotting, but done with enough humor that you really don't mind, and the score bounces things along (the Leonard Cohen songs evoke a Nolte-with-voice-lessons feel). Fellow watcher Janet says "competent," I say "lotta fun."

Phone Booth (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nothing good ever came from answering a public phone; it's a no-good-deed-goes-unpunished phenomenon. Colin Farrell does just that, however, and he's going to have a very bad day, provided by Kiefer Sutherland, the voice on the other end. A public relations flack of the lowest order, Farrell covets other women and manipulates clients, media types and employees with equal disdain. Sutherland is a wrathful avenger who also can play the game, and he's got Farrell in his sights—literally—as his next morality remediation project.

This flick is a delayed showcase for Farrell, 9/11 having made the idea of a Manhattan street being terrorized a little too painful. He proves here that he can act his way out of a phone booth (sorry), if only the length of the receiver cord (apparently constraints do indeed set you free). We only get to hear Sutherland, who uses those deep, voiceover-friendly tones to menace Farrell mercilessly toward humiliation and possible redemption. In addition to the taut, streamlined plot, there are decent-but-unmemorable supporting performances by Forest Whitaker as the unusually perceptive police captain, Rahda Mitchell as the wife and Katie Holmes as the covetee, and some bad writing for the "lets just shoot him" role. Given the narrow focus of the piece, the crisp 80-minute run time is both wise and appreciated, and perhaps the start of a well-needed trend.

Laurel Canyon (IMDB) (Netflix)
Preachers' kids are the wild ones, so a bohemian record producer's son must be an uptight psychiatry student, and an uncomfortable L.A. houseguest. His fiance, on the other hand, finds this new setting most liberating, and from there the roux thickens. Frances (Fargo) McDormand is the wild mom, Christian Bale is the son with baggage, and Kate Beckinsale the tempted intended, with Allesandro Nivola as Charmer #1 and Natasha McElhone as Charmer #2. It's not exactly Temptation Island, but headed that way.

This situation could easily have become soap opera pulp, but writer/director Lisa Cholodenko excels at skirting the potholes, creating tension and releasing it at just the right moment, and getting great performances by the entirely competent cast. McDormand is the "it woman" of middle-aged actresses (her supporting performance stole the show in the wonderful and underseen Almost Famous). I particularly liked Bale's subtle choices, and Nivola's character can be read as "lovable rogue" (by the women in the audience) or "imminent threat" (by the men). McElhone apparently is the new Meryl Streep, unveiling a new accent for each role. While it's intentionally easy to see where the film is generally going, the journey is the entertainment, and the ending refreshingly ambiguous. A small film embedded with a lot of quality.

Basic (IMDB) (Netflix)
A U.S. Army Ranger training mission run by a sadistic Sergeant (Samuel L. Jackson) goes seriously awry, with guys shooting each other and at least one soldier dead. When it's over, nobody's talking, least of all to Captain Julia Osborne (Connie Nielsen), so they bring in an unsavory DEA agent (John Travolta) to dope out the situation. Everybody's got their own version of the story when they finally do open up, and it's not that intellectualized subjective reality nonsense—people are just plain lying—and Nielsen's not happy about being subordinated to a cop under investigation for taking bribes.

Lots of story angles, and they're all played hard and fast, creating a fog of audience confusion that says "let go of trying to understand the plot, but hang on for the banter and romantic byplay." The technical advisor should be brought up on Dereliction of Verisimilitude charges for allowing berets to be worn by the characters during training ops and letting a woman be a Ranger (a line that has yet to be crossed). Shining through the many holes, however, are entertaining performances by Giovanni Ribisi as one of the dissemblers and by Nielsen, whose character rises pretty forcefully to the occasion. On balance, though, often frustrating and mostly forgettable escapism, which ain't all bad.

Nowhere in Africa (IMDB) (Netflix)
Kindof a "Little House on the Veldt," plus politics, both global and sexual. A Jewish couple and their young daughter quit pre-war Nazi Germany for Kenya to start a new life, where each adapts differently to the new surroundings and circumstances over the next dozen years. These personal changes create a myriad of stresses in the three relationships, particularly between husband and wife, less so with the kid, who naturally grows into the new world with aplomb and grace.

Maybe it's the angst-ridden times in which we live, but this film somehow dove under my skin in a hurry and tapped into a deeply buried vein of emotion, and is just now extracting itself. Aside from a few ill-advised camera moves, too-perfect natives and a tendency to overplay the more dramatic moments, there's a very human, endearing story of people in trying circumstances, and coping awkwardly with each other's maturation process. For good reason it's been nominated for Best Foreign Film Oscar.

City of God (IMDB) (Netflix)
A nearly apocalyptic blend of Mean Streets and Lord of the Flies that takes place in Rio de Janeiro slum named—with bitter irony—"The City of God." The lack of jobs and ensuing poverty creates a favela that is dominated by an evermore-powerful hoodlum subculture, and whose rise is narrated by "Rocket," one of its few seemingly redeemable denizens.

If you had trouble with the violence of Gangs of New York, this could push you over the edge. It's shot in a quasi-documentary style that strips away any veneer that could have distanced viewers from this societal trainwreck, and laid out in such a forceful way that, for those of who aren't repulsed, it becomes a searing-but-fascinating experience. Critics are stumped as to why this wasn't nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar, and you too will be mystified.

The Pianist (IMDB) (Netflix)
The true story of Wladyslaw Szpilman (played by Adrien Brody) and his epic struggle inside the World War II's Warsaw ghetto. It was genocide in slow motion, taking years to complete, and we experience it all through Szpilman's story, told by Roman Polanski, director of Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown. It's nominated for seven Oscars, including best picture, best actor for Brody and best director for Polanski (although you won't see him at the Academy Awards show, at least not without handcuffs, after fleeing a California statutory rape charge that has kept him out of the U.S. since 1977).

This is exactly the kind of story that the Academy voters love: historical, tragic, featuring the best and worst of the human spirit. There almost should be a special category, just to be fair to the other genres. It's beautifully shot in a way that doesn't call attention itself, and the performances are uniformly restrained, refreshingly free of the pathos you would expect given the situation. That choice of tone, however, means that there is little more than a nodding glance at Szpilman's inner conflict as he makes the choices that determine his fate, taking the film a notch down from perfection. For lovers of Schindler's List (surprisingly, not available on DVD)and Life is Beautiful.