film

Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Meryl Cohen, David Fear, Dina Gachman, Susan Gerhard, Dennis Harvey, Johnny Ray Huston, Patrick Macias, and Chuck Stephens. See Rep Clock and Movie Clock, for theater information.

Due to the Labor Day holiday, theater information was incomplete at press time.

MadCat Women's International Film Festival

The seventh annual MadCat Women's International Film Festival runs Sept 9-Oct 2. Venues include El Rio, 3158 Mission, S.F.; Artists' Television Access, 992 Valencia, S.F.; Pacific Film Archive, 2575 Bancroft, Berk; and Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, S.F. For tickets (most shows $7-20) and complete schedule information, call (415) 436-9523 or go to www.madcatfilmfestival.org. All times p.m. For commentary, see "XX Eye," page 42.

Tues/9

El Rio "Program One: Gotta Get It," short films 8:30.

Opening

Confusion of Genders Confusion of Genders, directed by French novelist Ilan Duran Cohen and starring a cast of improbably gorgeous, angsty actors, is a surprisingly sweet meditation on growing older without giving up one's sexual adventurousness. Thirtysomething hero Alain is a neurotic lawyer pursued by several wet dreams' worth of hot young men and women. But as much as he adores bisexual promiscuity, he also wants to settle down, get married to his smart female boss Laurence, and have kids. Although everyone around him seems more or less comfortable with Alain's appetites, he's inexplicably torn between his beautiful male lover Christophe (who says he doesn't care if Alain sleeps around) and his wife (who says she doesn't care if he loves her). Generally French comedies should be avoided, but Confusion of Genders proves that when it comes to treating queerness and nonmonogamy with a light touch, nobody can do it better. (1:34) Galaxy. (Annalee Newitz)

Devdas The Four Star opens a regular run of "the biggest-budgeted Bollywood film to date," a recent selection of the theater's Asian Film Festival. (3:02) Four Star.

Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star In this Adam Sandler-produced comedy, David Spade stars as the titular washed-up star who tries to experience a "real" childhood by hiring an average family to adopt him. (1:39)

The Girl from Paris A young agricultural student (Mathielde Seigner) buys a gone-to-seed farm in the French countryside from a bitter, retiring widower (Michel Serrault). Her attempts to modernize the estate's business meet with a resounding success until the cold season comes in, wherein the elder gentleman realizes she may need his help. What initially starts out as yet another anti-society/pro-nature trip down spiritual enlightenment lane slowly transforms into an elegiac look at loneliness in both the spring of youth and the winter of the twilight years. The film doesn't avoid the inherent sentimentality of the material so much as come at it sideways, presenting the duo's tentative reaching out towards each other less as a string-laden message than an ambivalent attempt at capturing the toll of emotional isolation. It still suffers from a tone that's more meandering than meditative, but its ability to negotiate prickly poignancy minus the sap gives the story an oddly compelling charm. (1:43) (Fear)

*Herod's Law See Movie Clock. (1:56)

Mondays in the Sun No matter what George W. tells us, these jobless, desperate times can really be a downer. So it won't be hard to relate to the jobless, desperate characters ambling through Spanish director Fernando Leon de Aranda's new film, which follows a few beer-bellied, middle-age male friends as they drink beer, sing bad karaoke, and look irreversibly miserable as they stagnate in a hell of unemployment and apathy. Sexy star Javier Bardem (looking amazingly unsexy here) plays Santa, the quiet leader of the group, who randomly preaches the injustices of the system and of the world to his slouching posse. Santa's tirades, like Aranda's film, are stirring and inspiring for the first half of the film, and for anyone who has struggled to get by, his experiences are all too real. Unfortunately, the film turns as dull and lifeless as its central characters, making what could have been a moving social commentary about as exciting as waiting in the unemployment line. (1:53) (Gachman)

*New Suit Let's just admit it: our "little people" egos are dying for confirmation that Hollywood is every bit the barren Nastyland we imagine it to be. New Suit, directed by François Velle, is a smart satire that fully satisfies such voyeuristic bloodlust. Jordan Bridges (Dad is Beau) plays Kevin Taylor, a studio hack/aspiring screenwriter disillusioned by the realization that his peers and their bosses brand screenplays "hot" based solely on buzz. The frustrated Taylor plays with the rumor mill and soon everyone is voraciously seeking a pretend script. A la The Emperor's New Clothes, no one will admit they haven't seen it as studio executives, starlets and agents pretend to have dined, dated, and signed the non-existent writer. Though New Suit pushes believability to the edge, first-time writer and actual studio hack Craig Sherman gives the script the wicked ring of in-joke truth (or fantasy). It's The Player-lite, which is damn good fun. (1:34) (Koh)

The Order The director (Brian Helgeland) and both stars (Heath Ledger, Shannyn Sossamon) of A Knight's Tale reunite for this supernatural religious thriller, which presumably will not include "We Will Rock You" on the soundtrack. (1:42)

Ongoing

*American Splendor Shari Springer Berman and Roger Pulcini's film grafts the documentary portraiture of Terry Zwigoff's Crumb on the fictional narrative of Zwigoff's Daniel Clowes adaptation, Ghost World, and comes up with something less than either of those great films – but still the best U.S. fictive filmmaking in this summer of bummers. American Splendor travels from vignette to vignette, losing and gaining momentum, rarely mimicking the long interior monologues or abrupt endings of Harvey Pekar's comics. It livens up and finds a purpose with the arrival of Hope Davis's Joyce Brabner – the film's chief strong point is its characterization of her marriage to Pekar (Paul Giamatti). Splendor casually addresses the fact that Pekar's comic is drawn by a variety of artists, allowing characters' appearances to shift from one sequence to another (one minute, Drew Freidman's smudgy daytime nightmares; the next, Joe Zabel's crisp nervous energy). An all-animated version might have imaginatively extended this trait, which simultaneously defines Pekar's portraiture and makes it playfully elusive – even free spirited. (1:41) (Huston)

American Wedding The American Pie films distinguished themselves from the teen flick pack thanks to a recipe of wistful sentimentality and gross-out gags. The third film in the franchise, in which hapless Jim (Jason Biggs) is preparing to marry his flute-playing girlfriend, Michelle (Alison Hannigan), keeps the sap and semen-joke mixture of the first two, then dilutes it to the point of sogginess. Most of the old gang – chiefly, the obnoxious Stifler (Seann William Scott), the urbane Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas), and Jim's well-meaning dad (Eugene Levy) – return for another helping, but with few envelopes left to push, the series' patented comedy of humiliation feels a bit stale by now; even the scatology and cock jokes come off as half-hearted. There's little that director-famous troubadour offspring Jesse Dylan (How High) adds to distinguish this last chapter, either, content to simply reheat once-tasty leftovers ad nauseam until they burn to an inedible crisp. (1:36) (Fear)

And Now Ladies and Gentlemen Filmmaker Claude Lelouch was a peripheral figure of the French nouvelle vague when he unleashed A Man and a Woman on the world in 1966. The shadow of his most famous film looms large over his latest endeavor, from the inverse in-joke of the title to the trademark bossa nova that plays softly in the background. This go-round is an exhalation of a curdled old Europe, the kind of place where an old-school jewel thief (Jeremy Irons) and a sad-eyed chanteuse (Patricia Kaas) can marinate in a sauce of soul-sick sophistication. Both suffer from sudden blackouts, chronic amnesia, and the ability to tint film stock at will, which eventually leads them to pas de deux into the Moroccan desert searching for magical elixirs and mystical saints. Lelouch toys with the themes of redemption and spiritual enlightenment that poke through the rumpled façade of world-weariness, but seriously, when you're staring at Irons hamming it up in hippie gear, the guffaws begin to drown out any greater notions or higher truths. (2:06) (Fear)

L'auberge espagnole (1:56)

Bad Boys II Recipe for Tasteless Blockbuster Casserole: Defrost and reheat congealed main ingredients of Bad Boys, that 1995 action-comedy about two trash-talkin' maverick Miami cops (Will Smith, Martin Lawrence) who refuse to "play by the rules" and have a knack for breaking into allegedly charming shtick, etc. Add creative brain trust of über-producer Jerry Bruckheimer and director-cinematic Antichrist Michael Bay to insure maximum lowest-common-denominator pandering and plague-of-frogs subtlety. Stir in enough story material for six films; be sure to include romantic interest (Gabrielle Union) in peril, lethal batches of ecstasy, stereotypical villains and over-the-top crime lord (Jordi Mollà, who should be paying Gary Oldman royalties). Spice liberally with gratuitously brutal violence and crass homophobic, racial gags to mask lack of flavor, wit, edge, or basic entertainment value. Cook for an inexplicable two and a half hours. Let simmer; serves millions (excluding critics and those who possess frontal lobes or love movies). Laugh all the way to bank, then scrape burnt mess off bottom of pan into garbage bin. (2:25) (Fear)

The Battle of Shaker Heights A misfit teen (Shia LaBeouf) with a serious chip on his shoulder and an obsession with war reenactments tries to negotiate the minefields of adolescence, a beyond fucked-up home life, and a crush on the older sister (Amy Smart) of his preppy best friend (Elden Henson). Those Project Greenlight fans who tuned in every week to watch the behind-the-scenes car wreck of the film's making will find this bland exercise in faux irreverence anticlimactic; there's nothing nearly as interesting in the final product as there was in any given episode of the show. Neophyte directors-contest winners Kyle Rankin and Efram Potelle's modus operandi seems to primarily consist of pointing a camera toward movement, giving the whole endeavor the feeling of an expensive student film project. LaBeouf gamely attempts to inject an angry young man into the smart-ass-by-numbers caricature and give his rebel a cause, but not even his natural charisma can keep this battered battleship afloat.

(1:25) (Fear)

*Bend It like Beckham With a witty screenplay, feel-good story, and kick-ass soundtrack, Gurinder Chadha's Bend It like Beckham (named, by the way, for the soccer star who's also known as Mr. Posh Spice) has already broken box-office records in the U.K. and arrives in the United States with a worldwide $50 million gross already under its belt. Jess, Beckham's protagonist, is a reluctant challenger who's driven by her passion for soccer to deviate from the expectations of her old-world family. Beckham pointedly punctures English, Indian, and immigrant foibles despite a few jokes that are broad enough to hit the side of a barn. But its pseudo-lesbian subplot is unlikely to ruffle viewers of any lifestyle. More satisfyingly, the film's climactic wedding scene erupts into high drama with mistaken-identity mischief delicious enough to ensure it won't be mistaken for Monsoon Wedding. (1:42) (B. Ruby Rich)

*Bugs! A distant cousin to the fine-tuned bug ballet of Microcosmos, the IMAX Bugs! – in thrillingly unsubtle 3-D – finds a more Hollywood-style drama in the kingdom of small critters, focusing on the life span of a green mantis nicknamed by his Latin proper name, Hierodula, and the charming Great Mormon butterfly, Papilio. Their parallel lives of eating, shedding, and transforming amount to character development that pays off when adulthood makes them natural enemies (one is the predator of the other). But this children's film has climaxes of all types – even a mantis sex scene so racy the producers conclude it with a leaf screen. The film, narrated by Judi Dench and running through musical styles like an Olympic gymnast going for gold, is presented without irony by Terminix. (:40) Metreon IMAX. (Gerhard)

Camp Camp takes us through a season at Camp Ovation, where all of the most talented drama geeks disappear to each summer, in case anyone was wondering. Michael arrives fresh from getting bashed at his high school prom for showing up in drag. Vlad fights hard to dispel golden-boy impressions (but nonetheless looks and sings like the missing sixth Backstreet Boy) and is somehow, mysteriously straight. Ellen, slightly insecure and friend to all of the fags at Camp Ovation, is glad to hear it. They and the rest of the drama gang eat, drink, and sleep tap routines, Shakespearean monologues, and show tunes, show tunes, show tunes, producing a new play at the grueling rate of every two weeks. While there are some seriously After-School Special moments, it's a sweet film with some good performances and a couple of plot lines it's a pleasure to think a small portion of teenage America may experience. (1:54) (Lynn Rapoport)

*Capturing the Friedmans Pegged as the lurid must-see of this year's Sundance Film Festival, Andrew Jarecki's documentary is definitely a fly in the ointment of any belief that documentary cinema (let alone legal process) necessarily equals truth. This movie leaves so many unpleasant questions unanswered you'll be positively itchy with the sense of being soiled-by-association. Tipped by postal inspectors, police raided the home of one Arnold Friedman, a well-liked schoolteacher and father of three teenage sons. They found stores of "kiddie porn" (or at least teen porn); this led to interviews with students in Mr. Friedman's after-school computer classes, held in the family's basement. The stories that emerged described horrific, sometimes quite literally beyond-belief sexual abuse of boys by both Friedman and youngest son Jesse. Were the purported victims' testimonies influenced and inflamed by the zealousness of investigators, not to mention the wildfire outrage that ran through local parents? (Some class attendees still insist nothing happened at all, but their voices were overwhelmed during the resulting media and prosecutorial onslaught.) What's perhaps most disturbing about this one-of-a-kind document is that hysteria becomes indistinguishable from truth, even (or especially) among the Friedmans themselves – a family that recorded itself endlessly via home videos (amply excerpted here), to a remarkable and unflattering degree. Watching them tear themselves apart under pressure – with self-appointed mother-of-all-martyrs Elaine quite possibly inflicting more damage than press, community, law, and still-questionable sex crimes combined – is an experience you won't soon forget. (1:47) (Harvey)

*The Cuckoo In Alexander Rogozhkin's brilliant satire, Veiko (Ville Haapasalo), a Finnish lad recruited by the S.S., has pulled the short straw of duty: he's been "cuckoo'd," or chained (literally) to a rock with a sniper rifle and instructions to kill advancing enemy soldiers. After he eventually Houdinis his way out of the predicament, he runs across a local Lapp lass (Anni-Kristiina Juuso) who's nursing a wounded Russian officer (Viktor Bychkov) back to health. Both the strapping lad and the elder gentleman wield a strong attraction to the earth mother – who's got more than enough libido for all three of them – and a mutual hatred of each other. None of them, however, share a common tongue. Rogozhkin's handling of the trio's skewed three-way conversations is so deadpan it would give Kaurismäki pause, but his central conceit, that even humanity at its worst can eventually fashion a forum and persevere, betrays a pulse behind the smirk. (1:44) (Fear)

*Dirty Pretty Things Stephen Frears (Dangerous Liaisons, The Grifters, High Fidelity) has returned over and over to smaller British projects between Hollywood assignments, notably two Roddy Doyle adaptations (The Snapper, The Van). Dirty Pretty Things is by a newish writer, Steve Knight, and in its tonally very different way it's almost as fresh a take on polyglot London as My Beautiful Laundrette. Things revolves around Okwe (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a Nigerian doctor-exile living a hand-to-mouth life in the U.K. He's illegally working as a cab driver and a night clerk at a boutique hotel run by pragmatically slimy Juan (Sergi Lopez). Likewise employed at the hotel as housekeeping staff is Muslim Turkish Senay (Audrey Tautou), a registered refugee awaiting governmental approval of her immigrant status. Before long, Okwe discovers that the hotel profits from on-site organ harvesting that preys on desperate illegal immigrants. Knight's script doesn't always smooth together its various mystery, suspense, caper, and slice-of-life elements. The dialogue is sometimes too pontificating, and the incipient romance between Okwe and Senay is perhaps the least effective aspect here. But Frears handles it all so beautifully that the end result is still near extraordinary. (1:49) (Harvey)

*Le Divorce Left by her trustafarian mate, pregnant poet Roxy (Naomi Watts) is visited in Paris by her hungry-for-experience sis Isabel (Kate Hudson), who soon realizes she's clearly not in Santa Barbara anymore. With the help of her sibling and an expat writer (Glenn Close), Isabel cracks the French cultural code embedded in everything from cocktails to fashion, and together the sisters take in the drawing rooms, haute cuisine, silk lingerie, and rococo social convolutions of the Old World. Self-consciously witty, briskly paced, and true to its source, Le Divorce succeeds where other modern-day Merchant Ivory productions have faltered; it captures the follies, foibles, and faux pas that occur as two worlds collide and collude, as well as the soufflé-lite pleasures of the City of Light. (1:55) (Kimberly Chun)

*Finding Nemo When his beloved son Nemo is whisked from the ocean by a scuba diver, neurotic clown fish Marlin (Albert Brooks) launches a Great Barrier Reef-sized quest to track him down, running into a huge assortment of oceanic perils (sharks, shipwrecks, weird-looking deep-sea fish, seagulls) and pals (notably a forgetful fish named Dory, who, as voiced by Ellen DeGeneres, gets the film's biggest laughs) along the way. Meanwhile, Nemo hatches elaborate escape plans with the creatures dwelling in his new home – a dentist's office aquarium. Though the search-and-rescue plot of this latest computer-animated adventure from Disney-Pixar (Toy Story, A Bug's Life, Monsters, Inc.) will play pretty routine to the grown-ups, pint-sized audiences will be in suspense to the end; adult audiences can enjoy the film's more subtle, clever touches (the dental-office scenes are particularly ingenious). (1:41) (Eddy)

Freaky Friday Thanks to a magic fortune cookie, mom Jamie Lee Curtis and daughter Lindsay Lohan (who also starred in The Parent Trap, another Disney remake) swap bodies and learn to see things through each other's eyes. While the film has its highlights – Curtis on the back of a motorbike, Lohan faking her way Milli Vanilli-style through a garage rock gig – it still feels a bit stale and is less playful and goofy than the original. The new Freaky Friday taps the clichés of the overworked, under-attentive mother and the teen acting out because she needs TLC to the max. The result: an MTV-soundtracked, Hot Topic-clad, formula family flick. Still, not bad for a summer afternoon rife with low expectations and girlish giggles. (1:49) (Sabrina Crawford)

*Freddy vs. Jason If you're not a fan of horror movies (specific subgenre: '80s slasher flicks), if you loathe excess violence, or if your favorite movie of 2002 was The Hours, don't even bother. Freddy vs. Jason is not for you. However, any kid who grew up shrieking with delight over the creative kills of the almighty Krueger and Voorhees is bound to have a good time with this one, which sees the terrible two at first allied (on Elm Street), then locked in an epic, exceptionally blood-drenched clash of the titans (at Camp Crystal Lake). As "cinema," Freddy vs. Jason has some problems – laughable dialogue, plot holes, and a heroine whose figure is the most memorable part of her performance. But to quote the film, "Freddy is fighting Jason! What more do you want?!" (1:32) (Eddy)

*Gigantic: A Tale of Two Johns They Might Be Giants, the Brooklyn duo of John Flansburgh (glasses, guitarist) and John Linnell (cuter, accordion player, more distinctively nasally vocals), are possibly the greatest snark-rock combo ever. Their greatest hits (or mostly nonhits, in actual chart terms) might comfortably stretch to two whole discs, with no two fans ever agreeing about track selection. TMBG are master musical-genre dilettantes; three minutes spent with them will reliably land somewhere between the painless, the amusing, and the nirvanic. For all but the dedicated (of which there are many), however, 30 minutes is pushing it. Ergo my mixed feelings about the 102 minutes that make up Gigantic: A Tale of Two Johns, A.J. Schnack's documentary homage to the band. If you love TMBG and every breath they exhale, you will be in hog heaven here – in good company, too, given the film's lineup of celebrity fans almost too geek-chic perfect to be believed (Dave Eggers, Harry Shearer, Conan O'Brien, Josh Kornbluth, Janeane Garofalo, Jon Stewart). If you just like them, all of this feature's shiny toy-ness will begin to pall after a while, leaving you with a confusing mixture of delight, guilty ingratitude, and hunger for beefsteak. (1:42) (Harvey)

Grind Asinine, inane, puerile: only ugly words should be allowed near this pile of boyish crappy crap. With upward of a dozen excrement jokes, Grind aims to be a male version of Blue Crush, blandly dousing the road trip-underdog sports plot with generous amounts of Jackass, The Man Show, and teen movies past – for example, a thoroughly unattractive version of Matthew McConaughey's Dazed and Confused ladies' man character. Eric (Mike Vogel) and his three skater-dude buddies ditch slacker and college plans alike to pursue their dream of corporate sponsorship, the passport to girls, parties, free skateboards and the good life. They follows the demo tour of pro skater Chris Wilson (Jason London) hoping to catch his attention. After failing in various ways, they get a little assistance from pro-skater chick Jamie (Jennifer Morrison), the film's only girl with a shirt on and a second dimension to her personality. In the end what the boys (who look like they're pushing 30) find most important is ... corporate sponsorship. But only after forging priceless bonds insulting women, midgets, and general humanity. (1:40) (Koh)

The Italian Job Audiences who went into 1969's The Italian Job got a silly little caper film breezing past inanity, thanks to its post-mod '60s panache, the novelty of those British Minis racing around Turin, and Michael Caine's cucumberlike coolness. This title-borrowing retread, however, simply reheats a stock revenge plot with Angeleno aesthetic slickness, plenty of advertising for this year's Cooper model, and a Mark Wahlberg who's now officially one lousy remake over the line of good will; suffice to say, today's Cineplex hounds get a much rawer deal. The supporting cast supersizes the usual heist suspects – the computer nerd, the demolition expert, the getaway driver – for maximum background noise while pretty boy Wahlberg and prodigal son Edward Norton mouth a screenwriter's idea of tough-guy-speak over millions worth of gold, car-chase shenanigans, Charlize Theron, etc. Director F. Gary Gray (The Negotiator) does exactly what he's paid to do, tying all the pretty bows tight on a film that's a Hollywood nocturnal emission – efficiently sleek and essentially soulless. (1:43) (Fear)

Jeepers Creepers 2 The trench-coated, winged killer – nearing the end of his every-23-years, 23-day feeding cycle, begun in the first film – returns to menace cornfields and bucolic, conveniently deserted country roads. Especially country roads traversed by school buses full of nubile young high school athletes. Logic problems and bad acting are, not surprisingly, in abundance, but the movie really does itself in by violating the "don't show the monster too much" horror movie rule (Hey! It's the Creeper! In close-up! Again!). Also, if you're going to show a headless corpse staggering about, it should at least be gruesome, if you can't manage scary. Even if you don't take into account its controversial writer-director (Victor Salva, a convicted child molester), Jeepers Creepers 2 seldom rises above mediocre, with only a knowingly exaggerated performance by Ray Wise (Laura Palmer's dad on Twin Peaks) worth noting. (1:44) (Eddy)

Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life Since the Tomb Raider masterminds seem unwilling to aspire beyond the principle that people will watch lint form if it features Angelina Jolie, they might as well save money next time and make Lara Croft: Telemarketer. Wearing Indiana Jones couture, our hot Lady Croft returns to find and protect Pandora's box, an artifact containing a dark force that bad guys wish to control (you know, unlike that time in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the exact same thing happens). Jolie again emotes via eyebrow raises and looks like a petulant version of the Bionic Woman as her lack of agility is disguised by slo-mo. Low-octane action scenes are dropped into the narrative at random and are missing logic to an annoying degree; for example, when Croft wants to get to the surface of the ocean quickly, she deliberately slices her arm, waves the blood around, and then hitches a ride on Jaws after a lengthy showdown. Um, I guess that's faster than swimming. (2:00) (Koh)

The Magdalene Sisters The Magdalene Laundries were set up as sanctuaries for Ireland's "wayward girls," a broad term that could be applied to young women who'd given birth to a child out of wedlock, such as Rose (Dorothy Duffy), or who'd been raped, like Margaret (Anne Marie Duff). Run by an order of nuns bearing the beyond-ironic moniker Sisters of Mercy, these church-operated institutions preached spiritual penance through hard labor and corporal punishment. Credit goes to the actresses, mostly unknowns and all pitch-perfect in their roles, but it's the director, Peter Mullan, who fuels the film with a harsh, lyrical fury. The Magdalene Sisters has stirred up its share of controversy (it was denounced by the Vatican the same day it won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival), but Mullan has his sights set on bigger game than just kitchen-sink melodrama or sensationalism. His refusal to pander to audience expectations ups the ante substantially; what really makes The Magdalene Sisters such an extraordinary experience is that, unlike most cine-fictional drama rooted in fact, the eventual catharsis feels genuinely earned. (1:59) (Fear)

Marci X (1:24)

The Medallion Sucking like there's no tomorrow, this Hong Kong-U.S. coproduction purportedly wrapped principal shooting in March 2002. Given the long pause before release, you might reasonably suspect there were, uh, problems. Craptastic results duly bear out that conjecture. Jackie Chan plays an HK cop trying to protect a Dalai Lama-esque golden child (reference to the cruddy old Eddie Murphy movie fully intended) who controls a medallion that's "the Holy Grail of Eastern mythology." (Really? So the "East" has one mythology now?) It's purported to hold the "key to eternal life." Thus generic snotty British bad guy Julian Sands wants boy, jewelry, etc., or else he'll kill everybody. Insufferable comedy-relief from Lee Evans (Mouse Hunt), abysmal romantic relief from Claire Forlani, routine CGI effects, horrible computer-spat-out scripting, nonstop yet underwhelming action, and a hapless slippery grasp on tone/humor/logic – all these make Medallion the worst Chan movie in aeons. At times it seems intended for children. Whether that's simply a matter of pandering stupidity or whatnot, you can rest assured that no one over the age of 13 will be glad they paid admission price. (1:30) (Harvey)

My Boss's Daughter (1:26)

Open Range A group of free-range cattlemen, led by the gruff Boss (Robert Duvall) and a former gunslinger (Kevin Costner), graze their herd near the territorial boundaries of a corrupt, controlling Irish rancher (Michael Gambon). An attempt at intimidation leaves one cowboy wounded and another murdered, leading Boss and his sidekick into town to settle a debt with cold stares and hot lead. Costner's latest directorial musing keeps its B-movie revenge narrative simple and its pacing deliciously deliberate, unafraid to take its time gearing up for an impressively brutal, bullet-ridden climax. A reverence for the genre's iconography, however, holds sway over the storytelling; the film is less a rumination on the Old West than a reference catalogue of old westerns, all homages and hat-tippings. A tendency for third-act speechifyin' and pontificatin' eventually smothers the movie's many pleasures, and what starts out as a lean, mean look at frontier justice turns into a horse opera sunk by an overdose of auterist hubris. (2:20) (Fear)

The Other Side of the Bed Paula (Natalia Verbeke) dumps boyfriend Pedro (Guillermo Toledo) since, unbeknownst to him, she's in love with his caddish best friend, Javier (Ernesto Alterio). Javier keeps promising Paula he'll leave his wife, Sonia (Paz Vega), who, unbeknownst to him, has taken her consoling of the crushed Pedro to a decidedly more carnal level. Did I mention that they all have a tendency to unexpectedly break into Jerome Robbins-style choreography and sing bad Euro-pop tunes? This goofy hybrid of bedroom farce and old-school showstopper numbers has its libidinous musical chairs game down but misses the right mix-and-match of genres by a Castilian kilometer. Veteran Spanish director Emilio Martínez-Lázaro knows how to frame scenes but can't seem to work them into something cohesive, and the cast's ability to make the head games and heartbreaks believable is frittered away by fantasy homages that wear out their welcome in seconds flat. (1:44) (Fear)

Party Monster How could a movie that casts Macauley Culkin as Michael Alig (and gives nostalgic CPR to Stacey Q's "Two of Hearts") go wrong? Too many celebrity bit parts, not enough narrative focus, and absolutely no Screaming Rachel are just three of countless accidental answers provided by Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato's drama debut. Bailey and Barbato's circus loses it charm long before it becomes an excuse to photograph Culkin and Chloë Sevigny as if they were separated-at-birth twins. The fact that Party Monster is more sympathetic to murderer than to victim would be less annoying if Alig and pal James St. James (Seth Green) were the geniuses the directors seem to think they are. Brattily imaginative? Yes. Brilliantly intelligent? No. Check out Bailey and Barbato's documentary of the same name instead. At least it has Screaming Rachel – if you don't know who that is, your vérité comedy education is incomplete. (1:38) Castro. (Huston)

Passionada (1:45)

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl In this seaworthy tale from Ring director Gore Verbinski and action-happy producer Jerry Bruckheimer, offbeat swashbuckler Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) and blacksmith Will Turner (Lord of the Rings elf Orlando Bloom) team up to pursue the snarling buccaneers who've kidnapped Will's beloved Elizabeth (Keira Knightley from Bend It like Beckham). Seems the crew of the Black Pearl (including Geoffrey Rush as their monkey-toting leader) believe she's the key to lifting the nasty curse that plagues them. Pirates taps plenty of familiar motifs – a talking parrot ("Shiver me timbers!"), a cave filled with treasure, cannon fights, people saying, "Arrrr!" – and follows a pretty rote escape-and-capture story line. And yeah, it's based on a Disneyland ride. But thanks in no small part to Depp's oddly endearing performance, the good-natured Pirates aims for fun and largely succeeds. (2:23) (Eddy)

The Princess Blade This potentially gratifying mix of martial arts, science fiction, and political intrigue betrays its pulp origins by succumbing to some disastrously trendy dramatic tropes. Set in a future where North Korea has taken over Japan, and where members of the emperor's private guard have become paid assassins, the film follows the trials of warrior Yuki (famed swimsuit model Yumiko Shaku) as she struggles to learn the truth behind her mother's murder – along with her own true identity – in time to do some carin' and sharin' with a dreamy revolutionary dude. Director Shinsuke Sato is every bit the neophyte: Instead of exploring the topical sci-fi of his manga-inspired premise, Sato focuses on soap opera-style characters played by actors incapable of supplying more than a single dimension apiece. The film's saving grace might have been its well-staged action sequences, choreographed by Donnie Yen (who performed similar duties for Iron Monkey and Blade II). But as any casual kung fu viewer could tell you, three good fight scenes do not make a good movie. (1:33) (Macias)

Seabiscuit In the midst of the Great Depression, a second-rate racing nag named Seabiscuit, laden with an oversized jockey (Tobey Maguire), a laconic trainer (Chris Cooper), and a zealous manager (Jeff Bridges), somehow broke track records and captured the public's fancy. Based on Laura Hillenbrand's insanely readable biography, the film adaptation by Gary Ross (Pleasantville) also gets people rooting for the under-horse while imbuing social significance to the sport of kings, though his version seems overflowing with its own sense of stateliness. The movie often seems less a retelling of the legendary equine success story than a catalog of pure Americana, owing as much to Horatio Alger's bootstrap fables or Walker Evans's photography as it does to horse racing and history. Amazing performances, gorgeous autumnal visuals, and elliptical editing provide a wonderful cadence but eventually lose by a nose to Capraesque populist pandering, complete with PBS-friendly narration that equates the martyr mare with New Deal politics quicker than you can say Triple Crown-ed metaphor. (2:21) (Fear)

The Secret Lives of Dentists The erratic Alan Rudolph has always enjoyed, with varying success, diving into self-contained milieus – from the Me Decade mecca in Welcome to L.A. to the famous salons of The Moderns and Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle. But he's arguably never investigated a scene as familiar yet surprising as the one here: a suburban middle-class marriage, with children. Dentists who share a practice, David (Campbell Scott) and Dana Hurst (Hope Davis) have reached that point in their lives where activity is incessant but actual stimulation is rare; with three very young daughters, a mortgage, and god knows what other ordinary obligations stretching years ahead, their well-plotted future can be seen as either comforting or suffocating. Secret Lives' long climax is nothing more than a family of five getting the flu – and it might be the most engrossing, detailed, nail-biting set piece you'll see all year. (1:44) Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

Spellbound A frightening, often comedic look into the family lives of the nation's top young spellers, Jeff Blitz's documentary too easily balances the oddities of overachievers: if there's an obsessed speller, there's also a nonchalant one; some families are wealthy, some are poor. There's diversity, love, faith, and most predictably, a fight against the odds. Though the film builds tension as it reaches various humiliating climaxes at the microphone, it suffers the same malady as its subjects: it feels far more stage-managed than earned or lived. (1:36) (Gerhard)

Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over Pint-size spy Juni Cortez (Daryl Sabara) has been called in from the cold to rescue his sister (Alexa Varga), who's trapped in an online video game run by a megalomaniacal game programmer (Sylvester Stallone). The only way to get her out is to get Juni in the game himself and past the numerous 3-D (literally!) obstacles that stand in his way. The third time is not usually a charm when it comes to movie trilogies, but Robert Rodriguez's tales of junior league espionage have always had charm to spare; even this weakest entry in the series has just enough infectious, imaginative magnetism to put most average kids flicks to shame. Pulling the 3-D rabbit out of the hat usually signals a last-gasp gimmick, but the overall campfire-story giddiness here feels more like a filmmaker delighting in sharing ancient cinematic tricks with a new generation of popcorn munchers. (1:25) (Fear)

Step into Liquid There's nothing more photogenic than bronzed surfers cutting through sun-dappled waves – and yet there are few things as hard to capture on-screen as the exhilarating rush that makes surfing so addictive and so popular. This paradox has dogged surf-umentaries since their first dip into the cinematic pool, and it's something that Step into Liquid seems to know it can't outpaddle. So filmmaker and pedigreed surf aficionado Dana "Son of Bruce" Brown bypasses capturing lightning in a bottle, concentrating instead on fashioning a cinematic Surf Culture for Dummies that's less an Endless Summer than endless summaries of facts on the modern-day wave-rider lifestyle. The MTV-friendly aesthetics and moondoggy narration (warbly voiced philosophy about harmony, nature, etc.) are a poor substitute for actual adrenaline, however, and even with some gorgeous visuals, it still feels like a simplified tourist version of a second-hand high. (1:28) Smith Rafael. (Fear)

*Stoked: The Rise and Fall of Gator A flipside to the loud entertainment of last year's Dogtown and Z-Boys, Helen Stickler's thoroughly disturbing documentary portrait of fallen thrasher Mark "Gator" Rogowski begins with the lonely sound of wheels grinding against pavement. Stickler's movie has the cheap 'n' scrappy look of a skateboard video, but she doesn't promote the skater-as-rock-star approach of those vids (and Stacy Peralta's Dogtown), she takes it apart – methodically and painfully. Rogowski's journey from a troubled childhood to troubling teen fame and fortune led to a homicidal wipeout, and recordings of his incarcerated phone calls provide Stoked's bewildered voice-over narration. His shameless love of the camera also means Stickler has copious footage of his big-hair-and-Sheila-E-shirt glory days as a spokesmodel and disturbing footage of his fall from grace – and the board – when skateboarding hit the streets (a shift similar to hair metal's early '90s defeat at the hands of punk). It would be a shame if Stoked's audience was limited to skaters: one of the best docs of this year, Stickler's movie widens beyond skateboarding to incisively portray the love affair between youth culture and money, a match made in America but often destined for hell. (1:34) (Huston)

S.W.A.T. As formulaic and predictable as it gets, this assembly-line actioner gets the job done (car chases, gun battles, one-liners, dust-ups with the brass, etc.) but is so, well, so-so it's hardly memorable enough to recommend. Likable stars Samuel L. Jackson (as an "old-school" S.W.A.T. team leader), Colin Farrell (as a gifted officer with something to prove), the perma-snarling Michelle Rodriguez, and the ab-fab L.L. Cool J have their game faces on, but even the vaguely intriguing plot – after he's captured, an internationally notorious fugitive (Olivier Martinez) offers $100 million to whoever busts him out; gangsters of the world soon come calling – plays out utterly by rote. Fine for in-flight entertainment or for Farrell groupies; everyone else, there's still time to catch the truly ostentatious cops-a-go-go flick Bad Boys 2 instead. (1:56) (Eddy)

*Swimming Pool Charlotte Rampling plays Sarah Morton, an author in the Patricia Highsmith mold – with an emphasis on mold – who ventures to a vine-laced villa in the south of France to begin work on the latest addition to her musty mystery series. Ludivine Sagnier plays Julie, the slutty daughter of Sarah's publisher, and an unwelcome surprise guest at Sarah's writer's retreat. The two don't waste any time invading each other's privacy. Whether that privacy is typed on a laptop or penned in girlie cursive, it's a key to asserting power over the other. Swimming Pool's "secrets" tease audiences; ultimately, the film is a poison-lensed love letter to director François Ozon's producer. It's time for this mildly naughty boy to make a wildly rude film that pleases no one but himself. (1:54) (Huston)

*Teknolust If ever there were a homegrown movie perfect for smart folks hiding out from summer blockbusters and gubernatorial recall shenanigans, Teknolust is it. Lynn Hershman Leeson wrote the script as a lark when funding failed to materialize for a long-planned female Frankenstein film. Here a different kind of mad scientist, played by Tilda Swinton, downloads herself into her research and creates ... three Tildas. Also in the cast is Karen Black; originally, her character, based on a real-life person, was a rogue FBI agent, a hippie who drops out to become a private eye. But Black wanted to revisit her transsexual research for Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, so Hershman rewrote the agent as a transsexual remade in the image of her favorite actress: Karen Black. Rumor has it the distributor is waiting to see how San Francisco reacts to Teknolust before deciding its fate, so don't sit at home. Besides, given last week's news reports on the latest genetic hybrid (a rabbit crossed with a human), there may not be much time left before the film loses its sci-fi status. (1:22) (Rich)

*Thirteen Sure to be regarded as a grrrlish Kids for the '00s thanks to its strong, sharp portrait of prepubescent girls gone wild, Thirteen screams "Pay attention to me!" with a spot-on mixture of adolescent rage and joy. In a debut feature cowritten with then-13-year-old star Nikki Reed, director Catherine Hardwicke manages to catch all the casual cruelty, sex, drugs, and scar tissue of those preteen years with an acuity that'll send a thrill, or chill, of recognition through all you former kids. No doubt the emphasis will be on chills for viewing parents. It doesn't take more than a once-over by seventh grade's hot girl, Evie (Reed), for Tracy (Evan Rachel Wood) to go from a poetry-writing nice kid to a furiously acting-out nastee bizkit. Her single mom (Holly Hunter), herself taking it one day at a time, watches in misery as her love story with her baby girl goes horribly wrong. Tracy's "decadence" may ring a tad extreme – sometimes she seems to be trying out every trick in the big book of bad habits. But Thirteen's performances lift it out of the teensploitation camp – there's little that's laughable or kitsch about Wood's and Hunter's bawls-out intensity. (1:40) (Chun)

*28 Days Later Early in Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later, a patient named Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes from a coma only to find the hospital, the streets, the surrounding buildings, and possibly – probably – the entire world, completely, nightmarishly deserted. The culprit? "Rage," a highly contagious blood virus accidentally unleashed on London by a group of well-intentioned animal rights activists. Symptoms, which manifest in 20 seconds or less, include red eyes, projectile vomiting, and the uncontrollable urge to viciously attack everyone around you. Thanks to the use of digital video, a trembling pop soundtrack, and British slang, 28 Days Later is pretty arty for a genre film. Still, horror is the main event, and like all truly scary movies, this one neatly plays off current events (SARS, for one) to increase the oh-shit-this-might-really-happen vibe. Though this heavily Romero-influenced film isn't overflowing with original ideas, the timing of its release is impeccable. Who isn't afraid of catching a horrible disease, or of waking up to find an entire city wiped out by a scary, unknown event? (1:48) (Eddy)

Uptown Girls Molly Gunn (Brittany Murphy) is the coquettish daughter of a late rock legend. When her inheritance is swindled, Molly is forced to get a job as a nanny to an eerily mature eight-year-old (Dakota Fanning), whose mother is a neglectful record exec (Heather Locklear). The precocious tot is a lot savvier than any real-life third grader on the face of the planet, and the plot never grows beyond predictability: the child must learn to relish her youth, while the adult must ripen into maturity, etc. That said, Uptown Girls isn't as terrible as I expected it to be. My groans were often followed by begrudging chuckles, enabling intermittent suspension of disbelief. (1:33) (Pham)

*Whale Rider Director Niki Caro's adaptation of New Zealand author Witi Ihimaera's 1986 novel combines familiar coming-of-age elements with Maori mysticism to exceptionally engaging effect. Pubescent Pai (Keisha Castle-Hughes) has been raised by her strict but loving grandfather Koro (Rawiri Paratene) and more easygoing grandma (Vicky Haughton) since her artist dad left to travel the world. The latter (Cliff Curtis) was and is too grief-stricken to stay in the community – his wife died giving birth to Pai, and tribal chief Koro still pressures him to deliver a male grandchild who might one day "lead our people out of the darkness" that modern, Westernized life has imposed. But that ain't happening, so granddad opens a "sacred school" to educate local boys in "the old ways – the qualities of a chief." These involve everything from religious ritual to martial arts instruction. Koro is so rigidly tradition-minded that he insists girls are "worthless" in these capacities – though it's increasingly clear to everyone else that Pai possesses talent and discipline far beyond any male peers. The resulting, painful rift between child and grandparent reaches a climactic point of catastrophe and supernatural redemption that would be ludicrous in any less psychologically level-headed, stylistically astute context. A rare movie that should play just as well for eight-year-olds as it does for art-house grownups. (1:55) (Harvey)