Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Kimberly Chun, David Fear, Dina Gachman, Susan Gerhard, Dennis Harvey, Johnny Ray Huston, Laurie Koh, Patrick Macias, and Chuck Stephens. The film intern is Melissa McCartney. See Rep Clock and Movie Clock for theater information.

Berlin and Beyond

The ninth annual Berlin and Beyond Film Festival runs Jan 8-14 at the Castro Theatre, 429 Castro, S.F. For tickets (most shows $8.50) and more information call (415) 263-8760 or visit www.goethe.de/sanfrancisco. For commentary, see Movie Clock. All times p.m. unless otherwise noted.

Thurs/8

Rosenstrasse 8 (opening-night party, 6:30).

Fri/9

When the Right One Comes Along 7. This Very Moment with "Knight Games" 9:30.

Sat/10

Marry Me noon. A Little Bit of Freedom 2:30. 7 Brothers 5. Distant Lights 7:30. Devot with "Wolga" 10.

Sun/11

The Flying Classroom 11a. Poem 1:30. Wolfsburg 4. Free Radicals 6:30. Angst 9:15.

Mon/12

Ode to Cologne 1. The Last Laugh with musical accompaniment by Dennis James 7. Return of the Tüdelband 9.

Tues/13

Twinni noon. Liberated Zone 2. Lucky Jack 4:30. Going Home 7. Talk Straight 9:15.

Wed/14

"Shorts: The Best of German Film Schools" (shorts program) noon. State of the Nation 2:30. Shattered Glass 5. Solino 7:30.

Opening

Chasing Liberty Mandy Moore stars as a rebellious First Daughter who seeks adventure and romance abroad. (2:00) Century Plaza, Century 20.

*Just an American Boy See "Fearless Heart." (1:35) Red Vic.

My Baby's Daddy Eddie Griffin, Anthony Anderson, and Michael Imperioli star as three friends forced to abandon their carefree ways when they all become new fathers. (1:31) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London.

Nine Dead Gay Guys This British sex comedy follows the misadventures of two pals who set out to solve a murder mystery and unearth a huge stash of cash. (1:33) Lumiere.

Ongoing

AKA (1:58) Roxie.

*Bad Santa At this point, can any attack on Kris Kringle's public image generate shock? That's one of the chief dilemmas faced by Terry Zwigoff's Bad Santa, which casts Billy Bob Thornton as Willie T. Stokes, a self-described "eating, drinking, shitting, fucking Santa Claus." He's also a crook, robbing stores on Christmas Eve with his elfin partner in crime, Marcus (Tony Cox). Emptying the safes of U.S. consumerist palaces, Stokes is certainly a criminal, but this is a Terry Zwigoff movie: such thievery doesn't make him a villain. Whether documentary or fictive, Zwigoff's films usually sympathize with a malcontented male outcast, and it isn't a stretch to suggest that an ornery shopping-mart Santa makes an apt mouthpiece for the director while he's positioned in the heart of Hollywood. Still, Bad Santa is also a crossover bid; a hilarious shot heralding Stokes and Marcus's annual return to work also signals that Zwigoff wants to raise hell in Arizona, much like his executive producers Ethan and Joel Coen once did. It all ends with a Bing (Crosby's "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas") and a bang as Santa sentimentalists bite the bullet and the whole audience gets the finger. (1:30) California, Century 20, Four Star, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Huston)

The Barbarian Invasions Remy (Remy Girard) is terminally ill; an irascible personality, divorce, and endless flings suggest he's the sort who might die alone. However, his ex-wife Louise (Dorothee Berryman) dutifully guilt-trips their son Sebastien (Stephane Rousseau) into returning to Montreal from London for the sake of a father he's scarcely on speaking terms with. Dad views son as a crass capitalist; son views unrepentant "sensual socialist" dad as, well, an asshole – which he is, among other things. Their gradual reconciliation is foregrounded in the cluttered canvas of Denys Arcand's new film, a belated sequel to 1987's Decline of the American Empire that replaces that film's sexual politics seriocomedy with a thematically sprawling meditation on post-9/11 life. A collapsing Canadian health care system, aging baby boomers queasily entering late middle age, callous and/or lost younger generations, threats to the social order both external (e.g., terrorism) and internal (drug addiction) – these are just a few of the myriad issues Arcand touches on here. He balances them all cleverly, even building up to a close many viewers will find genuinely tear-jerking. This film is winning prizes all over. I found it just as glib, misanthropic, and sentimentally manipulative at times as it is undeniably skillful overall. (2:03) Embarcadero. (Harvey)

Big Fish Parenthood can turn almost anybody into a softy, which is good news for the human spirit overall but occasionally very bad news for the artistic one. The fact that he recently had a child with Helena Bonham Carter (who plays several heavily disguised roles here, to no great effect) is the only explanation I can hazard as to why Tim Burton has suddenly started – suck in your breath now – imitating Steven Spielberg's worst instincts. The bedside vigil of semi-estranged son Will (Billy Crudup) over Southern braggart dad Edward Bloom (Albert Finney, better than this crap deserves) is the spur for reprise of the latter's favorite "autobiographical" tall tales, which are like old Twilight Zone episodes with a sugar glaze. This crossbreeding of Forrest Gump and What Dreams May Come is Disney-esque pseudo-folklore whose grasp on "childlike wonder" and maudlin "family is the most important thing!" values feel factory-issued. Never mind that Edward has been a crappy, egomaniacal, hot-air-blowing father – reconciliation here is grimly, cloyingly inevitable. (2:00) Century 20, Jack London, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Calendar Girls In a small English town, weekly meetings of the Women's Institute give the local ladies a chance to meet and socialize. Mostly they celebrate the virtues of pressing flowers and making jam – and it all seems fairly staid and harmless. However, when John (John Alderton) passes away from leukemia, his widow, Annie (Julie Walters), and her close friend Chris (Helen Mirren) decide to try and raise money for a memorial at the local hospital. Chris gets the idea that they should do a very tasteful nude calendar – so, inspired by John's idea that women (like flowers) in the final stages of their lives are the most glorious, Chris and Annie convince a number of other W.I. members to join them. As it turns out, the calendar of beautiful mature women baring it all for charity becomes an international sensation. Enjoyable, feisty, and incredibly funny, Calendar Girls – based on a true tale – is a film about women, friendship, and how easy it can be to defy expectations. (1:48) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Cindy Emch)

Cheaper by the Dozen No one ever said it would be easy raising 12 kids and sustaining careers, but that's what a college football coach (Steve Martin) and his book-penning wife (Bonnie Hunt) try to do with a pinch of parental love and a whole lotta wacky high jinks. No one said it wasn't difficult crafting holiday films you could drag the whole brood to see, either, but the fact that this remake of the 1950 comedy is diluted for even the tamest of temperaments is typical of Tinseltown's template for "family entertainment" that hardly qualifies as entertaining. There are almost enough pinpricks of well-choreographed slapstick and the tag-team of Martin's Parenthood-redux buffoonery with Hunt's dry sass to prevent perpetual spin cycles for Clifton Webb's corpse, but its reliance on formula – a stock family-first message, cute kids mouthing clever lines – means another helping of warmed-up Disney Channel leftovers barely able to serve two. (1:38) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

*City of God City of God is a Rio de Janeiro housing project, but rather than simply present it as a setting, director Fernando Meirelles views it as a character – perhaps the dominant one – in the film. In one vivid segment a single fixed point of view witnesses the deterioration of an apartment as it's passed down from one drug dealer to another. The stronger and younger the kingpin, the trashier his kingdom. But static points of view aren't Meirelles's specialty. Working with codirector Kátia Lund, he's stylistically giddy in the face of much adolescent and preadolescent violence, running circles around the surface linearity of the plot's chapter structure and uncorking an array of techniques: God's-eye aerial shots that suggest the almighty has a finger on the fast-forward button, freeze-frame character intros that revive blaxploitation swank, and camera movements that follow the paths of ricocheting bullets or circle around the violence with the speed of a meth-addled figure skater. (2:10) Opera Plaza. (Huston)

*Cold Mountain A more reliable literary adapter than Merchant Ivory (at least of late), Anthony Minghella, director of The English Patient and The Talented Mr. Ripley, brings admirable cinematic sweep, intelligence, and detail to Charles Frazier's hugely popular historical novel. Jude Law is astutely cast as Inman, the young laborer turned Confederate soldier who makes a long, dangerous trek back to his rural North Carolina town during the waning days of the Civil War. Egging him onward through various hardships and bounty-hunter perils is the promise of a reunion with Ada (Nicole Kidman), pampered, Charleston-bred daughter of a minister (Donald Sutherland) whose premature death leaves her alone and helpless amid wartime deprivation. The original, tentative romance between principals is flash-backed between scenes from their variously harrowing present: traveling on foot, he's nearly killed several times over; she almost starves to death before spunky hillbilly Ruby (Renée Zellwegger, dynamic if borderline cartoonish) shows up to commandeer cultivation of the late minister's neglected farmland. Starting with a memorably horrific depiction of the era's savage yet impersonal warfare (dramatizing the July 1864 siege of Petersburg, Va.), Cold Mountain is never less than engaging, with passages by turns lyrical, ironic, brutal, and tender. Still, it's not quite as moving as one would like – and actually becomes least so when Ada and Inman are finally reunited in the last act. (2:35) Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Harvey)

The Cooler William H. Macy is a sadder-sack Bogart, and Maria Bello an updated Gloria Grahame, in this slick indie gloss on retro-Hollywood "B" conventions. He's a former gambler so pathetically ill-starred that he's employed as a "cooler" at a fading-out Vegas casino – a man whose luck is so bad he can be counted on to end winning streaks simply by passing the tables. She's a much younger cocktail waitress with (what else?) a "past." When they fall in love, love redeems them – and their luck, which unfortunately earns the wrath of a casino boss (Alec Baldwin) who can't endure such status quo shifts in the face of his own imminent corporate-management phaseout. The acting is very good, of course – how could Macy disappoint in yet another "lovable loser" role? – and director and coscenarist (with Frank Hannah) Wayne Kramer's story is crafty and flavorful enough in an MGM-circa-1955 way. But even then the story wasn't very fresh or especially interesting, save as a showcase for actors who deserved better. Which they still do. The final reel springs some decent surprises, yet the scent of reheated genre formula is still the strongest smell to emerge from The Cooler. (1:41) Empire, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*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) Opera Plaza. (Harvey)

*Elf Anyone who has appreciated Will Ferrell's manic male cheerleader has long known he resides in the land of lost toys, which may be why this film was literally built around him. With custom-made minisets that call up the magical sarcasm of Being John Malkovich's floor seven and a half, Ferrell, as six-foot-plus Buddy the Elf, stumbles and trips his way into the knowledge that he doesn't belong in the North Pole. He travels to New York City to find his human father (James Caan) and help make naughty into nice. The film shoehorns in the expected plays on Christmas specials past, with the sashaying snowman, the ice-block boat, and a Rudolph climax, but director Jon Favreau freshens the Chex Party Mix with better-than-usual comic touches. (1:37) Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Gerhard)

Girl with a Pearl Earring Lost in Translation It girl Scarlett Johansson plays another passive protagonist in Peter Webber's debut film, an accomplished yet oddly distanced translation of Tracy Chevalier's acclaimed novel. She's forced to work as a servant in the household of master painter Johannes Vermeer (Colin Firth) when her own family's fortunes take a downturn in 1665 Delft, Holland. Uneducated yet naturally inquisitive, she gains the attention of the master as model and apprentice – both roles scandalous for a lower-class girl of the era. Girl with a Pearl Earring is nothing if not artful: domestic strife, moral hypocrisy, and class consciousness are neatly interwoven with an artistic inspiration that would eventually loom large in art history. It's handsomely done in aesthetic terms, polished in performance terms. Yet for all its intelligence and skill, Girl just kinda sits there, emotionally, and becomes more schematic than moving. (1:39) Albany, Clay. (Harvey)

*Gloomy Sunday Though steeped in melodrama, Nick Barkow's novel of overlapping love affairs amid war-torn 1930s Budapest translates stunningly to the big screen. Director Rolf Schübel recaptures all the magic of an old-school drama as his charismatic actors bring the romantic script to life. Very much in love, Laszlo (Joachim Krol) and Ilona (Erika Maroszán) run a restaurant and hire Andras (Stefano Dionisi) to play piano. Andras is quickly pulled in by Ilona's charms, and the three develop an understanding relationship, rather than suffering one man to live without her affection. The film takes its name from the stirring yet depressing song Andras writes for Ilona (in real life, the so-called suicide song, made popular by Billie Holliday, was written in 1935 by Hungarians Rezsö Seress and Laszlo Javor). A return to real movie making, where all the elements blend in a harmony seldom seen in Hollywood these days, Gloomy Sunday cleverly deals with threats to perfect love: the "other man," manipulation, war, and even death. (1:54) Opera Plaza, Smith Rafael. (McCartney)

The Haunted Mansion The ominous tones of the theme song to Disney's Haunted Mansion set the mood, which hints at spooky nostalgia for adult fans and pint-size thrills for kids. Unfortunately for everyone, the promise is left unfulfilled. Based on the legendary Disney theme park ride, this incarnation of the Haunted Mansion, directed by Rob Minkoff (Stuart Little), follows the Evers family, whose short detour turns into a night of horror when they get stuck in the house due to an unusual storm. Dad Jim (Eddie Murphy) sets about to expose the secret that has held the house cursed for so long, while mom Sara (Marsha Thomason) is believed by the mansion's master's ghost to be the reincarnation of his long-dead love, and his soul cannot rest until she is his again. While Murphy is amusing in a cheesy real estate guy kind of way, the whole story feels disconnected. A heady cameo by Jennifer Tilly nearly steals the show, but even she can't make this one worth the price of admission. (1:38) Century 20. (Emch)

Honey Perky Bronx gal Honey (Jessica Alba, who's easy on the eyes but miscast as a streetwise homegirl) makes ends meet by working at a record store, bartending, and teaching hip-hop dancing at the local community center. After she's discovered by a sleazy music video director, she finds success as a choreographer – which, naturally, jeopardizes her relationships with her best friend (Joy Bryant), budding boyfriend (Mekhi Phifer), the neighborhood kid (Lil' Romeo) she's trying to save from a life of crime, etc. Will Honey maintain her integrity in the world of showbiz? Will she be able to turn that abandoned storefront into the dance studio of her dreams? Duh. Director Bille Woodruff, a video vet, ladles on the celeb cameos (Tweet, Missy Elliott, Ginuwine, Jadakiss) and uses plenty of flashy camera tricks. Unfortunately, the feature-length Honey has no more depth than a three-minute MTV clip; an average episode of Making the Video boasts more unpredictability and emotional range, with considerably less cheesy dialogue. (1:34) Century 20. (Eddy)

House of Sand and Fog Kathy Nicolo (Jennifer Connelly) is a recovering addict whose husband left a few months ago and who ekes out a living cleaning other people's houses. She's depressed. Hence she's not very quick to catch a serious bureaucratic error: nonpayment of an (erroneously charged) business tax ends up getting her evicted from her own home, which has been put up for public auction. The house is sold to Massoud Amir Behrani (Ben Kingsley), a former colonel in the Iranian air force who sees it as the lucky fiscal break he's desperately sought since fleeing his native country. As mutual obstinacy, legal snafus, and some very poor tactical decisions heat up resentment on both sides, Kathy and Massoud head toward a tragic showdown. Commercial director Vadim Perelman's debut feature shaves and/or downplays some of the more extreme melodrama in Andre Dubus III's original literary potboiler. But House takes itself awfully seriously, to diminishing results – the last reel goes over the top, with Sir Ben chewing scenery beyond duty's call. (2:06) California, Empire, 1000 Van Ness, Piedmont. (Harvey)

In America It's tough to put a magical sheen on living in a drug-addled tenement, but writer and director Jim Sheridan (In the Name of the Father) gives it a shot with In America, a modern Irish immigration story based on his own experience. Attempting to escape the memory of their lost son, Johnny (Paddy Considine) and Sarah (Samantha Morton) move to New York City with their two young girls. Dirt poor but determined, wannabe actor Johnny struggles almost inhumanely to make his family's life bearable, but he can't connect to them given his refusal to grieve. Sisters Sarah and Emma Bolger give amazingly natural performances as the daughters who take the ghetto in stride, expressing genuine delight at the flock of pigeons hogging their new digs. Still, Sheridan's gritty New York is too tangible for the ethereal touch to work beyond the eyes of the sisters, and the film's reliance on cosmic intervention at key moments actually injects predictability into an otherwise engaging story. (1:43) Albany, Embarcadero, Piedmont. (Koh)

The Last Samurai After James Clavell's Shogun and Kevin Costner's Dances with Wolves, noble savage clichés just aren't what they used to be. Yet here's Tom Cruise as Captain Nathan Algren, a Civil War veteran who travels to Meiji-era Japan to become a player in the samurai rebellion, a conflict that pits the ancient ways against a rapidly modernizing world. Falling under the influence of his captor, outlaw Katsumoto (Ken Watanabe), Algren discovers an "intriguing people" whose devotion to "honor" and "loyalty" inspires him to strap on armor that makes him look about as dramatic as an ice hockey player. To be fair, there's some decent action scenes, but they're not enough to compensate for the film's deadly dramatic failings. The big problem with The Last Samurai is director and co-screenwriter Edward Zwick (Glory) and producer Cruise have constructed a warped Akira Kurosawa fantasy without a single plot twist or surprise that isn't glaringly obvious from frame one. (2:24) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda, Shattuck. (Macias)

*The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King The quest to deliver "The Greatest Fantasy Trilogy Ever Made" has been completed. The hype is right. The Return of the King is the best of the three, but only in part. And it all depends on which part you're talking about. In the first act, we're still mucking about with various monarchs, noble families, and peasants as the film unfolds. Our main characters, hobbits Frodo (Elijah Wood) and Sam (Sean Astin), are still on their dangerous trek to the volcanic Mount Doom. Gandalf (Ian McKellan) and plucky halfling Pippin (Billy Boyd) have arrived at the kingdom of Gondor – ground zero for the long-awaited War of the Ring – where the tone of Return becomes quiet and hushed. Heroically, director Peter Jackson decides to slow down and take a breath himself. From here on out, Jackson assumes a total mastery of the material, and even the deviations from Tolkien's text start to look like improvements. The long, arduous journey to the credits may not have been perfect, and perilously few of those character subplots ever pay out, but for a hearty share of its 3-hour-and-18-minute running time, there can be no doubt that King rules. (3:21) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda. (Macias)

Lost in Translation Halfway through Lost in Translation, it's clear director Sofia Coppola misplaced something other than language somewhere in the air between LAX and Narita. She obviously lost the plot (what glassine, paper-thin bits of it existed, by all accounts) and decided instead to just leave the camera running on her assembled beautiful or amusing characters-slash-objets – a preppily lush Scarlett Johansson, the sleek playground of Tokyo's Park Hyatt, and a resigned Bill Murray – hoping they'd provide the in-flight impromptu entertainment. Maybe in a perfectly art-directed world, they would suffice to fill the pretty vacant spaces of this barely outlined tale. But that's assuming we're as easily amused by Lost in Translation's 105 minutes of good-looking images and vacuous chitchat as we are by sound bites about celebrity cribs. That's assuming we've never glimpsed the sci-fi Tokyo skyline, tried our hand at karaoke, or followed Murray as he navigated a real, meaty part. Instead, Coppola succumbs to the same mistake made by pop stars who get lazy, believe their own hype, and decide everyone can relate to songs about their distorted experiences. (1:45) Century 20, Four Star, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Chun)

Love Actually Screenwriter Richard Curtis (Four Weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill, Bridget Jones's Diary) is the man who practically invented the modern-day "Britsy-cutesy" template: attractive losers display near toxic amounts of dry wit, tell themselves to shut up whenever they've said something idiotic, and generally court humiliation in quixotic quests for true love (think Hugh Grant's entire career). Curtis's directorial debut tells not one but nine stories involving various degrees of smitten-ness, swollen with an all-star cast (Grant, Liam Neeson, Emma Thompson, Colin Firth, etc.) and a patented brand of English rose-thorn humor – even the title seeps self-deprecating whimsy. Love Actually purports to be paying tribute to the idea of Cupidian bliss, but its real objet d'amour is the notion of movie love, where strings swell and goo-goo eyes meet – so much so that it's stacked its deck with nothing but those cinematic moments and is minus the dramatic build that gives those scenes emotional heft. (2:12) Four Star, Oaks, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

Love Don't Cost a Thing Proof that the '80s are back comes via this remake of Can't Buy Me Love. Updated with urban flair for postmillennial teens, the film combines the talents of emerging hip-hop singer Christina Milian, Drumline star Nick Cannon, and the hilarious Steve Harvey (as the smooth-operator father of the school geek) for an enjoyable story about finding love in unexpected places. Car whiz and brainiac Alvin (Cannon) is in his last semester of his senior year and has never had a date, a kiss, or much else in the way of romance, aside from a from-afar crush on Paris (Milian), the most popular girl in school. When Paris crashes the car while her mom is out of town, Al steps in to try and help. He hatches a plan for her to pretend to be his girlfriend for two weeks, giving him access to popularity in exchange for him fixing her car. Predictably the two fall for each other during the two weeks and have to recover from some miscommunications to eventually make it work. The film is played with charm and affability and works well for a rainy day treat. (1:45) Century 20. (Emch)

*Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World Peter Weir's first film since The Truman Show bears little resemblance to any other action behemoth in recent memory. For the most part, that is a very good thing. Welding together chunks from the lengthy historical fiction series by Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World isn't so much episodic in the usual brief-pauses-between-escalating-climaxes sense as it is picaresque in, well, a 19th-century sense. Like O'Brian, Weir is more interested in the workings and the character of HMS Surprise and its crew (led by Russell Crowe's authoritatively low-key Captain Jack Aubrey) than in battles per se. Which is not to say the face-offs against "old Boney's" (Napoleon Bonaparte's) frigates aren't highly visceral, nor are the surgeries performed by resident doctor-naturalist Stephen Maturin (Paul Bettany) lacking in gruesome impact. But the movie bears Weir's trademark spectral qualities: the images are spectacular yet fallible, obscured by darkness and the elements; an offhand, lyric humanism makes this probably the least macho film of its type ever made. (2:08) Oaks. (Harvey)

Mona Lisa Smile Art history instructor Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) arrives at all-women's college Wellesley in 1953 and immediately assumes the unconventional-stranger-comes-to-town role. Since we're also deep inside the genre of teachers-who-inspire-us, a few slides of Soutine and Picasso are enough to slap the smirks off the faces of her students, including cool, studious Julia Stiles and Maggie Gyllenhaal's potentially tragic sexual adventurer. Mona Lisa Smile is clearly trying hard to get its message out, and there's nothing wrong with the movie's main directives: for girls to close their textbooks, consider all options, use birth control, defy their parents as necessary, and generally start thinking for themselves. But the latter might sound more convincing if Smile didn't tread so firmly in the tracks of other movies – in particular, 1989's Dead Poets Society – that you can see most of the steps in advance. (1:59) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Kabuki, Shattuck. (Lynn Rapoport)

*Monster As de-glamming makeovers go, Charlize Theron's dumpification in this dramatization of the late Aileen Wuornos's 1989-90 serial killing spree sure kicks the bejesus out of Nicole Kidman's Oscar-winning nose cap last year. You can believe it when characters here identify her as indigent and/or crazy by just a glance. Without going into much tortured-childhood backgrounding (a few discreet, disturbing flashbacks under the opening credits suffice), this first feature by writer-director Patty Jenkins effectively conveys the accumulated psychological and physical damage that perhaps inevitably turned Wuornos into a menace. The film charts a span when her life got both better and a whole lot worse: A committed if awkward relationship with a younger woman (Christina Ricci, just so-so) gets her off the streets, determined to improve her circumstances. Without means, education, or any (legal) work experience, however, that goal proves near impossible. And once she crosses a line – killing a brutal roadside-pickup prostitution client in self-defense – financial desperation, suppressed rage, and a faint grip on reality push her to cross it again and again. While the murders are handled bluntly enough, Monster is more depressing than scary or lurid. Its principal aim is as a cautionary character study: used or abandoned by family, institutional help and society in general, Wuornos embodied how extreme human need can warp into "monstrous" toxicity. A worthy movie, driven by a very strong lead performance. (1:51) California, Embarcadero. (Harvey)

Mystic River After a poorly executed prologue – and before the plot goes to hell in the last reel – this adaptation of Dennis Lehane's novel plays ideally to Clint Eastwood's strengths as a levelheaded, respectful director of both talented actors and meat-and-potatoes drama. A childhood incident in which 11-year-old Dave was kidnapped by pedophiles before the eyes of playmates Jimmy and Sean still hangs over their adult lives. All remained in their original rough, Boston neighborhood, though the three have maintained an awkward distance from each other ever since. That ends when the daughter of corner store owner Jimmy (Sean Penn) is murdered after a night of barhopping – a night when Dave (Tim Robbins) comes home at 3 a.m. to wife Celeste (Marcia Gay Harden) bloodied by what he claims at first is an altercation with a mugger. Guess who's the homicide detective assigned to the case? Sean (Kevin Bacon), of course, alongside his partner, Whitey (Laurence Fishburne). Underplaying the material's potentially clichéd tough-guy milieu and pulp-thriller aspects, Eastwood and scenarist Brian Helgeland orchestrate an engrossing drama. Just the kind of starry, serious, conventional project sure to be remembered at awards time, Mystic River is nonetheless seriously compromised – in my book at least – by a last act that throws away the credible resolution we've been led toward, instead springing a left-field one wildly dependent on coincidence and contrivance. (2:20) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Paycheck The top-shelf John Woo films, The Killer and A Better Tomorrow, for instance, attained greatness thorough burning passions and insane body counts. But Paycheck is a bum trip into chilly Philip K. Dick paranoia that shows little of what the former king of Hong Kong action films does best. Ben Affleck plays an electronics genius who is thrown into a high-stakes conspiracy of corporate espionage when three years of his memory are erased. A tragically underutilized Aaron Eckhart wants Affleck dead, Uma Thurman wants him to live, and aside from a few fun gags (including the bonkers transformation of Affleck into invincible kung fu pole fighter for the climax), the results are resoundingly lackluster and generic. Face/Off showed that the director's talents can still flourish in Hollywood, so long as he's got the right material to work with, but there's no escape from an underwritten script and screwy sci-fi illogic. I won't be the only reviewer to make the joke, but it's true: this is one Paycheck that Woo should have turned down. (2:00) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Macias)

Peter Pan (1:45) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda.

Pieces of April The fact that Pieces of April was a buzz film at the Sundance fest this year attests to the sorry state of American indie cinema, which has essentially become a minor-league Hollywood. A secondhand "original" soundtrack of corrosive Stephin Merritt lullabies sets the tone of Peter Hedges's digital-video comic drama. The screenplay's tired Guess Who's Coming to Dinner-meets-Daytrippers scenario traps viewers in a car with a miserable cauca-zombie family as they journey toward a Thanksgiving feast that's been thoroughly botched by black sheep April (Katie Holmes, in art-damaged attire that's very early '90s) and her (gasp!) black boyfriend, Derek Luke. Hedges's presentation of working-class urban life is even more stereotypical than a Wayans comedy, but at least the Wayans clan bring parody to the table. Pieces of April's moth-eaten liberal idea of just desserts requires that the sarcasm eventually gives way to a multicult sweetness – though not before Patricia Clarkson, as April's mother, provides a few potent glimpses of a dying woman's solitude. (1:20) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Huston)

*The Revolution Will Not Be Televised Kim Bartley and Donnacha O'Briain's documentary, touted as a look at "the world's first media coup," might as well double as a California recall-hangover cure. In April 2002 the people of Venezuela foiled a TV revolt by taking to the streets of Caracas and storming the presidential palace to return briefly ousted president Hugo Chavez to power. Bartley and O'Briain, who initially conceived Revolution as an analytical profile of Chavez, largely bypass a cogent analysis of the differences between Chavez's populist promises and his actual accomplishments. The film's strength and originality stem from its eye-of-the-storm proximity to April 2002's political unrest and the perspective it has regarding televised distortions: as the attempted coup unfolds, international news reports claim Chavez supporters have resorted to sniper-style attacks on protesters; Bartley and O'Briain land footage that exposes those claims as lies. (1:14) Opera Plaza. (Huston)

*Shattered Glass A drama starring Hayden Christensen might sound like a movie inherently doomed by a stiff, clonelike lead performance, but Christensen redeems himself playing disgraced New Republic journalist-fabulist Stephen Glass – while not the best actor here, he brings ample phony charms to the part. Screenwriter turned director Billy Ray fashions an intelligent, crisp narrative; Glass's rise and fall gradually turn into the story of Chuck Lane (Peter Sarsgaard), the man who uncovered the full scope of Glass's falsehoods. When Ray contrasts bad-boy Glass's sexual ambivalence with Lane's family man "normality," the conservative morality of the dichotomy is annoying, but Shattered Glass's screenplay nails the covert power plays lurking beneath newsroom banter, and Sarsgaard is excellent. Keep an eye out for Heavenly Creatures alum Melanie Lynskey in a bit part. (1:34) Opera Plaza. (Huston)

Something's Gotta Give An aging Casanova (Jack Nicholson) locks horns with the uptight playwright mother (Diane Keaton) of his younger girlfriend when the two are forced to share the scribe's Hampton household. Neither can stand the other, but guess who surprisingly falls for each other, go their separate ways, were meant to be together, etc.? The notion that two treasures of American acting get to make sexagenarians sexy and trade barbed ripostes seems like a dream come true. Unless, of course, the duo's dialogue seems cribbed from The View, the film is shot like a Pottery Barn catalogue, and the indiscreet smarm of the bourgeoisie is somehow supposed to pass for knowledgeable carnality ... then, well, any potential dissipates posthaste. Writer-director Nancy Meyers (What Women Want) seems convinced that cutesy charm and reel-life charisma can substitute for real wit or Mars-versus-Venus insight; the only thing that ends up "giving" is one's tolerance for saccharine (cocooned in smug self-love) trying to masquerade as romantic comedy. (2:03) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

The Station Agent Along with Pieces of April, this was part of Patricia Clarkson's one-two punch at the Sundance Film Festival; actually, Clarkson was in four films there, but the other two weren't award winners. In The Station Agent she plays a divorcée grieving her son's death, and the movie's strongest scenes involve her cold-shoulder response when people misguidedly reach out to offer comfort. Tom McCarthy's film is choreographed so that a triad of misfits – two loners (Clarkson and Peter Dinklage) and one extrovert (Bobby Cannavale) – meet up on the train tracks of small-town life, only to break apart again. Dinklage's dwarf protagonist alternately faces and escapes a patronizing world, but it's his rejection by Clarkson's character that truly stings. If all this sounds depressing, rest assured The Station Agent doesn't forget to add moments of hope and whimsy; they just aren't as interesting as its dark side. (1:28) Embarcadero, Smith Rafael. (Huston)

Stuck on You A pair of conjoined siblings ("We're not Siamese twins," one of them exclaims. "We're American!" – and that's the smart one) run a burger stand near the Massachusetts coastline. One of them (Greg Kinnear) harbors thespian dreams, so he decides to hightail it to Hollywood. His brother (Matt Damon), unsurprisingly, decides he'll go along for the ride. The latest Farrelly brothers (There's Something about Mary) opus never pretends to be anything other than a one-joke wonder, preferring to let the details – the gosh-all cluelessness of Damon, Kinnear's smarmapalooza timing, Eva Mendes's enthusiastically dizty routine, Cher-on-Cher mockery – carry the story and the humor on its dual backs. The filmmakers' usual sweet-sour combo of asinine gags and affectionate ribbing seems near absent here, however, with toothless goofs and a pacemaker's pulse substituting for their patented bite and cuddle. The result plays like an impostor's average version of Farrelly lite, leaving an aftertaste that feels less like comedy squared than like doubled trouble. (2:00) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

*Tibet: Cry of the Snow Lion Many people unfortunately think of the Free Tibet movement as little more than a cause perfect for good celebrity P.R., but if this documentary proves nothing else, it's that Tibet is in serious need of progressive international aid. Following the history of the country as an occupied territory, filmmaker Tom Peosay's look at the atrocities and injustices perpetrated on the Tibetan people – even owning a picture of their Buddhist spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, will get you arrested – has a tendency to flip between a picturesque travelogue (Martin Sheen's narration seems lifted from a Discovery Channel special at times) and a catalogue of horrors. But neither the tonal inconsistencies nor the A-list movie star readings of victim testimonies make the occupier's sins any less painful, and with talking-head footage ranging from an in-denial Chinese diplomat to the Dalai Lama himself, it's an invaluable first step toward understanding Tibet's tragedy. (1:40) Smith Rafael. (Fear)

*The Triplets of Belleville Perhaps the first major animated export from France since René Laloux's sci-fi epics Fantastic Planet (1973) and Light Years (1988), comic book artist Sylvain Chomet's feature debut is a uniquely vinegary comedy that's like a grown-up 101 Dalmatians. A champion Tour de France bicyclist is kidnapped by bad guys and taken to America for ill purposes. His abduction spurs cross-Atlantic pursuit by grandmother Mme Souza and their corpulent, waddling dog Bruno. Their principal helpers are the titular trio, 1930s music-hall stars since fallen into decrepit eccentricity. Dialogue-free Triplets is funny, inventive, and endlessly referential. The only minus is an overpoweringly dour comic tilt that may strike some viewers as a tad too dyspeptic and cranky for full enjoyment. Like Ralph Bakshi's cartoon features of yore – albeit in a much less racy vein – Triplets is dazzling at times yet so misanthropic you might leave the theater feeling a tad soiled. (1:20) Act I and II, Embarcadero, Empire. (Harvey)

*21 Grams 21 Grams is a good movie hobbled most by its certainty of greatness; its entire construction, nonstop emotional urgency, and near complete lack of humor signal as much throughout. It's better than most "prestige" efforts – certainly the concurrent Sean Penn vehicle Mystic River, which similarly orchestrates several personal tragedies into contrived sentimental-existential narrative symphonies – due to the makers having one foot in art-house cred and another in starry Hollywood uplift. Amores perros director Alejandro González Iñárritu and scenarist Guillermo Arriaga should be congratulated for making a film that was first conceived for Mexico City seem not at all awkward in the English-language U.S. milieu; what's more, there's a grittiness of tenor and texture that's brave for a commercial film. 21 Grams is so frequently so good on a scene-by-scene basis that one wishes only it hadn't gotten some very big ideas. It's bleak, inventive, and heartfelt to degrees that feel right until they don't. (2:18) Bridge, Shattuck. (Harvey)

What Alice Found So crappy-looking it appears as if transferred to 35mm from Pixelvision, this first feature by A. Dean Bell is cheap in other ways as well. It's a sort of Skeezer Madness, a crude morality fable coached in low-fi cinematic "naturalism." Not that Judith Ivey as Sandra is remotely akin to real life – her Fannie Flagg-esque caricature of a Southern "trash" vamp only needs musical fanfare to become more overtly farcical. Sandra and creepy-vague partner Bill (Bill Raymond) are R.V. sojourners who pick up Maine teenage runaway Alice (Emily Grace) when the latter is rendered carless and helpless – but did they help make her so? As she rides with them toward Florida, Sandra "makes over" Alice in teenage-tart terms, then finally draws her into the trade of truckstop prostitution. Ivey is too theatrical a performer for the film's ersatz Ken Loach docudrama ugliness. "Introduced" here, Grace is just too amateurish (especially in her quasi-Nawth Eastawn accent) to make the illusion of sympathetic brute reality seem any less phony. The ending provides a small degree of moral ambiguity that What Alice Found does not merit in the least. It's strictly in the sex-scare, road-to-criminal ruin tradition of 1930s exploitation flicks until then. (1:35) Act I and II. (Harvey)

The Young Black Stallion North Africa is the real star of this new Disney Imax film directed by Simon Wincer (Free Willy), who fills the screen with amber images of rolling sand dunes, craggy mountains, and Arabian horses. The story (a prequel to the 1979 film) follows the adventures of Neera (Biana G. Tamimi) and a young, wild stallion as they struggle through the desert and form an unshakable bond. To save her family, she comes up with a plan to enter the horse in the village race. The plot feels hokey, even for a children's movie, yet the beauty of the landscape makes up for it. Despite a few glaring oddities (such as the fact that the two lead children, supposedly raised in North Africa, are the only characters with American accents), the scenery is breathtaking, and the film's short length ensures the pace doesn't drag. (1:00) Metreon Imax. (Emch)

Rep picks

'Celebration of Chinese Cinema' Films in this mini-festival include Country Teachers (1993); Young Chairman Mao (2001); and Rickshaw Boy (1982). All films in Mandarin with English subtitles. Four Star.

One from the Heart Conceived as an "easy" commercial venture after the endless far flung-location slog, editorial agony, and huge expense of Apocalypse Now, Francis Ford Coppola's 1982 musical romance, One from the Heart, wound up something quite different: it was too idiosyncratic for general audiences, who stayed away in droves. This "little" movie ballooned to a purported budget of about $26 million – a whole lot back then – but its earnings never rose above six figures, making Heart a certified catastrophe for Zoetrope Studios. Restored by Coppola and cinematographer Vittorio Storaro for next month's DVD release, Heart provides the best possible case for reevaluation: all imaginative visual and audio elements have been buffed to a luminous sheen. Set in a Las Vegas rendered even more surreal via entirely soundstage-created sets, miniatures, and back projection, Heart follows 48 hours in the stormy relationship between Hank (Frederick Forrest) and Frannie (Teri Garr). There's also near constant soundtrack commentary via Tom Waits songs sung by Waits and Crystal Gayle (not a great choice). When after 50 minutes or so the film turns into an almost-full-blown musical, its daft energy does for a time become airborne. But Heart still has the same problem it did 22 years ago: all that surface dazzle is a lot more interesting than Hank and Frannie. (1:40) Castro, Smith Rafael. (Harvey)