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 through Jan 14 at the Castro Theatre, 429 Castro, S.F. For tickets (most shows $8.50) and more information call (415) 263-8760 or go to www.goethe.de/sanfrancisco. For commentary, see last week's Bay Guardian Movie Clock. All times p.m.

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

Along Came Polly Ben Stiller treads in familiar, There's Something About Mary waters with this romantic comedy, also starring Jennifer Aniston and a ferret. (1:30) California, Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London, Orinda.

*The Company See "A Dancer's Life," page 47. (1:52) Embarcadero, Empire, Shattuck.

The Statement See Movie Clock. (2:00) Lumiere.

Teacher's Pet This animated Disney film follows the adventures of a talking dog (voiced by Nathan Lane) who becomes awkwardly human, thanks to the help of a mad scientist (voiced by Kelsey Grammer). (1:07) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Shattuck.

*Tokyo Godfathers Director Satoshi Kon's previous film, 2001's awesome Millennium Actress, took audiences on a dizzying trek through 2,000 years of Japanese history. His latest work, Tokyo Godfathers, homes in on the tumultuous events of a single Christmas holiday, with equally impressive results. Three homeless friends (a young woman, a transvestite, and an aging drunk) stumble across an abandoned baby and vow to return it to its parents, wherever and whoever they may be. The premise is little more than a redo of John Ford's 3 Godfathers, but Kon takes the material in smart new directions. With extraordinary yet subtle animation, he caricatures an already surreal Japan and gives the stage over to the city's most seldom heard voices. While touchy subjects are on the agenda, Tokyo Godfathers never gets preachy or overly sweet. Instead, there's a dense amount of visual and verbal gags to keep things engaging. Humorous, emotional, and concisely executed, it's the anime film to top in 2004. (1:31) Act I and II, Lumiere. (Macias)

Torque Yet another video game-lookin' movie about the need, the need for speed; The Ring's Martin Henderson and Ice Cube are the 2 fast 2 furious biker boyz in this one. (1:21) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Shattuck.

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) Century 20, 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) Opera Plaza. (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 Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Calendar Girls (1:48) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness, Piedmont, Shattuck.

Chasing Liberty First off, I'd hoist a stein with Mandy Moore any day of the week. As unassuming First Daughter Anna, Moore is her usual cute and charismatic self: whether skinny-dipping in the Danube (don't worry – stunt ass) or hitching across Europe, her consequence-free rebellious adventure is pure teen charm. Amid the sexually free French, the raving Germans, and the amorous Viennese, Moore manages to play drunk without coming off as fake or obnoxious, which is never an easy feat. Despite spending nearly half the picture naked, she doesn't seem cheap or skanky (yes, it's a charmed life for the pop star turned actor). While I don't foresee an Oscar nod in the near future, the MTV set will have a people's choice field day with this one. Even the film's inevitable outcome can't detract from its charming stars and luscious, postcard-worthy scenery. Moore's harmless group-hug appeal and costar Matthew Goode's lickable abs make this box office candygram delightfully tasty. (2:00) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (McCartney)

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 (2:10) Opera Plaza.

*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, Four Star, Grand Lake, 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) Century 20, Galaxy, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Dirty Pretty Things (1:49) Opera Plaza.

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 (1:54) Balboa, Smith Rafael.

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)

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)

*Kill Bill: Volume One Violent? Sure. Derivative? Oh yeah. But Quentin Tarantino's latest effort is pure fun for movie maniacs who enjoy watching a beautifully choreographed fight scene (props to Yuen Wo-ping), the return of a beloved cult star (yo, Sonny Chiba!), and the charms of Uma Thurman, here as deadpan as she is deadly. To be sure, this ain't no Pulp Fiction – that patented, quotable "royale with cheese" chitchat is sorely missed, as is any semblance of a plot beyond revenge, revenge, revenge. Here's hoping Volume Two, due early next year, fills in some of Volume One's more gaping story holes; in the meantime, Tarantino fans can play spot-the-homage and cackle at naysayers who dub this gleeful, deliberate B-movie too gory for words. (1:33) Balboa. (Eddy)

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, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, 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, Orinda, Shattuck. (Chun)

Love Actually (2:12) Four Star, Oaks, 1000 Van Ness.

*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) Balboa, Oaks. (Harvey)

Mona Lisa Smile (1:59) Century Plaza, Century 20, Galaxy, Kabuki, Shattuck.

*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)

My Baby's Daddy Or, Three Men and Three Babies. A trio of South Philly guys, friends since the cradle, are pushing 30 yet still living like emancipated teenagers in an uncle's house and still fixated on goals that are pretty pipe-dreamy. Dweeb sanitation worker Lonnie (Eddie Griffin) remains cluelessly in love with lifelong crush Rolonda (Paula Jai Parker), oblivious the fact that she is pure tah-rash. Tubby G. (Anthony Anderson) has a better thing going with fellow grocery store employee Xi Xi (Bai Ling), but he's wasting his time and athletically disinclined body on professional-boxer fantasies. White bro Dominic (Michael Imperioli) works at a recording studio alongside gorgeous Nia (Joanna Bacalso). His focus, however, is on making it as a rap-act manager. The slackerish guys get an adult wake-up call when all three current flames announce pregnancy. The usual ooh-gross baby barf, pee, and poo jokes ensue as the boys gradually become men. Obviously a for-hire gig for incongruous director Cheryl Dunye (of lesbian indie Watermelon Woman and the outstanding HBO women's prison tale Stranger Inside), this rote mix of comic racial stereotypes plus knee-jerk "p.c." warm 'n' fuzziness isn't bad – just formulaic and forgettable in the extreme. John Amos, Method Man, Amy Sedaris, and ex-Kid in the Hall Scott Thompson are notable in a good supporting cast that cries for better material. (1:31) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, 1000 Van Ness. (Harvey)

Mystic River (2:20) Lumiere, Shattuck.

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 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Macias)

Peter Pan (1:45) Century 20, 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) Balboa, Opera Plaza. (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) Red Vic. (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)

*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. (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)

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

*Modern Times Whether you consider him a second-place silent comedian marinated in sentimentality or film's first bona fide Renaissance man, it's indisputable that cinema would be a substantially different medium had Charlie Chaplin never stepped in front of or behind a camera. His contribution to the art, besides the globally recognizable iconography of his supertramp alter ego, is the refinement of what writer-comedian Paul Merton dubbed "the comedy of the soul": the ability to simultaneously produce laughter and a lump in the throat. Stuck between the virtuoso sap-stick of his earlier work and the bitterness of his later films lies Modern Times, a satirical ode to the mechanical age that seems both timeless and strangely timely – substitute Pentium chips for those whirling cogs, and the film could have been made yesterday. The first half hour is arguably the filmmaker's finest moment, where the automatons of Metropolis and photographer Lewis Hines's steamfitters ply their trade in a factory apparently pumped with nitrous oxide. (1:29) Roxie. (Fear)