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.

Opening

The Big Animal The only gimmick in this subtle allegory is its star, a 2,000-pound camel named Rubio. Polish director Jerzy Stuhr could've cashed in on cute anthropomorphism or save-the-kid-in-the-well heroics but chose instead to show Rubio doing what he does best: eating plants. Abandoned in a modest Polish town by a traveling circus, the camel ends up on the doorstep of a boring but complacent bank clerk, Zygmunt Sawicki (played by Stuhr). Sawicki and his wife adopt the giant creature, which quickly adds much needed spice into their routine lives and attracts the wide-eyed attention of the townspeople. Sawicki refuses to exploit his dignified pet for fame and fortune, spurning the town's suggestions to use it for farm labor or to bolster tourism. The fickle crowds begin shunning Sawicki for his apparent selfishness, later protesting that the camel leave town. Written by the late Krzysztof Kieslowski (the Three Colors trilogy), this charming fable about nonconformity evokes the bittersweet tone of a Kieslowski film while remaining light, pleasant, and gently amusing. (1:12) Castro. (Kim)

*Crimson Gold Written by Abbas Kiarostami, Jafar Panahi's intimate, mesmerizing portrait of a man driven to lash out at an injurious world follows a taciturn pizza delivery person named Hussein (real-life delivery driver Hussein Emadeddin in a compellingly understated performance) as he makes his rounds of Tehran apartments. At one apartment, a man who remembers Hussein as a "saint" from the front lines of the Iran-Iraq War has trouble recognizing the shattered figure before him without considerable prompting; at another, morality police on a stakeout detain him while they snare young couples leaving a party. When Hussein meets his future brother-in-law and fiancée to shop for an engagement ring at a high-end jeweler's shop, the proprietor politely but humiliatingly directs them elsewhere, leaving Hussein seemingly unable to go any further along the same path. Panahi's direction deftly combines a human touch with palpable anger at the ordinary viciousness of a society ridden by devastating inequalities and dogged by the mean, spiritless authority of a theocratic police state. But at the same time his camera places Hussein's life in a consummately urban frame: at once too big and too constricting for a heart unable to shield itself from its own sense of self-worth. (1:37) Act I and II, Opera Plaza. (Avila)

*Hukkle In an idyllic Hungarian village, an old man with a chronic case of hiccups sits on a bench, watching the occasional passerby. Flowers bloom. A family enjoys lunch on a summer day. Several elderly men die mysteriously and a police officer investigates. A mole finds an earthworm to eat. Supposedly, there's a plot hidden here somewhere, but it's the enchanting digressions that make director György Pálfi's film a delight to watch. Hukkle means "hiccup" in Hungarian, and appropriately, each shot presents a rhythmic hitch in a natural life process, a mundane instant excised and displayed on-screen as a kind of self-contained vignette. Thematic connections and graphic matches link these micro-stories, every detailed scene stemming from the sequence preceding it, while a loosely threaded whodunit narrative provides an eerie undercurrent. Pálfi calls his first feature a "film style game," and though some may balk at its playfully episodic nature, patient viewers will find Hukkle's sights and sounds curiously addictive. (1:15) Castro, Smith Rafael. (Kim)

*Intermission See "Acting Out." (1:46) Act I and II, Embarcadero.

Jersey Girl Kevin Smith talks the talk, then talks some more. A nonvisual style that was courageous and new with the low-budget black-and-white Clerks now parodies itself in a father-daughter tale that thinks you can build wild hilarity by having a young girl step in on her father and the video-store clerk together in the shower. Or make a funky-fresh punch line out of the changing of a baby's diaper (too much powder! = ouch) – not to mention the discomfort involved in seeing Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck together on-screen. Seriously, having a baby is less painful than watching this movie about raising one. (1:43) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Orinda, Shattuck. (Gerhard)

The Ladykillers The Coen brothers' latest goofy caper stars Tom Hanks as the leader of a gang who're stymied by a little old lady (Irma P. Hall) in their latest scheme to score big bucks. (1:56) Century 20, Empire, Grand Lake, Jack London, Orinda, Shattuck.

Ned Kelly See Movie Clock. (1:49) 1000 Van Ness.

Never Die Alone Hollywood's formula for urban artistry: sprinkle coarse film grain onto one standard-issue gangsta movie, add skewed camera angles, and blend to a syrupy consistency. Garnish with biblical imagery and serve. Despite claims made by the film's lead actor (rap artist DMX) that this isn't your typical rapper-in-a-movie movie, director Ernest Dickerson's lackluster drug lord story doesn't cover any new territory. A self-righteous heroin dealer named King David (DMX) returns home to pay off his debts and retire, only to be brutally attacked. For some reason, a writer (David Arquette) who happens to be nearby jumps into the dying man's car, drives him to the hospital, and thus becomes the sole heir to King David's fortune. The writer then discovers a set of audiotapes containing the story of King David's life and unlocks a mystery involving missing family members and plenty of violence. Cinematographer Matthew Libatique (Requiem for a Dream) gives the film a gritty, cinema verité look, but without a decent story, it's simply a well-crafted disguise. (1:30) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London. (Kim)

Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed This sequel to the 2002 hit proves the old saying that once you've hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. While still overly shrill, and packed with fart jokes, Burger King product placement, and a pointless musical cameo by American Idol's Ruben Studdard, Scooby-Doo 2 is actually more enjoyable than its revolting predecessor – a film made memorable only by Matthew Lillard's dead-on imitation of Casey Kasem's trademark Shaggy voice. Rubber-faced Lillard returns (along with Freddie Prinze Jr. as Fred, Sarah Michelle Gellar as Daphne, Linda Cardellini as Velma, and director Raja Gosnell) for this new adventure that sees Mystery Inc.'s hometown overrun with monsters from past capers (cartoon buffs will recognize Captain Cutler's Ghost, the 10,000 Volt Ghost, and other familiar faces). Cardellini (Freaks and Geeks, E.R.) is the standout cast member this time round; she's adorable as the lovelorn Velma, and one fervently hopes she's destined for greater things than (shudder) Scooby-Doo 3. (1:25) Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London. (Eddy)

Ongoing

Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London A deranged CIA agent flees to London with a secret mind-control device – so, naturally, U.S. intelligence sends a 16-year-old trainee to get it back. MGM may be milking a dry cow with yet another spy movie for youngsters, but rocket-launching flashlights, exploding Mentos, and souped-up English cabs will help this one be a hit with the preteen crowd. Hey, Spy Kids got two sequels; not giving one to Cody Banks would just be unfair. Teen star Frankie Muniz flashes his signature facial expressions (panic-stricken, utterly bewildered, etc.) and does his best as Agent Banks, who has to stop his own CIA trainer from implanting "mental-dental transmitting thingies" into the world's leaders. Obviously, a believable plot is not first on the agenda for adolescent action flicks, but there are plenty of chase scenes and crude humor (farting will always be funny) to keep the audience happy. Anthony Anderson (Kangaroo Jack) provides most of the comic relief as Cody's bumbling sidekick, although several effeminate British men say a lot of silly things as well. (1:40) Century 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Kim)

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) Galaxy. (Harvey)

*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) Shattuck. (Huston)

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen Big-city hip meets suburban drab in this syrupy teen flick, and never before has Disney's shamelessness looked so fashionable. The drama begins when Lola (Lindsay Lohan) moves from the shiny Big Apple to a lamentably uncool suburb in New Jersey, where even an up-to-the-minute wardrobe can't help her fit in at her new high school. She still manages to land the lead in the school play, but finds a formidable rival in Carla Santini (Megan Fox), the neighborhood's popular, all-purpose bitch. Lola's only hope is to meet her favorite rock star, Stu Wolff (Adam Garcia) – "the greatest poet since Shakespeare" – and pray that her classmates believe he's her buddy. Stuffed with maudlin subplots and one-liners ("May choirs of rock stars sing you to sleep"), the film's only saving grace is its moral message: you have to know someone famous to be popular. But assailing this ridiculous movie is like scolding a mercurial teen – entirely apt, but what's the point? (1:30) Century 20. (Kim)

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) Red Vic. (Harvey)

*Dawn of the Dead First things first: you can't perfect on perfection, so there's no way this remake is gonna best George Romero's classic. Still, it's pretty damn entertaining on its own, boasting a goodly amound of bloodshed and mayhem, not to mention a satisfyingly overwhelming zombie-to-human ratio. As the living dead take over Wisconsin, and presumably the world, a ragtag, oft-infighting group of survivors (chief among them Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, Mekhi Phifer, and Jake Weber) barricade themselves in a shopping mall. The 1978 original used this setting to skewer consumerism, but the new Dawn, helmed by first-timer Zack Snyder, is less interested in social commentary than in guns and gore. Which, to tell the truth, means it still pretty much rocks, with a sharply employed sense of humor and a killer soundtrack to boot. (1:40) Century Plaza, Century 20, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

*Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights It's 1958, the eve of the Cuban revolution, and teenager Katey Miller (Romola Garai) finds herself suddenly uprooted to Havana and living at the elite Hotel Oceana. Enter young Javier (Diego Luna), add some Latin rhythms Katey never learned back home, and the rest is, well, history, sort of. Those looking for a movie in which the climactic moments of the Cuban revolution aren't back-burnered in favor of true romance and dance fever should keep walking. Those looking to have the time of their lives may also be disappointed because come on, it's not the original Dirty Dancing, and it never will be (plus, the cameo awarded to Patrick Swayze is a little creepy). However, Havana Nights has plenty of hot, sweaty, dry-humping dance action, and Katey and Javier manage to demonstrate some moments of actual chemistry. (1:26) 1000 Van Ness. (Rapoport)

The Dreamers Romantic, atmospheric, nostalgic, offhandedly stunning, and extremely silly, the first minutes of The Dreamers are a not-quite-straight dose of Bernardo Bertolucci. His unmatched directorial flair for shadows that dart from the corner of the screen functions as a flirty counterpoint to the severe blocks of black in Samuel Fuller's Shock Corridor, watched by a rapt crowd at Henri Langlois's famed Cinémathèque Française. The audience includes American in Paris Matthew (Michael Pitt), who is about to meet cute twins Theo (Louis Garrel) and Isabelle (Eva Green). It's extraordinary that Bertolucci – the masterful stylist whose filmic flesh caresses famously sent Pauline Kael reeling – hasn't indulged a movie-length ménage à trois so thoroughly before. The Dreamers' turning point occurs when conservative Matthew faints after a shake-it-like-a-Polaroid-picture moment of exposure. Reawakened, he finally enters the twins' childish playland only to discover a sheltered, decaying realm he only half comprehends. The resulting psychological and political insights verge on trite. (2:01) California, Lumiere. (Huston)

*Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind A glance at the work of screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, Human Nature) might lead you to believe he's at war with reality. In his new collaboration with Nature director Michel Gondry, Kaufman gives two characters the chance to erase one another from their love-stung psyches. A morose man (Jim Carrey) is stationed in his bed with electrodes on his head, having the memory of his girlfriend (Kate Winslet) erased, when the technician (Mark Ruffalo) becomes distracted by the receptionist (Kirsten Dunst) who just stopped in to strip in front of her coworker. Oops. The patient's mind has just fallen off the map. Please call the head doctor (Tom Wilkinson), so that more chaos, complexity, frustration, and titillation ensue – while the patient, in his momentarily untrackable mind, is rediscovering the higher meaning of love, which he's now determined not to have erased. The rule with Gondry and Kaufman is that the crazier it first appears, the more believable they can make it feel. By sticking to fundamental emotional truths, these two prove you can deconstruct love while still being drawn to it. (1:48) California, Century Plaza, Century 20, Empire, Galaxy, Kabuki, Piedmont. (Gerhard)

Eurotrip It's no Road Trip, but for most of its running time this Continental knockoff from the former's producers is pretty funny. Scotty (Scott Mechlowicz) is mortified – on high school graduation day – to discover that not only is his girlfriend dumping him, but that she's also done half the class of '04 behind his back. He subsequently decides, with best friend Cooper (Jacob Pitts), to join twins Jenny (Michelle Trachtenberg) and Jamie (Travis Wester) on a summer trip to Europe, with Scotty's as-yet-unmet German Internet pen pal (Jessica Boehrs) the ultimate goal. The first stop is London, thronged with soccer hooligans (led by actual soccer "hard man" Vinnie Jones); then Paris, to prove that beating up on mimes can still be très amusing; Amsterdam, where attractions include ex-Xena Lucy Lawless as a dominatrix; and so forth, until Rome, where inspiration suddenly lapses amid tasteless but tepid Vatican gags. Still, a good three-quarters of Eurotrip is hilarious in a low-brow yet likable, non-mean-spirited way. (Even the myriad gay jokes land on the right side of silly.) Showing up briefly are Joanna Lumley, Fred Armisen, Rade Serbedzija, and Matt Damon, the latter mysteriously easy to overlook (though he's very conspicuously placed) thanks to a shaved head and a few tattoos. (1:32) 1000 Van Ness. (Harvey)

50 First Dates Adam Sandler should thank his lucky stars for Drew Barrymore. After a string of loser films (Little Nicky, Mr. Deeds, Anger Management) he's finally back on top with Barrymore by his side. The duo don't quite recapture the magic of The Wedding Singer, but thanks to Barrymore's quirky charm and endless charisma, they manage a hilarious romantic comedy, which, oddly enough, isn't a chick flick. While the ludicrous premise is a bit hard to swallow – Barrymore's character loses her memory every night – Sandler makes it work and thankfully doesn't push the gross-out humor too far. The supporting characters, played by Lord of the Rings' Sean Astin and Sandler fave Rob Schneider, steal most scenes they appear in. Sandler is at his best when matched with Barrymore and would do well to remember that. (1:36) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness. (Melissa McCartney)

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) Galaxy, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Good Bye, Lenin! A huge hit at home in Germany and throughout Europe, Wolfgang Becker's dramedy cocktail is mixed with such crowd-pleasing astuteness you might almost feel guilty – there's nothing very art house going on here past the subtitles. Resistance is futile, however: Good Bye, Lenin! is easily the most satisfying release of the year so far. Fiercely dedicated East German Christiane (Katrin Sass) collapses into a coma after she witnesses the impossible: hordes openly defying the state, marching in the streets for the right to "take walks without a wall getting in the way," as son Alex (Daniel Bruehl) puts it. When she wakes months later, history's course has drastically shifted. But since the doctor urges that her weak heart be protected from any excitement, Alex is determined to hide this news at any cost. Thus the family flat becomes a tenuously sealed bubble of prereunification life – but reality keeps finding new cracks to leak through. Good Bye, Lenin! transcends a gimmicky premise to make the central charade's construction and teardown work on several levels. The ingenious script might be accused of emotional string-pulling – that is, if its characters didn't seem so full-bodied or the cumulative effect weren't so unexpectedly poignant. (1:58) Albany, Embarcadero, Empire, Piedmont. (Harvey)

*Hidalgo Dogs may have a lock on being man's best friend in the animal world, but never underestimate the bond between a gentleman and his horse. Especially if that man is Frank Hopkins (Lord of the Rings' Viggo Mortensen), the stallion is his titular mustang steed, and the two are racing across the Bedouin desert against a mare prized by a powerful shiek (the majestic Omar Sharif). This being a Disney film, the expectation for horsey cutesyness isn't unfounded, but director Joe Johnston (The Rocketeer) and company instantly dispel any international velvetine notions by opting for a boys'-adventure-tale gallop rather than a Black Beauty pony-show trot. The former Spielberg-Lucas employee's knack for pacing and ability to highlight a small detail – the chapped lips of a rider, the movement of an old Edison Vitagraph – without fetishizing it fuels the film with both kinetic movement and subtle depth, and Mortensen's naturally range-rugged charisma gives what should have been a B movie lark a surprising amount of Saturday-matinee horsepower. (2:13) Century 20, Grand Lake, Kabuki, Oaks, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

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) Orinda. (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) Galaxy. (Koh)

Kitchen Stories Forging a path on the post-World World II road to maximum peace-front efficiency, Sweden's Home Research Institute is conducting studies in domestic habit – the better to streamline every manse into a well-oiled engine for meal production and added quality leisure time. Having already "done" the average housewife, the HRI's new focus is the single male. One group of "observers" is dispatched to rural Norway. Pen and clipboard dutifully in hand, perched owl-like atop what appears to be a giant baby's ceiling-scraping high chair, Folke (Tomas Norström) must spend hours each day recording the scullery movements of Isak (Joachim Calmeyer) in his frigid farmhouse. Gradually, the two middle-age men breach officialdom's prescribed barriers, finding they enjoy one another's company very much. No, Kitchen Stories isn't a coming-out tale. Rather, this third feature from Bent Hamer is another writ-small portrait of gently funny, well-observed, moderately eccentric humanity whose charm creeps up on you slowly but surely. (1:35) Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

*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 20, 1000 Van Ness. (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) 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Miracle Miracle dramatizes the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team's victory over the previously unbeatable USSR ice jockeys; any modest pleasures derived from the stock underdog true story come from recognizing the familiar signposts along its well-worn path – the Ditka-esque coach (Kurt Russell) whose methods are eccentric but effective, the tortuous training montages, the kids who need to prove they've got what it takes, the inspirational speeches, and finally the against-the-odds climactic game that plays like tryouts for Valhalla. Director Gavin O'Connor (Tumbleweeds) has a knack for capturing the era's Northeastern blue-collar landscape, giving the story a concrete sense of place and time. But the movie's insistence on treating the event as if it were myth ludicrously pushes the proceedings into the stratosphere, starting with the sucking-in-the-'70s credit sequence and building toward the idea that this match was the only salve for a beleaguered nation. (2:25) Kabuki. (Fear)

*Monsieur Ibrahim If you only see one cinéaste's dream of Paris in the '60s this year – well, Monsieur Ibrahim doesn't have the fake sex, but in all other respects it's a whole lot better than The Dreamers. Monsieur Ibrahim is a coming-of-age nostalgia flick no edgier than that phrase implies. But its sweetness is genuine, and the showcased performances are very, very good. His mother having died, Momo (Pierre Boulanger) is stuck playing underappreciated housekeeper to a sullen father (Gilbert Melki). But the poor, working girl-dominated environs that depress dad are catnip to Momo's flaring adolescent nostrils. By the time pop has fled in general shame and self-loathing, our young Jewish protagonist has already lost his virginity, earned points toward a respectable first girlfriend, and landed a much better substitute father figure in M. Ibrahim, aka "the Arab" (Omar Sharif), who runs the dusty corner market. Slowly expanding from chamber dramedy as their relationship gradually deepens, François Dupeyron's feature turns into a road movie as soulful as it is picturesque. I could have done without the final turn to melodramatic tragedy, but that's a minor quibble. Sharif's performance suggests he's been waiting a lifetime for this role, which awakens something beautiful behind those famously liquid eyes. (1:35) Albany, Clay. (Harvey)

*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) 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) Opera Plaza, Piedmont. (Harvey)

NASCAR 3D: The Imax Experience Spectacular car crashes and position jockeying at 200 mph outta be perfect fodder for the pie-in-face immediacy of 3-D Imax. Yet somehow this routine short feature about "America's most popular spectator sport" mysteriously fails to offer much vicarious, visceral excitement. It's also a blandly politic, corporate promo-style look at an inherently trashy sport, with no room for the colorful star drivers or fans to fly their freak flags. There are scattered behind-the-scenes points of interest, and the 3-D technology is the best (i.e., least headache-inducing) I've ever seen, even if it's not used very vividly. But as coproduced by the NASCAR organization itself, this "experience" is as stolidly patriotic, wart free, and unrevealing as an Army recruitment reel. Similarly, it is best appreciated by those who would like to join up, and/or are males between the ages of 7 and 14. (:48) Metreon IMAX. (Harvey)

*Osama Writer-director Siddiq Barmak's Osama describes the strategies and consequences of a world turned upside down, of a life continually perverted into its opposite. The first Afghan feature film since the rise and fall of the Taliban centers on a 12-year-old Afghan girl (an affecting Marina Golbahari) who lives with her mother and grandmother in Kabul during the reign of the Taliban (1996-2001). Her male relatives were lost earlier to the war with the Soviets and the subsequent civil war, and with her mother unemployed (the hospital she worked at was closed down by the Taliban), the family faces starvation. Mother and grandmother take the desperate step of cutting the girl's hair and dressing her as a boy. In a nearly constant state of fear, the girl shoulders the responsibility of finding work and bringing home food. In the facial expressions and body language of his excellent amateur cast, Barmak, who fled Kabul two weeks after the Taliban invasion, captures the physiognomy of a war-shattered people, physically and mentally exhausted yet necessarily alert. A few of Barmak's directorial choices are heavy-handed, but the film compels the viewer with its aesthetically rich lingering on the details of life, a style obviously influenced by, among other things, Iran's decidedly humanist cinema. (1:22) Opera Plaza, Shattuck. (Avila)

The Passion of the Christ Mel Gibson has attained the top it's lonely at, where one can only lie down on stinging nettles of depression and paranoia. By his account, making The Passion of the Christ was a cleansing experience – more, it pulled him back from confessed suicidal urges. The clearest (secular) way to view this movie is as an act of penance. But just as Gibson's heroes recently have become humorless champions of family values against barbarian invasion – e.g., Signs, The Patriot, Vietnam apologia We Were Soldiers – so the directorial effort Passion uses sadism to express masochism. It stages the ultimate story of "faith, hope, and love" (Gibson's words) as unending slaughter. If you thought Braveheart almost lunatic in its brutality, welcome to the ninth circle of this mortal coil's hellfire. The rare mainstream film rated R solely for violence, it's not about the higher good but rather the lower bad. Choosing to portray only Jesus's last 12 mortal hours, Gibson has über-mall-flicked the Greatest Story Ever Told: there's nothing left now but jolting climax after climax, the Savior's body here profaned as Los Angeles freeways in yet another Lethal Weapon. (2:07) California, Century Plaza, Century 20, Galaxy, Jack London, Kabuki. (Harvey)

The Reckoning A former village priest (Paul Bettany) – deflowered, disgraced, defrocked, and finally dismissed – takes up with a troupe of traveling thespians delighting towns with tales from the Old Testament. But hark, what do these players of the stage come upon but a young boy murdered; the culprit, a mute woman, sentenced to pay penance with her life! Seeds of doubt are soon sown in our young hero's mind; the same doubt also spurs the actors' leader (Willem Dafoe) to abandon biblical buffoonery and improvise a performance of her tragic story. Behind a narrative of death and the Dark Ages lies the hand of a sorcerer, one Paul McGuigan (Gangster No. 1), known for such alchemy as the rapid movement of images to mask slow-moving storytelling. Much ado of nothing is made, dramatically, in this matrimony molded like Umberto Eco's rose-naming and a future entertainment titled CSI: Renaissance Faire. 'Tis not a bad film nor a good one, but simply a middle road between; it offends little and thrills less, bidding one good morrow then leaving little trace of its treading upon one's mind. (1:40) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Fear)

Secret Window Holed up in a rural cabin, best-selling author Mort Rainey (Johnny Depp) suffers from writer's block. He also suffers from a painful split from his two-timing wife (Maria Bello). He tends to both afflictions by taking extended couch naps and limiting his diet to Doritos and Mountain Dew. This depressing existence takes an outstanding turn for the worse when a sinister stranger (John Turturro) knocks on the door, drawlin' about how Mort's gone and ripped off one of his stories. And he wants some amends made, or else. Mort freaks out – then starts crackin' up. Working from an adaptation of a Stephen King novella, writer-director David Koepp (Stir of Echoes) does what he can to keep tension running high in what's really a fairly predictable story; the main event here is Depp, who elevates the so-so material with yet another inventive, eccentric performance. (1:45) Century 20, Four Star, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Eddy)

*Spartan Protagonists do not come boiled harder than Robert Scott (Val Kilmer), a no-nonsense commando brought in to deal with a crisis: the president's daughter has gone missing and must be retrieved before the press catches the scent of scandal. This being terrain trod on by writer-director-bard of machismo David Mamet (Heist), however, Scott has to maneuver through triple-crosses and terse dialogue exchanges to unravel what may be one executively engineered con. All this would be typical political thriller hooey were it not for the filmmaker's trademark use of repetitive, contraction-less language – every line comes delivered like a verbal right angle, spoken tight as a trip wire – and his fascination with how the machinations of power can feign and parry as dangerously with words as they can with actions. The third act counteracts any earlier suspension of disbelief with some outrageous turns, but Mamet's tight rein on the material makes the cinematic cubic zirconium plot shine like one tattered tough-guy diamond. (1:58) Bridge, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Fear)

Starsky and Hutch Every superficial thing about this high-concept Cheetoh is so right that I still can't believe the result ended up so profoundly ... feh. Ben Stiller as a pissy little Starsky and Owen Wilson as swinger's-lounge-edition Hutch are well cast. There's also nothing wrong with Snoop Dogg as Huggy Bear (though his Acapulco Gold vibe pales beside original player Antonio Fargas's angel-dust one), or Vince Vaughn reprising his Old School tantrum act as a coke-kingpin villain. David Soul, Paul Michael Glaser, and blaxploitation icon Fred Williamson are on board for good luck. The Me Decade hairdos, threads, wheels, interior decors, and hideous hits (shine on, Barry Manilow!) are perfect. The throwaway gags are funny. But wait – shouldn't there be non-throwaway gags? Hilarious climaxes? Why does the script feel less like a parody of a mediocre second-season episode than the real thing, elongated and slightly camped up? Another step down from the heights of Road Trip for director and coscenarist Todd Phillips, Starsky and Hutch isn't overblown and overbearing à la Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. Instead, it's amiable and underwhelming, a clock-punchin' B flick on an A budget. One good thing this movie needed more of (and more things like): Juliette Lewis as Vaughn's deliciously dumb mistress. (1:37) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Jack London, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Harvey)

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) Orinda. (Huston)

Stupidity This snarky Canadian documentary purports to be a history and analysis of the titular quality that has perhaps influenced the course of humanity more than any other. There are some interesting educational tidbits (the origin for the dunce cap and word moron, etc.), but mostly what we've got here are rote potshots at reality TV, dumbed-down news coverage, George W., and other de-evolutionary signs o' the times. Writer-director Albert Nerenberg treats his subject less as a thesis than as a catchall into which everything from lying politicians, police violence, and interviewed people-on-the-street saying "Um" can be dumped. He decries the short-attention-span pandering of modern media culture, yet Stupidity itself is a perfect example of that approach. It's also padded out with irrelevant footage from Nerenberg's Trailervision Internet trailers for fake Hollywood movies (e.g., Rave Cops, Harry Potter, Hidden Dragon), which kinda blows the whole "documentary" conceit. A few among the 136 Trailervision titles to date will be screened before this thinly amusing, short feature. (1:10) Roxie. (Harvey)

Taking Lives Taking Lives is ultimately a vehicle for Angelina Jolie's obscenely stunning face – witness some seriously ponderous head tilts during this blah thriller by director D.J. Caruso. A serial killer assumes his victims' identities, moving from one to the next like a hermit crab, as FBI profiler Agent Scott (Jolie) explains it to Montreal police. The local boys are irked by her kooky intuitive methods – lying on crime scenes and staring intensely – and the audience will be too, since this creepiness is the character's only trait. The film opens like a gruesome and potentially intriguing Catch Me If You Can, but Caruso never delivers, and we get stuck watching a tug-of-war between cliché and nonsense. By the time Jolie is shown dining opposite photos of victims' corpses, all has gone ridiculously wrong, and even Gena Rowlands can't whip out a mediocre performance. At least the viewer gets plenty of close-ups of Jolie as she tries to sense her way through the mess. (1:40) Century Plaza, Century 20, Four Star, Jack London, Oaks, 1000 Van Ness. (Koh)

Touching the Void Mountaineering documentaries generally suffer from the fact that you aren't there, while dramatized ones are either physically unconvincing or have jaw-dropping stunts but wooden characters. Hitherto a notable nonfiction director (One Day in September), Kevin Macdonald chose to realize this adaptation of Joe Simpson's classic 1988 bum-adventure memoir as a mix of documentary and reenactment, which brings its own problems but overall works pretty well. Simpson and his hiking partner Simon Yates alternate telling the tale in talking-head style while two actors (Brendan Mackey and Nicholas Aaron) register varying degrees of panic, exhaustion, and horror high in the Alps (standing in for the Andes). Touching the Void defines the subgenre of "armchair near death-experience travel;" the story is an incredible triumph over impossible odds. But as a viewer who actually enjoys grueling, steep hikes but draws the line when falling equals death, I couldn't help thinking, "These dumb suckers were sooooooo lucky!" from the opening titles to the final credit crawl. (1:46) Lumiere, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

*The Tracker An excellent antidote to the upcoming whitewashed Australian history lesson Ned Kelly, this harsh, primal drama is based on an actual manhunt that occurred in 1922. The aboriginal tracker (David Gulpilil from Walkabout and Rabbit-Proof Fence) leads three lawmen on the flight trail of a white woman's purported murderer. The party includes the racist, by-the-book leader (Gary Sweet), who views all bush natives as "cannibals, very treacherous," and whose taste for violence verges on the psychotic; the baby-faced greenhorn of the group (Damon Gameau), soon to be badly disillusioned; and the grizzled veteran (Grant Page) who'd just as soon turn tail and pretend they'd executed justice without actually finding the fugitive. Their tracker shucks and jives, parroting wisdoms like "The only innocent black is a dead black," while in fact keeping the party strategically just far enough behind that their quarry might yet escape. When this hidden agenda is sussed out, a already grim situation gets much worse. Reminiscent of early '70s revisionist westerns, with its zoom lensing, gorgeous landscapes, and protest song-cycle soundtrack (by Graham Tardif), The Tracker balances lyricism and horror with terse, imaginative confidence. It's perhaps the best film yet from Rolf de Heer, the underrated Dutch-born director of such prior Aussie cult films as Bad Boy Bubby and Encounter at Raven's Gate. (1:38) Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

*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) Embarcadero, Shattuck. (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) Opera Plaza. (Harvey)

Twisted Is there another Philip Kaufman making movies out there? Seriously, does the Director's Guild list another filmmaker working under that name, because I'm not sure the man who's built a career on cine-erotic literary luncheons and pleasurably pulpy snacks is responsible for this ramshackle thriller. The temptation to blame some look-alike Body Snatcher pod for this genre jalopy about a homicide detective (Ashley Judd) with a penchant for rough trade, blackouts, and a sudden slew of serially murdered lovers is overwhelming, though not even a genuine auteur could have made silken purses out of the sow's ear script or convinced Judd not to fall back on a phoned-in tough cookie-victim performance. Bay Area viewers can at least pass the time between rote red herrings and tattered "twists" by picking out favorite local haunts (hey, that's Tosca! And there's Red's Java House!), but the real mystery here is how one truly genuine talent could have produced something so generically god-awful. (1:37) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness. (Fear)

Rep Picks

*'The Case for Pavel Jurácek' A neglected figure in the Czech New Wave, Pavel Jurácek was nonetheless key to that amazing cinematic era's achievements as both scenarist and director. Unlike some better-remembered talents (Milos Forman, Ivan Passer, etc.), he didn't emigrate. Instead, he stuck around after the Soviet invasion to be censored, fired, and blamed for frittering away state money on decadent art – two final decades of thwarted creativity that, alas, ended with his death just months before glasnost began its thaw. This PFA retrospective reveals a boldly imaginative yet human-scaled sensibility in projects of all types. After making an acclaimed Kafka-inspired short ("Josef Kilián: A Character Needing Support"), his first feature, 1965's Every Young Man, is a tenderly absurd comedy of Army life that's like a less cruel M*A*S*H. Two of his produced screenplays were intelligent science fiction: Jindrich Polák's 1963 Ikarie XB-1 is a tale of travel to Alpha Centauri in the 25th century, the contrast between cool, claustrophobic techno-environ and fraying human emotions anticipating both 2001 and Solaris. Jan Schmidt's 1967 The End of August in the Hotel Ozone offers a postapocalyptic wasteland whose sole survivors are nomadic hunter women – not fantasy Amazon babes but the nearly feral results of civilization's collapse. Jurácek also penned the script for famed animator Karel Zeman's medieval satire The Jester's Tale. His magnum opus as writer-director was 1970's A Case for the Young Hangman, a very free contemporary update of Gulliver's Travels that brings all Jurácek's strengths – a flair for the surreal, striking visual confidence, distrust toward authority and mob rule, artfully juggled wit and despair – into their most ambitious showcase. It was, of course, loathed by the new regime. Jurácek was very much the tortured artist (even before the Soviet crackdown), and his life is beautifully portrayed in next-generation Czech auteur Martin Sulík's hour-long The Key to Determining Dwarfs, or The Last Travel of Lemuel Gulliver, which mixes excerpts from his extensive journals, archival footage, and staged sequences (in which he's played by his surviving son) to very touching effect. PFA Theater. (Harvey)

'Kid's Classic Cinema Sunday Matinee' See 8 Days a Week. Hyena Theater.