Opening

Bear Cub For those seeking a nature documentary, look elsewhere – the "bear" of this film's title refers to the gay subculture that places ruggedness at a premium. Despite having discovered the perfect balance of dentistry by day and partying by night, bear-protagonist Pedro is thrown for a loop when his hippie sister leaves her nine-year-old son, Bernardo, in his care for two weeks. Weeks turn to months when the sister is detained on drug charges, and what started as a clumsy relationship between uncle and nephew evolves into a deep bond. Lest we think everything proceeds smoothly, though, there's an embittered grandmother waiting in the wings, desperate to claim custody of Bernardo. The problem here is one of narrative scope; the story's episodic nature would probably work better as a TV miniseries than as a feature film. As is, director Miguel Albaladejo shuffles through scores of minor characters and story lines without really tying anything together beyond Pedro and Bernardo's sentimental bond. Despite some believable performances, Bear Cub doesn't seem ready for the silver screen. (1:33) Lumiere. (Goldberg)

*Blade: Trinity See " 'Trinity' of Greatness," page 48. (1:54) Century Plaza, Century 20, Shattuck.

*Checkpoint See "Restrictive Forces," page 49. (1:20) Roxie.

Ocean's 12 The Rat Pack redux (George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts, et al) reunites for Steven Soderbergh's sequel to his 2001 heist flick. (2:10) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Orinda.

Short Cut to Nirvana: Khumb Mela Virtually unheard of in the West, the Kumbh Mela pilgrimage is quite possibly the best-attended organized gathering the world over. Millions of devotees set up camp on the shores of India's most sacred waterways every 12th year in search of spiritual restoration. One would expect this transient metropolis to yield some of the best footage this side of Woodstock, but while Shortcut to Nirvana: Kumbh Mela does house some remarkable images, the sum total feels flat. This is largely due to the film's clumsy frame; we experience the event through three young journeyers, two of whom are way-deep New Yorkers. Codirectors Maurizio Benazzo and Nick Day never really commit to these characters yet inexplicably feel the need to include various confessional cutaways à la The Real World. The result is a hazed view of the massive event that falls well short of the enlightenment professed by the documentary's subjects. (1:25) Act I and II, Lumiere. (Goldberg)

A Silent Love The mail-order bride story gets an Internet update in Federico Hidalgo's film, in which Norman (Noel Burton), a ghostly Canadian film professor with a fondness for silent films, "meets" and marries Gladys (Vanessa Bauche), a younger woman from Mexico. The extra catch is that when Gladys moves to Montreal, her mother, Fernanda (Susana Salazar), makes the trip as well. Most contemporary movies would play this potentially creepy story line for broad laughs and scathing parody – or exaggerate elements to create suspense – but Hidalgo favors a more sedate and thoughtful approach. Obvious title notwithstanding, A Silent Love's deceptively casual mood allows smart observations about exploitation and power dynamics, if not perfect romance, to bloom. The result isn't as trendy as Lost in Translation or Last Life in the Universe, but it also falls prey to fewer stereotypes. (1:40) Galaxy. (Huston)

*WMD: Weapons of Mass Deception This new doc by straight-talkin' media critic Danny Schechter (former network journalist, now blogger in chief at www.mediachannel.org) takes a timely, much-needed look at "how wars are covered – or covered up" by the mainstream media. Though the film touches on the relationship between the military and the media, starting with the Vietnam War, the focus of WMD: Weapons of Mass Deception is the ongoing Iraq war, with particular emphasis on the lead-up to the initial invasion. Topics covered include the new practice of "embedding" reporters to ensure positive coverage, the culture of war correspondents, the Pentagon's shrewd strategy to "market" the war as if rolling out a new consumer product, the networks' reluctance to include indigenous Iraqi viewpoints, or voices of dissent, in their stories (lest they seem "unpatriotic"), and how the line between the news biz and showbiz has blurred into viewer-friendly "mili-tainment." Finding a more persuasive argument for switching off the idiot box and seeking alternative news sources would be difficult. (1:38) Embarcadero, Oaks. (Eddy)

Ongoing

After the Sunset Even the most clichéd heist film can usually hold our attention with the careful planning and neat gadgetry that go into a high-profile burglary; it's a genre that's easily manipulated to disguise shoddy storytelling. That said, Brett Ratner's After the Sunset is inexplicably bad. The story begins with criminal masterminds Max (Pierce Brosnan) and Lola (Salma Hayeck) going through the motions to pinch a fabulously expensive diamond. And here we have the film's premise: what do thieves do after their last big score? Suffice it to say, it's nothing worth a 10-buck movie ticket. The script disregards the traditional build toward a climactic caper, leaving the audience to wallow in a sea of anemic acting, limp direction, and superfluous tastelessness (sexism, homophobia, racism, colonialism – you name it, After the Sunset's got it). The film becomes entirely feeble with Brosnan and Hayeck's "intimate" moments; their scenes together are about as sexy as having the flu. Do yourself a favor and wait for Ocean's Twelve. (1:33) Century 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Goldberg)

Alexander Oliver Stone's antiquity exercise is neither inspired enough to transcend (or at least revivify) Hollywood costume-epic clichés nor gaga enough to be enjoyable as an auteurist whopper with extra cheese. Instead, Alexander's three hours cover a lot of ground without ever quite transporting you anywhere. Colin Farrell plays the warrior king – son of one-eyed Macedonian wino Philip (Val Kilmer) and conniving Greek sorceress Olympias (Angelina Jolie, channeling Maria Montez) – who conquered nearly all the "known world" by age 25. He continued onward as far as India before dying at 32, his "mobile empire" soon collapsing amid the infighting of various would-be successors. Was he driven primarily by wanderlust? A bottomless thirst for battle? Ambition? Or simply the desire to stay as far from monster-mama as possible? Stone prefers to view Alexander as a sort of one-world visionary who wanted to unite all diverse cultures under his (admittedly dictatorial) rule. What's more, though there were rumors of arm-wrestling between Stone and the studio over "gay sex scenes," none are evident in the final edit, which emerges forthright enough in suggesting homosexual love-lust to make mainstream mall patrons very uncomfortable – yet at the same time, apologetic, teasing, and vaguely disapproving enough to frustrate those who'd hoped for a megabudget Persian Boy. (2:45) Century Plaza, Century 20, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Alfie "Hey, Jude, what's this remake-update all about?" you want to ask, sometime around the moment Alfie's waggish wisecracks fade. Sure, it's about Jude Law's streamlined golden-boy charm as the title character, rolled neatly into those fitted, pink tailored shirts, and testing it against the soulful obliviousness of the original, Michael Caine. Director-producer-cowriter Charles Shyer obviously identifies far too acutely with Caine's cockney cad in high-'60s hump mode, and can only go so far in contemporizing the bleak original's so-called comedy about a rake's progress toward developing a conscience – or simply some sense of consciousness. Although Shyer and cowriter Elaine Pope attempt to bring this archetypal tale from the front lines of the sexual revolution into the '00s by matching Alfie with, say, his best friend's black girlfriend, Lonette (Nia Long) – they don't, unlike a certain feckless protagonist, go all the way. The Mach 2004 Alfie should be bi, at the very least, to double his dating options – otherwise, what's all the fuss about? (1:43) 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Being Julia Above all else, Hungarian director István Szabó's backstage drama Being Julia is about its star, Annette Bening. With every emotive gasp and bubbly burst of dialogue, Benning petitions the camera for her Oscar. She stars as Julia Lambert, a brilliant English stage actress who has grown unsatisfied with matters personal and professional. Fast approaching the impasse of middle age, Julia throws herself into a reckless love affair with Tom (Shaun Evans), an American admirer many years her junior. All is well until Tom convinces Julia to accept his other, younger love interest as an understudy. The movie wholeheartedly invites the All about Eve comparison, often borrowing entire scenes from Bette Davis's tour de force. The difference between the two is that while Davis's performance feels like a very real act of resistance against a misogynistic script helmed by a man's voice-over, all of the cards fall just right for Bening: her performance is coaxed and catered to. The result is pleasant enough, but it's a distant echo of Davis's original. (1:45) Balboa, Opera Plaza, Shattuck. (Goldberg)

*Born Rich In his debut film, which screened on HBO earlier this year, Jamie Johnson (of Johnson and Johnson fame) highlights 10 peers: twentysomethings who've all been born into ridiculously rich families. Situations that would never confound the common folk – finding purpose in a life of leisure, for one – affect all of the kids differently; some are surprisingly well-adjusted (Ivanka Trump, in particular, seems rather levelheaded – who knew?). Of course, the fun of Born Rich is that most of its subjects display flashes of arrogance, ignorance, and entitlement so jaw-droppingly horrendous, it's hard to believe they'd allow Johnson to capture them on film; indeed, at least one lawsuit (later dropped) was brought about by a participant who had second thoughts. Johnson's insider access makes Born Rich particularly insightful; he's also unafraid to explore subjects normally considered taboo in his social class – including, ironically, the very practice of talking about wealth in the first place. (1:15) Roxie. (Eddy)

Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason The last we saw her, the pudgy-by-Hollywood-standards Bridget (Renée Zellweger) had finally landed the perfect man, Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), and was settling into a disgustingly happy ending. Life remains pretty perfect – Darcy's few quirks aside, including his being a bit of a snob – but Bridget still manages to bungle things, because there would be no reason for this sequel if she didn't. Beeban Kidron's good-natured comedy is, for the most part, a carbon copy of the first film – albeit with more moments of stupidity (see Bridget skydive! ski! take magic mushrooms! get locked up in a Thai jail!) and less stabs at depth (while Bridget's parents had poignantly separated in the first film, here they're planning to remarry in a lavish all-lavender ceremony). Conflict is supplied by Bridget's gift for social foibles, as well as her uneasy reunion with playa Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant). Feather-light and ready with a pop song to guide the audience's every emotion, The Edge of Reason feels terribly forced most of the time, even if Zellweger's gung-ho performance – scraggly hair and all – ultimately proves hard to resist. (1:48) Century Plaza, Century 20, Four Star, Grand Lake, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

Callas Forever Franco Zeffirelli tried and failed to film Maria Callas as Tosca, and his movie version of La traviata attempted to transform Teresa Stratas into La Divina (whom he eulogizes at length in the best of many Callas documentaries). At the beginning of Zeffirelli's latest homage, a jet touches down on the runway to the strains of ... the Clash. "Complete Control," the title of the song Zeffirelli uses, was something Callas knew plenty about, but that incongruous choice is just the first of countless daffy ingredients here. Joe Strummer and company stand in for the sound of Bad Dreams, a band managed by Larry Kelly (ever haughty Jeremy Irons, equipped with clip-on ponytail). Greeted by Joan Plowright (as an Elsa Maxwell-type reporter), Kelly arrives in Paris in 1977 with an underlying scheme to rescue Callas (Fanny Ardant) from her self-imposed grieving exile by asking her to lip-sync those pesky real-life troubles away in film versions of her greatest recordings. The ludicrous idea that she would even consider such a project is the basis for Zeffirelli's nostalgic fantasy, which presents an Onassis-as-Scarpia comparison as revelation. Stylistically, the director doesn't need to re-create the era – he seems permanently stuck there. Ardant aptly mimics Callas's calculated wide-eyed coquettishness but scarcely hints at her fury. She's been McNally-ed and Dunaway-ed to oblivion and beyond, but Callas's talent still dwarfs those who evoke or attack her legend. (1:48) Opera Plaza, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Huston)

Christmas with the Kranks Luther and Nora Krank (Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis) decide to skip Christmas for an exotic island cruise. Scroogey as the deal sounds, it's a logical choice: their only daughter, Blair (Julie Gonzalo), is off with the Peace Corps in Peru, the weather at home sucks, and they actually save a fortune by skipping gifts and pricey holiday gear. But their suburban neighbors don't like seeing an undecorated house on the block and launch a full-scale yuletide assault against the Kranks. On Christmas Eve, Blair calls and says she's coming home, leaving Luther and Nora with just a few hours to make a holiday miracle happen. The only miracle here is how this movie made it to theaters – I mean, we're talking embarrassingly bad, Jingle All the Way bad. Both Allen and Curtis are more disturbing than they are funny (e.g., 46-year-old Curtis in a Brazilian bikini), and the god-awful script boasts a heartwarming message: celebrate Christmas or get crucified by your friends and family. The Affleck ego-stroker Surviving Christmas actually resembles comedy next to this stinker. (1:34) Century Plaza, Century 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Kim)

Closer The quartet of sinners encased in Closer's dramatic bubble face many more moments of comeuppance than instances of pleasure. Mike Nichols's latest, an adaptation of Patrick Marber's play, works over the same masochistic impulses targeted by perfume commercials, and at times seems just as superficial. At best – usually when Marber's screenplay cuts through the visual adornments – it motors along like a cold, mechanized update of the director's past fearsome foursomes. In chilly London, journalist Dan (Jude Law) falls for stripper-turned-barrista Alice (Natalie Portman); one sequence and a year or two later, Dan and successful portrait photographer Anna (Julia Roberts) meet not-cute in her studio, alternately flirting with and insulting each other. If Anna didn't also have an other half, Marber's streamlined paradoxes wouldn't play out fully – and a dermatologist named Larry (Clive Owen, stagier yet livelier than the rest) wouldn't get to deliver the big line of deep truth about romantic corruption, lecturing Law's naive writer about the bloody, fistlike qualities of the human heart. (1:38) Century 20, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Huston)

Finding Neverland This latest from Monster's Ball director Marc Forster is less a biopic and more a gentle examination of creativity and inspiration – which, for struggling playwright J.M. Barrie (Johnny Depp), blooms after a chance encounter with a beautiful widow (Kate Winslet) and her four boisterous sons. Though he's already hitched to a snooty social climber (Radha Mitchell), childlike Barrie quickly forms a close bond with his new "family." Finding Neverland's magical moments come when the line between reality and fantasy blurs in Barrie's mind's eye and familiar Peter Pan-isms emerge for the first time (Captain Hook is particularly cleverly introduced). The theme of boys growing up – or never growing up, as the case may be – is also stressed, though a quick scene or two makes sure the audience knows the pure-hearted Barrie was no Wacko Jacko. Overall, the cast – including pros Julie Christie and Dustin Hoffman in supporting roles – is excellent and the cinematography dreamy. But alas, there's no happy ending for this fairy tale: Finding Neverland's last few reels crumble into manipulative mush. (1:41) California, Century 20, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

*Garden State Aspiring actor Andrew "Large" Largeman (Zach Braff) is living in Los Angeles and table-jockeying in a chic Vietnamese restaurant when the call comes that his mother has died. He reluctantly returns home for a few days of closure. Hanging out with his boyhood pal (Peter Sarsgaard) – now a full-time stoner grave digger – and a goofy young woman (Natalie Portman) he meets in a neurologist's waiting room, Large searches for the epiphany that'll ease him out of his vegetative mind-set. At first glance, Garden State may seem like just another twentysomething woe-is-me mopefest looking to ride Holden Caulfield's coattails. But thanks to writer-director-star Braff's knack for deliciously deadpan setups, the film works an alchemy of bemused charm that steamrolls over most of the story's clunks. There are a few neophyte missteps, notably in the faux-naif lines poor Portman has to pop out (still, it surely beats acting against droids) and Large's slightly stock climactic confessional with dad Ian Holm, but Braff nails the mixture of melancholia and absurdism so beautifully that it's hard not to be won over. (1:46) Opera Plaza. (David Fear)

*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) Oaks. (Melissa McCartney)

*Guerrilla: The Taking of Patty Hearst The 1974 kidnapping of heiress and UC Berkeley student Hearst by radical-fringe group the Symbionese Liberation Army kicked off a lengthy media frenzy of O.J. proportions. This competent if uninspired flashback by documentarian Robert Stone won't provide any startling revelations for those old enough to remember the original events, but the story itself retains all stranger-than-fiction fascination. The pretty much apolitical Hearst disappeared for some time as her terrified parents pleaded for her release, investigators spun wheels, and the fourth estate (camped out en masse on the Hearsts' lawn) enjoyed "reporting" every last idle rumor. At last she reemerged, startlingly, as "Tania," a revolutionary convert denouncing parents, class privilege, and fiancé in angry screeds; taking part in an armed bank robbery; etc. While other SLA members died in a fiery standoff with the LAPD, Hearst got off fairly light by pleading she'd been brainwashed by her captors. Guerrilla has been praised in some quarters as superior to last year's Weather Underground because it edges closer toward "judging" political terrorism – but then, the rather daft SLA was, unlike the W.U., almost impossible to defend even then. (In latter-day interviews its erstwhile members are mostly embarrassed about their participation.) The film's overall insight into its era's bigger picture is actually far more limited. Yet it's still a cracking good story, especially for those without much prior knowledge of it. (1:29) Act I and II, Four Star. (Harvey)

I Heart Huckabees Even before it darts through gray office mazes not far from Being John Malkovich's portal, David O. Russell's fourth film charts Charlie Kaufman territory – there's more than a hint of Adaptation to an introductory scene that places audiences squarely within the self-critical mind of disgruntled eco-activist Albert Markovski (Jason Schwartzman). A plot synopsis of I Heart Huckabees is a mug's game: ultimately, Schwartzman's character is the Matt Gonzalez, and Jude Law's white-collared climber is the Gavin Newsom, of this meta-story, which races through philosophy at a Preston Sturges pace and engineers more than one too-polite head-on collision at the intersection of politics and economics. The fact that Schwartzman's character looks an awful lot like Russell would seem to hint at where the director's sympathies lie, yet the stargazing Law – along with Mark Wahlberg and Naomi Watts – excels in this antic terrain. (Old pro Lily Tomlin fares best, though she isn't on-screen enough.) Russell went into this picture batting three-for-three, but I Heart Huckabees, while fitfully funny, isn't quite a splendiferous charm. (1:45) California, Four Star, Galaxy. (Huston)

*The Incredibles In a movie market glutted with films that attempt to reach across demographics by playing to the lowest common denominator, Pixar productions are a welcome rarity. Films like Toy Story, A Bug's Life, and Finding Nemo have established the company as a reliable source of well-crafted entertainment: the real deal in "fun for the whole family." Its newest computer-animated wonder is The Incredibles. While there's no shortage of recent superhero movies, writer-director Brad Bird (The Iron Giant) offers a clever turn in playing the "it's hard being a superhero" plotline off a Leave It to Beaver-type nuclear family. The Incredibles delivers the wit, visual splendor, colorful cast, and enthralling action sequences we've come to expect from Pixar but never quite coalesces the way its predecessors did. This is largely a matter of story; the narrative lacks the cohesion and resonance that made Finding Nemo so unique. Still, The Incredibles is consistently imaginative, and as such, it's an exemplary blockbuster. (1:55) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda. (Goldberg)

Inheritance The Dogma sensibility saunters onward to capture more crash-and-burn anguish in Von Trier disciple Per Fly's second movie, a family drama almost as bleak as Thomas Vinterberg's The Celebration. Favored son Christoffer (Ulrik Thomsen) finds himself drawn back into the tangled big-money business affairs of his blood relatives after his father, a steel tycoon, commits suicide. Christoffer's attempts to save the company may be successful, but they also destroy his marriage and gradually transform him into a corrupt, brutish automaton – all the while, his stern mother (Dutch theater and film veteran Ghita Nørby, very Dench-like) looks on approvingly. The undercurrents here range from Shakespeare to soap opera to melodrama, and there are traces of Dancer in the Dark in the color schemes of the factory scenes. But Fly – who has positioned Inheritance as the second in a trilogy of films, each studying a particular stratum of class-bound society – consistently maintains an air of somber realism. There's no question that he remains dedicated to his protagonist's story – whether audiences will share that allegiance is another matter. (1:47) Roxie. (Huston)

Kinsey This is your Beautiful Mind on sex. Boy, talk about wasted potential, when one begins fantasizing about this movie in the hands of Todd Haynes, Gus Van Sant, or at least Fellini, and the possibility of a truly weird, near-psychedelic exploration of the man who woke a stodgy, straight-laced 1940s-era United States from its lightly dozing dream of Puritanism and dragged it kicking, screaming, and exquisitely scandalized – all in the name of science, of course – into a sexual revolution. Still, we do get some veiled allusions to Liam Neeson's fabled, rumored endowments (and I don't mean funding from the Rockefeller Foundation); a relatively light hand with the narrative, thanks to writer-director Bill Condon; and swell performances by all-American fresh faces like Laura Linney and, particularly, Peter Sarsgaard as a seductively feline prof assistant who seems to have stepped out of some missing cinematic link between American Graffiti and Teorema. (1:58) Albany, Embarcadero, Empire, Piedmont. (Chun)

Lightning in a Bottle Considering Daddy Microsoftbucks and Experience Music museum founder-funder Paul Allen had a hand in executive-producing Lightning in a Bottle, is it any wonder this concert film doesn't know if it's a still-feisty piece o' work or simply a museum piece? The original blues dogs, and duchesses, would've probably snickered at the dutifulness of this project. Training Day director Antoine Fuqua holds the bacchanalia and brings the respect, competently capturing this February 2003 "Salute to the Blues" benefit concert at Radio City Music Hall, and though Lightning feels too self-conscious to be entirely enjoyable – you'll be too afraid of knocking something over to even tap your toe – it makes an effort to contextualize the music in African American history by matching contemporary interpreters with "standards"; draws a connection between the source and R&B, rock, and hip-hop; and gives blues divas their due. Still, the film may be worth it alone for its footage of Odetta and Ruth Brown bossing their backing band of heavy hitters like Levon Helm and Dr. John (someone, quick, give Brown her own documentary or reality TV show). Just try not to let cringey impressions of Howlin' Wolf and Billie Holiday by David Johansen and India.Arie, respectively, get in the way of drinking in performances by Brown, James Blood Ullmer, Buddy Guy, and Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, among others. (1:43) Smith Rafael. (Chun)

*The Machinist After a respectable but unexciting start as yet another Amerindie director of "quirky" comedies (The Darien Gap, Next Stop Wonderland, Happy Accidents), Brad Anderson got a lot more interesting with the 2001 quasi-supernatural thriller Session 9, which too few people saw. The accomplished Machinist throws several more curveballs in the same direction, transcending rote comparisons to Memento and other gimmicky memory puzzles by conjuring up a bleak, tense, grotesquely funny, even poignant atmosphere equally indebted to Kafka, Dostoyevsky, and Hitchcock. Christian Bale – an actor whose health-hazardous devotion to physical role requirements worries me rather more than Renée Zellweger's –shrinks down to nada as cadaverous machine-shop worker Trevor Reznik. Trevor hasn't slept and has barely eaten in a year; he begins to encounter a menacing fellow employee no one else sees, then is involved in a serious on-the-job accident. It's that old chestnut: is he losing his mind, or is there some, uh, vast conspiracy going on here? Sympathetic shoulders and/or further cause for paranoia are offered by Jennifer Jason Leigh as a very nice prostitute and Aitana Sanchez-Gijon as a ditto waitress. In certain respects it's pretty clear where all this is headed early on, but – thanks in large part to Bale's harrowing yet gentle turn – the payoff packs real emotional punch. Color palette bled to silver-gray, potentially mannered grimness leavened by the slyly retro tenor (complete with theremin!) of Roque Banos's Herrmann-like orchestral score, The Machinist is an exercise in style that has some actual substance stowed up its sleeve. (1:42) Empire, Lumiere, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Maria Full of Grace Seventeen-year-old Maria (Catalina Sandino Moreno) thinks she could do better than her boring boyfriend, boring job de-thorning roses at a flower factory, and boring home life as meal ticket for a demanding mother, whiny sister, and the latter's wailing baby. The trouble is, Maria lives in a nowhere town outside Bogota, Colombia, where options are few. Restlessness, anger, and willpower alone aren't enough to reroute Maria's dead-end life trajectory, especially after she discovers she's unhappily pregnant. So she seizes on one extremely risky road to material success: working as an international drug mule, smuggling heroin into the United States via umpteen ingested jumbo capsules that are horse tranquilizer-size and fulla horse, period. A hefty financial reward awaits if she and several other nervous young women survive the gauntlet of suspicious customs officials, possible capsule leakage (which would be fatal), nausea, cramps, and any unforeseen additional disasters. Writer-director Joshua Marston's drama may lack the emotionally grueling force of some prior, more floridly cautionary works on this subject (most famously Midnight Express), but its documentary-style directness still offers a powerful microcosm of one woman's attempt to share in the "free trade" bounty that pretty much flows just one way – out – from disadvantaged countries. (1:53) Balboa. (Harvey)

*The Motorcycle Diaries Walter Salles's The Motorcycle Diaries feels very much like a throwback to early-'70s road movies, but with an important improvement: its road-tripping protagonists get enlightened upward, gaining strength, purpose, and profundity from confronting injustice. The Motorcycle Diaries cannily exploits Che Guevara as icon by finding a quite legitimate context in which to ignore all the problematic aspects of his later life: early 1952 sees a 23-year-old Ernesto Guevara de la Serna (Gael García Bernal) dropping out of med school one semester short of graduation to travel the South American continent with 29-year-old Alberto Granada (Rodrigo de la Serna – no relation to the above) on a 1939 Norton 500 hog dubbed "the Mighty One." Their ultimate destination is a leper colony where both volunteer; the resulting route charts a learning curve. The Motorcycle Diaries has plenty of dents, but they're fairly minor quibbles given the film's appealing assurance, which remains faithful to the pleasures, pains, and insights the protagonists derive from their journey. (2:08) Albany, Clay, Empire, Piedmont. (Harvey)

*Napoleon Dynamite In this first feature by director and co-scenarist (with wife Jerusha) Jared Hess, Napoleon (Jon Heder) is the geekiest high schooler in Idaho, if not the western hemisphere. He lives with Grandma (Sandy Martin), sexually ambiguous bro Kip (Aaron Ruell), and vainglorious Uncle Rio (Jon Gries). The latter comes to live with the "boys" when Gram suffers a dune-buggy accident. Napoleon's only friend is new kid Pedro (Efren Ramirez), who seems to be on major laxatives. Pedro enters the student body president election, running against the most corn-fed popular blond (Haylie Duff) in a cheerleader suit. Can he triumph over her odds? Can Napoleon get with girl-of-his-dreams Trisha (Emily Kennard), girl-who-maybe-even-likes-him Deb (Tina Majorino), or indeed any girl actually born a girl? (Actually, boy-born girls would likely decline him too.) Can he get horrible Uncle Rio the hell out of the house? Can he survive the climactic school talent competition without complete humiliation? This often excruciatingly funny exercise is like Wes Anderson (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums) meeting the Harmony Korine of Gummo (not his other crap). In other words, it's deadpan-surreal teen-flick absurdism absolutely loaded with possibly empty but hella filling entertainment carbs. Scarf it up, puppies! (1:26) Galaxy. (Harvey)

National Treasure Whether National Treasure turns out to be a hit or a dud, the alleged high-concept hybrid here – sorta Uncle Sam goes Indiana Jones – is sure to prove a blueprint for mediocrities yet unpitched. It's like The Da Vinci Code for dummies. Nicolas Cage's character, Benjamin Franklin Gates (really), is convinced the founding fathers did something really important: they hid lots of expensive stuff. As in gold and priceless art looted – oops – preserved from civilizations lost over the course of four millennia. The government scoffs when Gates warns it that ruthless former partner Ian Howe (Sean Bean; a Brit, natch) is going to steal the Declaration of Independence to access the secret map in invisible ink on its back. Aided by Comedy-Relief Sidekick (Justin Bartha) and the Girl (Diane Kruger, the face that launched a thousand shrugs in Troy), Gates must thus steal the document first, before those bad guys do. American History 101 errata, as well as conspiracy nuggets involving those trendy Masons and Knights Templar, are sprinkled amid routine chases that invariably take place in and around national monuments. Somehow all this scrambling for historic bling is painted in flag-waving good citizenship terms. But more concrete values are detectable in the sweet new wheels and tony new digs the good guys flaunt at the fade. (2:05) Century Plaza, Century 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Overnight In early 1997, aspiring filmmaker-rock star-Hollywood playa-dictator Troy Duffy landed a film deal so alarmingly generous that one TV reporter giddily compared the 25-year-old bartender to Lana Turner, conservator of the silver screen's most storied "discovery" legend. Hovering in the background were plenty of characters eager to hitch their wagons to Duffy's rising star, among them his rock band's comanagers, Mark Brian Smith and Tony Montana. The pair decided Duffy's astonishing tale would be worth immortalizing in documentary form. The end result, Overnight, is nothing less than a case study of the psychological effects of fame, not to mention a painfully detailed tutorial on the perils of showbiz. As it turns out, Duffy's too-good-to-be-true coup went bust about, oh, six weeks after it was announced. But don't feel too sorry for Quentin Tarantino's would-be heir apparent. As Smith and Montana's ever present camera ably captures, Hollywood may be fickle, but there's no mistaking a huge contributing factor to Duffy's downfall: a more arrogant blowhard has rarely been captured in such full flower. (1:22) Act I and II. (Eddy)

The Polar Express Cleverly adapted, choreographed, and stunningly executed, Robert Zemeckis's animated feature will have critics asking: what's the point of animation, if it's emulating realism down to its subtlest nuances? The latest benchmark in motion-capture technology, "performance capture," is put to work here, recording actors' body movements with unprecedented 3-D detail. Befitting the magic of the story, the system's gorgeous product is a visual step above real life more than an attempt to simulate it. Tom Hanks stars as a young boy who's having doubts about Santa's existence. On Christmas Eve, he boards an enchanted train with a surly and slightly fascist conductor (also played by Hanks) headed for the North Pole. With any luck, the train will make it before midnight and allow the boy to meet Santa, along with about a million funny-looking elves (look for Steven Tyler). Though it boasts remarkably cinematic angles, tracking shots, and a fantastic POV sequence involving a lost ticket, The Polar Express does have trouble capturing key facial expressions. But it'll keep the wool over youngsters' eyes for another year of mall Santas and wish lists. (1:33) Century Plaza, Century 20, Grand Lake, Kabuki, Oaks, 1000 Van Ness, Orinda. (Kim)

Ray I'd love to say Ray does justice to the genius of Ray Charles and that Jamie Foxx's performance is, say, a greater contribution to pop culture than his hilarious if Pryor-derived stand-up routines. But Foxx's enshrinement as an A-lister, and all the critical respect that comes with it, stems from the "seriousness" of what he does here, and little else. His performance is impressive as a collection of mannerisms, but it doesn't dig into or expose an artist's soul – you'd be better off renting the Foxx concert performance I Need Security, or better yet, listening to Charles's records and reading David Ritz's biography. Ray's best moments aim to convey the hair-raising electricity of "Drown in My Own Tears" and other breakthroughs, and this movie – unlike, say, What's Love Got to Do With It? – is at least interested in conveying the experiences, inspirations, and stories behind its music. But director Taylor Hackford's predictable reliance on color-saturated childhood flashbacks leaves a bored mind to dream about what a director like Charles Burnett might have done with this subject matter, this budget, and this type of bottom-line studio support. Of course, that's another story, one that proves Hollywood isn't as evolved as it would like to pretend. (2:32) Balboa, California, Century 20, Empire, Grand Lake, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness. (Huston)

Remember Me, My Love In the tasteful, upper-middle-class apartment of an average-seeming (if ridiculously good-looking) Italian family, everything is quietly falling apart. After a chance encounter with his old sweetheart (Monica Bellucci), Carlo Ristuccia (Fabrizio Bentivoglio) has taken to skipping work and isolating himself from his nagging wife, Giulia (Laura Morante). A former actress, Giulia – who's suffering what could kindly be called a crisis of confidence – is suddenly offered a terrifying yet tempting chance to return to the stage. Suffering no lack of confidence is teen queen Valentina (Nicoletta Romanoff), who's so vain she falls asleep staring at her reflection; meanwhile, sad-sack Paolo (Silvio Muccino) gazes into the mirror only when he needs a self-pep talk (which is often). As various conflicts reach boiling points, a melodramatic, overly convenient tragedy brings the family together again. Despite this trite plot twist, writer-director Gabriele Muccino's study of domestic turmoil is, for the most part, well acted and engaging. (2:05) Balboa, Opera Plaza, Smith Rafael. (Eddy)

Shall We Dance? Submitted for your approval in the current Twilight Zone-populated by Hollywood remakes of crowd pleasers made in Japan: Richard Gere as the bourgie wet dream of a well-heeled, unhappy hubby, in midlife crisis mode; Stanley Tucci as a footloose Latin-dance firebrand in an ill wig; and Jennifer Lopez as the pinched, prudish, and untouchable babe of an ice queen, her Danskins cinched a few sizes too tight. Director Peter Chelsom translates this remake of the 1996 hit by Masayuki Suo into an appealing middle-aged woman's romance by staying true to the original narrative of a bored desk jockey (Gere) searching for passion (and emotional expression) in the over-the-top world of ballroom dancing – while playing up the Grey Foxy Gigolo's time-tested, Pretty Woman-forged Prince Charming qualities. The story thankfully doesn't hinge on J.Lo – despite the subtextual snipes (her last partner just wasn't right for her!) and a surprise cameo by guess who. If this version of Shall We Dance? is a tad self-consciously cute with its assortment of artificially sweetened, zany dance-studio "characters" and its equal-time take on the spurned spouse (Susan Sarandon) – she's gotta dance too! – there's also certainly wholesome charm here. Ah, the supposedly secret life of men – how can Oprah, or any straight woman, resist? (1:46) Galaxy. (Chun)

*Sideways You can count on Alexander Payne to bring the pain to his characters: his new film, Sideways, dives into that reliably self-involved, potentially lamest of periods – middle age – with Olympian skill. But this time Payne uncovers the sentiment beneath his corrosive satire, and the risk pays off. Sideways' pitch – a couple of buddies hit wine country – might seem ho-hum, but Payne's fourth go-round rivals Election as a career highlight, largely because he allows actors to breathe life into roles. The leisurely paced story, based on a just-published novel by Rex Pickett, follows depressive wine connoisseur Miles (Paul Giamatti) and second-rate actor but first-rate womanizer Jack (Thomas Haden Church) as they rove through Santa Barbara County's wineries and recovery spots. Though this odd couple think they're going on vacation, their holiday winds up teaching them a hard lesson or two, with wake-up calls coming from Maya (an excellent Virginia Madsen) and Stephanie (Sandra Oh), the pair's respective romantic interests. In interviews, Payne has been up-front about the influence of pre-Jaws '70s American cinema on his sensibility, and Sideways is a film for adults, albeit one with uproarious streaks – largely and at least once literally supplied by Church – of juvenile comedy. (2:04) Embarcadero, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Huston)

*The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie Super-absorbent hero SpongeBob (voiced by Tom Kenny) and his dim starfish pal, Patrick (Bill Fagerbakke), must embark on an epic journey after evil Plankton (Mr. Lawrence) succeeds in stealing the Krabby Patty recipe, framing Mr. Krabs (Clancy Brown) for stealing the crown of King Neptune (Jeffrey Tambor), and generally enslaving all Bikini Bottom. En route to the dread Shell City, our hapless duo must confront various near death experiences, with only dumb luck, the Goofy Goobers song, and (eventually) deus ex machina David Hasselhoff on their side. This feature version of the beloved Nickelodeon cartoon is exactly what such expansions should be: bigger, brighter, better animated, and more giddily nonsensical than ever. While the big guest-star voices (Scarlett Johansson, Alec Baldwin) don't add a whole lot, and at nearly 90 minutes, it's maybe a little overextended, The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie is still one of the year's best comedies – and no, you don't have to be under 10 to agree. (1:30) Century Plaza, Century 20, Kabuki, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Springtime in a Small Town After 10 years on the Chinese government's blacklist, director Tian Zhuangzhuang (The Horse Thief) returned in 2002 with this quietly beautiful film, actually a remake of a 1948 film by Fei Mu. Eight years into their loveless arranged marriage, and a year past the end of World War II, husband Liyan (Wu Jun) and wife Yuwen (Hu Jingfan) are living equally hollow lives. He's hampered by a mystery illness, while she spends all day drifting from chore to chore. Moodiness and boredom are suddenly assuaged when an unannounced visitor appears. As it turns out, Liyan's old pal Zhang (Xin Baiquin) was also Yuwen's first (and only, from the looks of it) love; before long, stolen moments, tense conversations, high drama, and uninhibited behavior soon begin to fill everyone's once-meaningless lives. Stacked with characters who're slowly coming out of emotional paralysis, Springtime in a Small Town lags a bit, but the performances (mostly by first-time actors) are effective and the cinematography (by Millennium Mambo's Mark Lee) admirably lush. (1:50) Four Star. (Eddy)

*Tarnation Jonathan Caouette's movie-screen memoir is the story of a mother and a son – but it's also a hell of a lot more than any one linear story. When the narrative flow is violently interrupted by passages reflecting his and his mother's detached or unhinged states of mind, the results are sometimes visionary. Ironically, all the splintered stories in Tarnation threaten to be eclipsed by the story behind it: Caouette's first feature has acquired a reputation as "the $218.32 movie," in reference to how much the initial finished cost to make. Caouette first picked up a video camera at the age of 11; thus began his obsessive devotion to filming and audio – and videotaping himself and his family. Tarnation's 20 years of raw material were assembled with the free iMovie software included with a computer Caouette received as a gift from his boyfriend's aunt. Now the autobiographical project is finally complete. Or is it? Right up until the last month before its official release, Tarnation was undergoing changes. Will these tiny changes, or Tarnation's increasingly big picture, haunt Caouette – and can any telling of a life story be definitive? (1:28) Roxie. (Huston)

*Vera Drake Bustling around drizzly, post-WWII London with a happy, doughy face and gleaming eyes, Vera (Imelda Staunton) works as a floor scrubber for the wealthy, humming to herself and calling everyone "dear." For Vera, no problem is ever so great that a nice cup of tea can't solve it; she often visits ailing neighbors and occasionally helps expectant girls by performing homespun abortions. When one of these patients almost dies, Vera is arrested and tried for her "crime." Writer-director Mike Leigh contrasts Vera's story with that of a well-heeled girl (Sally Hawkins) who goes through proper channels for her abortion and suffers from crushing, psychological shame. Leigh shapes the superb Vera Drake as a repressed working-class companion to his 2002 film All or Nothing, establishing a vivid place and time but offering little in the way of comfort or comment. Staunton's performance radiates with glazed, dewy shock as she teeters into the film's wrenching final scene. (2:05) Act I and II, Four Star, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Jeffrey M. Anderson)

What the #$*! Do We Know? What's the purpose of life? Do we experience multiple realities? What exactly is the nature of space and time? What the #$*! Do We Know? attempts to answer life's real toughies with a host of appropriately mad scientists and experts in the field. The quasi-conclusive information is then supplemented by a sequence starring Marlee Matlin, whose character overcomes a jilted marriage and anger floating from her past and is freed by deeper knowledge of what's truly important. This film has the potential to stun with animation sequences of the body's nervous system and internal organs and maybe even teach us a thing or two, but instead it resorts to dumbed-down language and downright embarrassing sequences of cells dancing, speaking, and doing things they have no business in doing. For an after-school philosophy special for junior high students, fine, but as a feature-length film, What the #$*! Do We Know falls flat on its pseudo-metaphysical face. (1:51) Galaxy. (Nickie Huang)

Who Killed Bambi? Despite the title, there's no Sex Pistols connection here – this unsettling debut film from French director Gilles Marchand, co-scripter of With a Friend Like Harry, owes more to David Lynch than to The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle. After a dizzy spell knocks her off her feet, student nurse Isabelle (Sophie Quinton, appropriately doe-eyed) is dubbed "Bambi" by Dr. Philipp (Harry's Laurent Lucas, très creepy), a handsome surgeon who has a puzzling habit of prowling the hospital corridors late at night. Though her cousin, fellow nurse Véronique (Catherine Jacob), won't hear of it, Isabelle realizes Dr. Philipp is doling out bad medicine to his patients after hours. Adding to Isabelle's peril: an inner-ear disorder that keeps her wobbly and fragile, and eventually – and most disturbingly – in need of an operation that'll put her under Dr. Philipp's knife. Slow-building dread, terrifying medical mishaps (patients waking up during surgery – yikes!), gross violations of the Hippocratic oath, and surgically precise art direction more than make up for Who Killed Bambi's anticlimactic finish. (2:06) Castro, Roxie. (Eddy)

Rep picks

*'The Films of 1939' See Movie Clock. Bridge.

*'New Films from Guy Maddin and the Brothers Quay' See Critic's Choice. Red Vic.