By Lynn Rapoport

NOBODY'S ANGELS: The D.E.B.S. - from left, Sara Foster, Meagan
Good, Devon Aoki, and Jill Ritchie - confront another silly plot twist.

You could see the appeal. In fact you could almost see the film taking over multiplexes across the land, except for one little thing.

A crack team of leggy, nubile spies in training, the titular D.E.B.S. have been recruited via a secret test concealed inside the SAT (a logic problem I would advise you not to injure yourself trying to work out). Those who accept the challenge go on to divide their time between staking out arms traders, writing term papers for classes like "Capes and Capers: Gender Reconstruction and the Criminal Mind," and figuring out who to take to prom, pulling it all off while clad in uniforms surely designed by the girls from t.A.T.u.

Perhaps not coincidentally (some say it's in the water, but maybe it's the tiny pleated skirts and the acronyms), drama ensues when Amy (Sara Foster), the top member of the academy's top squad, finds herself happily consorting with – and flirting with, and buying bejeweled handcuffs for – the number-one enemy of the state, who is, much to Amy's initial shock and confusion ... a girl! Soon a host of federal agents are working overtime to drag Amy back to the straight and narrow and out of the arms of criminal mastermind Lucy Diamond (Jordana Brewster), who comes complete with an evil lair, an awesome car, and a hilariously un-thuggish second in command named Scud (Jimmi Simpson), who's kind of what would happen if henchmen listened to bands like Interpol and Fischerspooner. Those on the case include surly pack leader and best friend Max (Meagan Good); squadmates Janet (a ditzy, sweater set-loving goody-two-Mary Janes played by Jill Ritchie) and Dominique (Devon Aoki, sporting the faux-est of French accents, the Frenchest of blasé attitudes, and a pack-a-day habit to go along with both); and a clueless ex-boyfriend (Geoff Stults). The adults nominally in charge are a starchy, ambitious headmistress (Holland Taylor) and an amiably robotic school president (Michael Clarke Duncan).

To the credit of Amy's colleagues, they actually seem fairly mellow on the whole gay front, once they get over the shock. They're more appalled by the fact that Lucy's best known for pulling off bank heists, trying to sink Australia into the Pacific for no apparent reason, and ruthlessly killing any federal agents who make the mistake of getting in her sight line – especially if those agents are D.E.B.S., for whom she seems to have a particularly strong aversion. In other words, they're not so much homophobic as just doing their jobs. And really, anyone with the name Lucy Diamond who chooses to put NDASKY vanity plates on her convertible probably deserves to see the inside of a federal pen. On the other hand, she's hot, she knows how to show a girl a good time, and she's the only one on board with Amy's secret yearning to turn in her gun and go to art school.

Fast-paced, candy-colored, hilariously scripted, and fairly flashy for a film with a distribution deal whose budget would end up totaling out at a spartan $4 million, D.E.B.S. proved a crowd-pleaser at the Castro. Which is to say, it turned a packed house of mature(ish) filmgoers, many worn out by a long weekend of parades, parties, and pride, into a madly stomping, whistle-blowing mob who could barely hang on through the last scene of the movie before climbing out of their seats for a standing O.

But that was to be expected. After all, the Castro loves its parodic, high-fashion, lesbian spy coming-out films. And the music vid-style got-to-win-her-back montage set to Erasure's "A Little Respect" probably didn't hurt. Now, nine long months later, D.E.B.S. is about to experience the miracle of theatrical distribution, as well as a PG-13 rating – a first, Robinson claimed in an interview last week, for a film in which the gay way rules the day.

I knew it would, as we gleefully exited the Castro that night, and here's how I pictured it: teenage lesbians shooting it out, then making out on screens across the country, theaters packed with the kids who once wasted their allowance on She's All That and snuck into American Pie. There was a long list of films about homos I would have been pleased to unleash on the youth of America. But I was absolutely willing to settle for the sight of them amassing at the Metreon for a smart, charmingly silly coming-out tale costumed in the trappings (lip gloss, mean girls, prom) of your standard teen flick. While rough around certain edges and saddled with a couple plot holes you could drive a Humvee limo through without scratching the paint, D.E.B.S. seemed like a movie that could make it where The Birdcage had irritated, In and Out had humiliated, and All Over Me never stood a chance.

It was a dumb idea, born of hectic postscreening exhilaration. Back in reality-land, D.E.B.S. is opening – or "platforming," in the marketing terminology hopefully suggestive of a Garden State-style stealth takeover – at theaters in seven U.S. cities. And if the Bay Area's anything to go by, it will mainly be residing not at the multiplex but at a refined selection of Landmark-style cinemas, locales not best known for drawing the hordes of teenage moviegoers who ideally would be spreading the word of mouth via text message to their friends at the mall.

As I cast my eye down the row of queer-themed films at my local video store, Robinson's claim about the PG-13 rating seems to be true, a double-standard state of affairs that's equal parts irritating and nonsensical. But what's almost as odd – though we've all grown so used to it we assume it's normal – is how a film like D.E.B.S., while gleefully trespassing in the territory of Charlie's Angels, Josie and the Pussycats, the most memorable chunks of John Hughes's career, and The Bourne Identity ends up finding its home at the art house simply on the merits of its dyke drama, as if being gay is inherently an artistic statement. While taking hostage your standard teen-flick message about being yourself and following your dreams, D.E.B.S. refuses to take itself too seriously. While slyly inserting a subversive twist on the "wrong side of the tracks" love story, it's bubblegum to the core. It's not even in Swedish. And yet it's scheduled to shoot its big-screen wad in the company of films like The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.

Out in the wider pop-cult world, dykes have continued to, well, show signs of existing – but for some reason, it's mostly happening on nighttime soaps and teen dramas. The power Ls of Los Angeles are back for another season on Showtime, a newish character on One Tree Hill has taken baby steps toward coming out (as "gay and straight"), and a fragile, budding girl-girl romance/ratings ploy on The O.C. recently gave viewers a brief, tantalizing glimpse into the lesbian demimonde of Orange County – oh, OK, one 17-year-old bi girl's apartment. At press time the tender coupling had just suffered a grisly, hetero-normative death, but Ryan didn't actually haul off and sock his female rival in the teeth, and I choose to take that as one more sign among many, homo haters notwithstanding, that people are ready for a film like D.E.B.S.

Maybe if the skirts are short enough (and they are), they will come. And maybe, with any luck, we'll get a second chance: Robinson, currently wrapping up the Lindsay Lohan vehicle (ha!) Herbie: Fully Loaded, says she's already plotting a D.E.B.S. sequel. If all goes well, it might just wind up at a theater near you. 'D.E.B.S.' opens Fri/25 at Bay Area theaters. See Movie Clock for theaters and show times.