dir. Julie TaymorMuch has been made of the fact that Frida Kahlo's celebrated moustache makes but one appearance in this glossy film, but that's not its biggest problem. Frida is yet another artist's story that has been stripped of nuance and turned into a paean to something indiscriminately called "living," here with requisite Latin heat and groaning tables of erotically charged food. Director Julie Taymor--who loves a good spectacle--tries to balance the whole irrepressible joie de vivre thing with a scene of Kahlo's life-changing trolley accident that's tremendously painful to watch, but it never registers as much more than "motivation." The best thing in Frida, besides the surreal tableaux of Kahlo's paintings come to life, is Alfred Molina as Diego Rivera, not only because he manages to add some shade and color to a character that's not much more than a caricature, but also because he manages to hold onto his Mexican accent without breaking (not as much can be said for Ashley Judd as Tina Modotti, who delivers her sensual pronouncements in Italian via Queens via Mars). Salma Hayek plays Salma Hayek in nifty traditional clothes; stay tuned for pre-teen girls wearing dangly Mexican earrings, coming soon to a neighborhood near you. EMILY HALL

Roger Dodger

dir. Dylan KiddThe title character in Roger Dodger is everything you imagine religious Maxim readers to be--which is to say, an über-masculine asshole. Played by Campbell Scott, Roger hunts sexual opportunity like a poacher, out for the kill but uninterested in the hunt itself. And Scott, who has rarely been more interesting than a piece of bark, bites into the role with insane vigor, bringing Roger--who is little more than a well-groomed talking head--to life in a startling way. He is a villain, yes, but there's a certain honesty to him. In other words, the asshole sits prominently on his sleeve.

Directed by first-timer Dylan Kidd, Roger Dodger is all shaky handheld blundering, but Scott keeps the film afloat, paddling furiously through his lines and the marginally fleshed-out storyline. His efforts alone make the flick a worthwhile endeavor. In the opening 10 minutes, when Roger holds court, lecturing three co-workers on male/female relations, the words are polished, entertaining, but it is the tiny things--the way he laughs at a woman's joke, but subtly refrains when a man cracks wise (lest he help out the competition)--that keep you interested in him. For these 90 minutes, Scott is a force to behold. BRADLEY STEINBACHER

Comedian

dir. Christian CharlesThe reason this documentary will stand as a work of greatness for decades to come is simple: It absolutely nails the psychology of the standup comic, the most narcissistic, petty, self-obsessed, hateful, and bitter breed of entertainer known to mankind. And though Jerry Seinfeld is the film's chief subject--Comedian documents his arduous quest to write and perform a brand-new set of material for club audiences--he is not the prime exemplar of the vile strain of comic mentioned above. That honor belongs to Orny Adams, a young up-and-comer whose ruthless self-absorption and sense of entitlement make a beautiful counterpoint to Seinfeld's more craft-driven professionalism. And not surprisingly, it's Adams, despite his despicable presence, who emerges as the more fascinating subject. As Seinfeld himself says to an audience, "You don't get any bigger than me." He's out to prove to himself that he's still a comic at heart after being a TV star for the last 10 years. For Adams, every minute of every living day is another minute that he hasn't yet made it, and hence, every person he encounters is either a mark or an obstacle on the road to fame. He's such a prick, and so singularly driven, that you just know he's going to make it. SEAN NELSON

The Truth About Charlie

dir. Jonathan DemmeIt's a relief to see Jonathan Demme return to making films with a sense of humor. After the vaunted creepiness of Silence of the Lambs, the airless advocacy of Philadelphia, and the supernatural piety of Beloved, Demme has gone back to what he used to do best: madcap romantic comedies whose multicultural agendas remain where they belong: in the subtext. The Truth About Charlie harks back to Demme's best films, Something Wild and Married to the Mob, in which the director's politics informed, but did not define, the narrative. The new film is a remake of Stanley Donen's Charade, a communion-wafer-thin '60s comedy that has only stood the test of time thanks to the presence of Cary Grant and crappy old Audrey Hepburn. Grant's rakish update is Marky Mark Wahlberg, a travesty, though the part (and the story) have been updated (and improved) to keep pace with Grant's absence. Thandie Newton (also known as the Most Beautiful Woman on Earth) stands in for Hepburn as a widow who, by finding herself at the center of a web of international intrigue, discovers that her late husband was into some pretty dastardly business. The film, like its predecessor, is a smart kind of dumb; a romp with a love of movies, faces, and all things Francophile at the center. SEAN NELSON

Jackass: The Movie

dir. Jeff TremaineThis being The Stranger, a decidedly safe harbor for all things juvenile, there was little doubt that this here review of Jackass: The Movie would be a positive one. Stupid shit makes us laugh. Painful, stupid shit even more so. And it is painful, stupid shit that Jackass excels at.

With a lean running time of somewhere around 80 minutes, Jackass: The Movie is little more than an inflated episode of the once great MTV show, only free from the shocked gapings of MTV's censors. Chances are you've seen the show, which means you either liked it or didn't, so what I have to say about the flick now, whatever praise I may heap on it, really doesn't matter. You've either already seen it (since it made $20 million last weekend), or you never will. And that's fine. Jackass isn't for everybody--only teenage boys and those who understand (and appreciate the hilarity of) self-hatred seem to get it--so this review is little more than wasted space, just as many reviewers feel about the film itself. But if you want to witness it, and have yet to do so, you have my full encouragement. If nothing else, you will forever be wary of the display toilets at your nearest hardware conglomerate. BRADLEY STEINBACHER