ABOUT A BOY John Wayne often played cowboys, while Clint Eastwood frequently portrays detectives. So when Hugh Grant once again turns on his ample "aw, shucks" neon charms to play a suave, occasionally self-effacing bachelor whose rakish demeanor and liquid mercury eyes (they practically blink, "Please rest this adorable head in your lap") are instant turn-ons to the women surrounding him, there's no reason to jeer. When given the (rare) chance, the man has shown he can do other things, but who can blame him for returning to the field that suits him best? Especially when he's able to offer slight variations on a theme, thereby keeping his characterizations fresh and funny? That's certainly the case with this thoroughly entertaining comedy that uses Grant's own twist of acidity to prevent itself from succumbing to its own bathos. Grant's character, Will Freeman, is the ultimate in Slacker Chic: a hip, 38-year-old Londoner whose inheritance insures he'll never have to hold a job a day in his life. In other words, Will is no work and all play -- this includes spending lots of time wooing and then dumping women. But his ill-advised plan of targeting single mothers because they're more vulnerable takes an unexpected twist when it leads to his acquaintance of Marcus (Nicholas Hoult), a 12-year-old boy with no friends, a lousy wardrobe and a suicidal hippie mom (Toni Collette). Will and Marcus predictably teach each other some valuable life lessons, but what isn't so predictable is the unassuming manner in which the movie goes about its business, with plenty of charm and sincerity.
BAD COMPANY Taking an explosive comic actor like Chris Rock and corralling his talents by sticking him in a dull action film would be like buying a ridiculously expensive sports car and solely using it to drive to the grocery store down the block. Yet that's the story that unfolds with this blob of studio-generated claptrap that's so generic, nobody could even bother to come up with a more original title (there have been approximately a dozen movies over the years with this same moniker). Anthony Hopkins, whose appearances in subpar films are so frequent that one suspects he's planning to purchase a small nation with his blood money, plays veteran CIA agent Gaylord Oakes, whose partner (Chris Rock) gets killed while they're both on a mission involving the appropriation of (what else?) a nuclear weapon. Needing a stand-in or the whole caper goes bust, Oakes recruits his late partner's twin brother, a street-smart small-timer (also Rock), to pose as his slain sibling. What could have been a savvy mix of laughs and thrills (think Beverly Hills Cop) is instead transformed by director Joel Schumacher and a quartet of writers into a strained comedy that quickly jettisons all opportunities for Rock to make his mark by serving up the usual chaotic nonsense. Needlessly overlong at 112 minutes (there are at least two points where you think the movie's wrapping up, but nooo), this is also the sort of sloppy cinema in which a character gets shot point-blank in the back yet reappears a few scenes later with only his arm in a sling. 1/2
ENIGMA Although equally responsible for the repellent Enough, director Michael Apted puts his considerable talents to better use with Enigma, a wartime thriller centered around the complex code the Germans used during World War II and the British masterminds who tried cracking it. Dougray Scott stars as Tom Jericho, a codebreaker who, after suffering a mental breakdown (coincidentally, he looks like Russell Crowe playing a similarly disturbed genius in A Beautiful Mind), returns to help decipher the latest garbled transmissions while simultaneously searching for the woman (Saffron Burrows) who broke his heart and, not incidentally, also might have been a traitor working for the Nazis. Jericho is aided in his investigation by the woman's roommate (Kate Winslet), but his every move is tracked by a government agent (Jeremy Northam) who may always be one step ahead, or behind, him (Jericho can't tell for sure). U-571 also employed an Enigma machine in its plot (and, of course, the Americans got credit for its capture in that film, though history dictates otherwise), but that silly sub drama doesn't compare to this picture (produced, incidentally, by Mick Jagger and Lorne Michaels), which unfolds just as a smart thriller should. All of the performances are excellent, though Northam stands out as the faux-friendly agent: It's the type of role generally played with a touch of romanticism (think Claude Rains in Casablanca), but Northam shrewdly never suggests that there's any trace of a soft heart at the center of this tough character.
ENOUGH A sleazy exploitation flick disguised as a serious message movie about a nutcase who beats his wife, this ultimately has as much to do with spousal abuse as The Wizard of Oz does with agriculture in Kansas. Jennifer Lopez plays a savvy waitress who ends up meeting and marrying the "perfect man" (Billy Campbell). But in about the time it takes to clip one half of one fingernail, Hubby turns into a complete monster, an ogre who has affairs with seemingly every woman on the continent, beats his wife to a bloody pulp and even gets rough with their helpless daughter (Tessa Allen, cast not so much for her acting ability as for the fact that she draws a collective "aww" from the audience every time the camera zooms in on her tear-streaked little face). The fact that he excuses his beastly behavior by declaring that he's simply doing what a man's gotta do is offensive enough, but don't think this wanna-be feminist empowerment fantasy goes easy on the women, either: Thousands of wives in this country feel trapped in abusive marriages because they don't have the funds to escape or fight back, but hey, that's no problem in this movie, not when Lopez manages to track down her estranged father (Fred Ward), a boisterous lout who's so rich he can personally bankroll his long-lost daughter's entire revenge plot. It would take too much space and effort to list the countless plot holes littering the movie, but rest assured there are enough of them to draw comparisons to the Grand Canyon.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST Time for an English quiz: Oscar Wilde's immortal play may deserve its lofty reputation, but because it's so stridently stagebound in origin, writer-director Oliver Parker (An Ideal Husband) has elected to open up the piece by doing everything except a) chop a radical amount of Wilde's wonderful dialogue; b) have Lady Bracknell (Judi Dench) and Miss Prism (Anna Massey) involved in a chase straight out of a cheesy Carry On comedy; c) add a scene in which Gwendolen (Frances O'Connor) gets the name "Ernest" tattooed on her buttocks; d) include a sequence in which the Green Goblin crashes British high society. If you answered d), you'd be correct, but considering Parker's other modifications, would the existence of such a sequence really seem that radical? Yet because the play's the thing, it's impossible to completely screw up this tale of mistaken identity -- as a result, the movie offers some pleasures through Wilde's way with words and the skills of the actors mouthing them. As Algernon Moncrieff and Jack Worthing, the two men who both adopt the moniker of Ernest in an attempt to woo their ladies (Reese Witherspoon and O'Connor), Rupert Everett and Colin Firth make ideal leads, while Dench offers her usual poison-pen delivery as the no-nonsense Lady Bracknell. Parker's direction and script are needlessly fussy, but thanks to his source material, he's like an artist working with a net, unable to do complete harm to himself or to others. 1/2
INSOMNIA With its bleak atmosphere, internally driven performances and unsettling ending, the 1997 Norwegian character study Insomnia seemed like just the type of movie whose pedigree would be tainted by a needless American remake. Instead, the new Insomnia is a surprisingly faithful remake of its chilly predecessor, and when it does elect to head off in its own direction, it employs changes that fit it well -- that still work within the context of the storyline -- rather than ones that were imposed for the sake of commercial sensibilities. And while nothing in this production quite matches the ferocious intensity provided by Stellen Skarsgard's excellent performance in the first picture, it compensates by featuring two often ill-used Hollywood stars -- Al Pacino and Robin Williams -- doing some of their best work in years. Pacino drops the ham to play Will Dormer, an exhausted LA detective who journeys to Alaska to help investigate the murder of a high school student. Plagued by bad luck that doggedly clings to him like clothes static in a dryer and wracked by guilt over an unfortunate turn of events, Dormer begins to allow his fatigue to dictate his actions, even to the point where he enters into an unorthodox partnership of sorts with the case's primary suspect (Williams). Insomnia is directed by Christopher Nolan (the man responsible for last year's best picture, Memento), and he and scripter Hillary Seitz manage to turn it into a slow yet satisfying morality play.
MY BIG FAT GREEK WEDDING A repertory theater would have an ideal marquee match-up pairing this with the recent arthouse hit Monsoon Wedding. Yet while Greek isn't nearly as accomplished as Monsoon, it's still a gratifying romantic comedy that gently tweaks stereotypes even as its characters wallow in them. Adapted by Nia Vardalos from her own one-woman show, this centers on the plight of Toula Portokalos (Vardalos), a 30-year-old single woman who's constantly being pressured by her family, most notably the Greek-and-proud-of-it patriarch (Michael Constantine), to get married to a nice Greek boy and start producing plenty of babies. Toula finally meets the man of her dreams, but much to the dismay of everyone around her, he most decidedly isn't Greek -- not with the name Ian Miller (smoothly played by John Corbett). The usual culture clashes come to the forefront in this disarming tale that occasionally overplays the eccentricities (Dad goes around spraying Windex on everything, believing there's nothing it can't cure) but on balance remains lovably recognizable in its presentation of the strengths required -- and struggles revealed -- in the battle for family unity and cultural preservation. As Toula, the frump who blossoms into a flower, Vardalos delivers a lovely performance.
SPIDER-MAN Separate this long-awaited adaptation of the Marvel comic book from the cacophony of hype and it becomes readily apparent that this is one summer film that satisfies. Although not in the same league as the screen versions of Superman, Batman or X-Men, this one largely works because director Sam Raimi and scripter David Koepp have managed to turn their movie into a successful tightrope act between soap opera and spectacle, retaining the personal elements that made the comic book so wildly popular while also providing the requisite big-bang special effects that thankfully never overwhelm the story. The first half of the film is remarkably faithful to the origin tale, showing how nerdy teenager Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire) turns into a wall-crawling, web-swinging superhero after getting bit by a unique arachnid. The second part settles into more conventional territory, detailing Peter's burgeoning romance with Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst) and Spidey's ongoing battle with his arch-nemesis, The Green Goblin (Willem Dafoe). Dunst and Dafoe are well cast, though the film occasionally suffers from its erratic portrayal of Mary Jane as well as too much Goblin gobbledygook (not to mention, that cumbersome outfit makes him look about as frightening as Count Chocula). Still, Raimi keeps the picture hopping, and Maguire is wonderfully endearing as Peter Parker, the clumsy kid whose newfound powers enable him to take the necessary steps from youthful indiscretion toward adult responsibility.
STAR WARS EPISODE II: ATTACK OF THE CLONES The earlier films in this blockbuster franchise may have stirred memories of Flash Gordon serials and epochal Westerns, but who would have guessed that the latest entry in the saga would readily bring to mind All the President's Men? Political intrigue does indeed seem to be the order of the day in this chapter, but fans need not worry that creator George Lucas has basically churned out a C-Span feed with droids instead of drones. Attack of the Clones is many things: a rock-solid mystery yarn, an initially shaky but ultimately affecting love story, an edge-of-the-seat action flick, and, perhaps most importantly, a vast improvement over its 1999 predecessor, The Phantom Menace. With that film's Jar-Jar Binks (that computer-generated abomination who seemed to be equal parts Jerry Lewis and Stepin Fetchit) relegated to a minor role, this exciting entry can deal with the real business at hand -- detailing the demise of the Republic while simultaneously charting the development of Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi knight who would eventually embrace the Dark Side of the Force and transform into the all-powerful warlord Darth Vader. Only some wretched dialogue and a stiff performance from Natalie Portman (co-stars Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are much better) prevent this from achieving total success; otherwise, this is the perfect matinee flick, providing the requisite thrills while also deepening the arc of the entire storyline.
THE SUM OF ALL FEARS It's been eight years since Clear and Present Danger, the last film to feature Tom Clancy's character of CIA hotshot Jack Ryan, but this late-blooming entry shows that none of the luster has worn off the series; in fact, as far as spy games go, the Jack Ryan line has largely proven to be immensely more enjoyable than the recent 007 adventures with Pierce Brosnan. In the role previously essayed by Harrison Ford and Alec Baldwin, Ben Affleck takes over as a younger, more naive Jack Ryan, a CIA analyst who's ordered by the company director (Morgan Freeman) to lend his expertise to a matter in which American-Russian tensions could possibly lead to World War III. Ryan figures out that the real villains in the matter at hand belong to a third party (neo-Nazis, to be exact), yet he has his hands full trying to convince his superiors of this fact before events turn explosive. Working from a script by Paul Attanasio and Daniel Pyne, director Phil Alden Robinson has crafted an intelligent thriller that patiently lays out the necessary expository groundwork in the first half so that matters can come to an exciting head in the second part. The film could have used a little more grit and a little less slick, but overall, it's a welcome throwback to 60s era Cold War dramas that invariably starred the likes of Michael Caine or Richard Burton.
UNDERCOVER BROTHER Can you dig it? In the words of Forrest Gump, stupid is as stupid does in this highly amusing dum-dum comedy that not only takes a swipe at that Tom Hanks blockbuster but also manages to include jabs at everything from "Ebony and Ivory" to Dennis Rodman to the continual Oscar shafting of Spike Lee (director Malcolm D. Lee is Spike's cousin, so the dig is expected -- and earned). Beating the Austin Powers films at their own game, this blaxploitation spoof downplays the raunch in favor of gags that rely on the strength of their own cleverness as opposed to the extent of their outrageousness. Granted, this hit-and-miss mode results in a lot of groaners, but when you have something as doltish as Bad Company in theaters pretending to be a comedy, this film's cheeky attitude is even more appreciated. Eddie Griffin plays the title character, described as "a Soul Train reject with a Robin Hood complex." He joins up with the B.R.O.T.H.E.R.H.O.O.D. to take on The Man, the secretive white male who's always conspiring to keep African-Americans down. At first, UB is successful in his efforts to thwart the villains, but eventually he finds himself succumbing to "the black man's Kryptonite": a Caucasian beauty known as White She Devil (Denise Richards). Even at a mere 88 minutes, this slight film tempts fate, but the big laughs are tumultuous enough to barrel right over the slow patches (usually, the scenes involving Chris Kattan as a Man servant).
UNFAITHFUL For much of his career, director Adrian Lyne has clearly had sex on the brain, turning out huff'n'puff features both good (Fatal Attraction, Lolita) and bad (9-1/2 Weeks and Indecent Proposal, the latter firmly cemented as one of the very worst films of its decade). Happily, Unfaithful rests more toward the upper end of the spectrum; based on a 1969 French film by Claude Chabrol (La Femme Infidele), the movie sports a Continental demeanor that seems wholly appropriate. Diane Lane's standout performance is what elevates the first half, which could easily be dismissed as a straight-to-cable soaper: A well-to-do housewife, seemingly content with her husband (Richard Gere, doing some of his best work here), her son (Erik Per Sullivan), and her home in a quaint New York suburb, unexpectedly enters into a torrid affair with a French book dealer (Olivier Martinez). Lane's complex portrayal of a woman caught between the borders of reason and risk is simply smashing, yet eventually she's not required to carry the picture by herself, as the second half heads off in some interesting (and not always expected) directions that ultimately lead to a wonderfully ambiguous final shot. Unfaithful is the type of movie that only works for viewers willing to put some thought into it -- patrons seeking cheap thrills will probably be disappointed, but those willing to accept this as a cautionary tale about the illusion of eternal bliss will find it eerily satisfying.