Love And War 

Not to be confused with the Paris Hilton porn flick One Night in Paris (yes, let's not make that mistake), 2 Days in Paris is a romantic comedy in which both the romance and the comedy are of the sour-pucker variety. The romance is diluted by the sort of emotional outbursts, petty tirades and jealous rages that often define real-life relationships: As we watch 30-something lovers Marion (Julie Delpy) and Jack (Adam Goldberg) spend a couple of testy days in the title city, we wonder if they'll make it through the picture together, let alone remain a couple for the rest of their lives. As for the humor, it's smart and tart, not only springing from the lovers' innate insecurities but also from the xenophobic attitudes that suddenly seem to run rampant in every city in the world. It's not just the expected American contempt for all things French that we see here; we also witness vitriolic Gallic attitudes toward Yanks and Arabs.

The lovely Delpy, who's been appearing in movies since she was a child (she's 37 now), apes and even surpasses such figures as Orson Welles and Warren Beatty in her multitasking capabilities, serving as star, director, scripter, co-producer, editor, score composer and co-writer of the end credit tune. A vanity project? Hardly; more like the work of an accomplished filmmaker who knew exactly what type of movie she wanted to make. Besides, her generosity toward her co-stars is apparent throughout the film: Goldberg is allowed to match her quip for quip, while her real-life parents, actors Albert Delpy and Marie Pillet, steal scenes as her character's folks. Albert in particular is a riot: I especially love the moment when he's trying to discuss the French poet Rimbaud and believes that Jack thinks he said Rambo ("What a bunch of idiots!" he laughs condescendingly about the American mind-set).

A bit less starry-eyed than Richard Linklater's European twofer, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset (both starring Delpy opposite Ethan Hawke), 2 Days in Paris nevertheless displays a generosity of spirit, even if it's tempered with a pinch of melancholy. A problematic relationship is indeed sad, the film seems to say, but luckily, there will always be enough love to go around in this crazy world of ours.

WRITER-DIRECTOR PAUL HAGGIS will forever be lambasted in many circles because his arch drama Crash unfairly shanghaied the clearly superior Brokeback Mountain at the Oscars. But those quick to write off Haggis as a pandering huckster tend to forget that he also penned the exquisite screenplays to two Clint Eastwood triumphs, Million Dollar Baby and Letters From Iwo Jima.

It's that Paul Haggis who shows up with In the Valley of Elah, a powerful drama that employs a murder-mystery template to initially camouflage what ultimately proves to be the picture's true intent: Examine the repercussions of war on the psyches of the youngsters we ask (or order) to defend us in battle. Tommy Lee Jones, in a superlative performance, stars as Hank Deerfield, a retired officer trying to find out why his son went AWOL upon returning from a tour of duty in Iraq. It's obvious from the outset that Hank won't find his son alive, and once it's ascertained that the boy was murdered, the morose father teams up with equally glum detective Emily Sanders (Charlize Theron) to solve the case.

On its own terms, the mystery is set up and followed through in a satisfying matter, and only those expecting an elaborate Agatha Christie-style unmasking of the killer will be disappointed in this aspect of the story, which wraps up well before the actual movie does. Clearly, Haggis' main story is about the toll that the Iraq War -- and, by extension, all battles, especially those (like Iraq) created for bogus reasons -- takes not only on the soldiers sent to participate in the bloodshed but also on their families and friends. For all his surface simplicity, Hank Deerfield is a complicated and conflicted individual, a conservative patriot who would never question the military but who can sense that its ideals, along with those of the country he loves, have changed since his time of service. Even more daringly (and likely to spark debates among war vets), Haggis' film attempts to depict the manner in which the specter of war can follow a soldier back to civilization and inform every subsequent decision and action. Conveying that is a near-impossible task for any moviemaker to pull off, but Haggis should be saluted for taking it further than most.

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE, the Julie Taymor film scored to a catalogue of Beatles tunes, has yet to reach local movie houses, but in the meantime, here's Feast of Love to offer its own interpretation of one classic Fab Four tune: "All You Need Is Love."

A sprawling, messy yet occasionally affecting adaptation of Charles Baxter's novel, Feast of Love finds Oscar-winning director Robert Benton (whose last film was the grossly underrated The Human Stain) orchestrating a series of intertwined storylines that all push force the notion that the true meaning of life can be found in the arms of a loved one. Morgan Freeman once again plays his stock role, a gentle soul who's smarter than everyone else around him; here, that translates into the character of a happily married and semiretired professor who notices that love -- and, in some cases, lust, deception and betrayal -- is all around him. In what could probably be construed as first among equals in terms of the competing storylines, he befriends a coffee shop owner whose wife (Selma Blair) leaves him for another woman and who then becomes involved with a realtor (Radha Mitchell) who can't seem to break off her affair with a married man (Billy Burke).

The Mitchell-Burke relationship is given plenty of screen time on its own; ditto the puppy-love romance between two young coffeehouse employees (Alexa Davalos and Toby Hemingway). Happiness and tragedy are doled out in equal measure -- usually falling where we expect -- but a fine cast and some touching moments help make the film if not exactly a feast, then at least an edible appetizer that will keep our hunger for a great movie romance at bay a while longer.

JUST AS 1978 saw the release of two Vietnam War flicks that complemented each other in their portrayals of the skirmish -- The Deer Hunter and Coming Home -- along comes September 2007 and its entree selection of two Middle Eastern war dramas. But while The Deer Hunter and Coming Home were of comparable quality, In the Valley of Elah overshadows The Kingdom, which is basically a Rambo retread outfitted with a thin veneer of topical import.

Director Peter Berg (Friday Night Lights) appears to be an American apologist at heart, which may explain why, after a fascinating title sequence illustrating the United States' complicated ties to Saudi Arabia (and, of course, its riches), the movie quickly devolves into a standard us-against-them revenge flick. The film opens with a shocking sequence in which a base for American families in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, is destroyed by terrorists. This prompts a group of elite FBI agents to undergo a secret mission to find the culprits once the Saudi and U.S. governments both balk at creating an international incident. Collectively, the four agents -- played by Jamie Foxx, Chris Cooper, Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman -- are devoid of much in the way of personality, but that's OK: Their only purpose in this story is to kill Middle Easterners. Lots of them.

The message of this 110-minute movie is revealed in its very last line, meaning it arrives about 100 minutes too late. Because of this lack of clear intent, the picture has no choice except to work as a visual and aural assault on our senses. In that respect, it succeeds in much the same way as Jodie Foster's The Brave One, as a cathartic palate cleanser that allows us to watch bad guys plowed down without sullying our own hands. There's also a sympathetic Saudi officer (Ashraf Barhoum, very good) who, by providing the film's few moments of warmth, might diffuse arguments that Berg's movie isn't anti-terrorist but anti-Middle East -- a huge difference, for those who didn't realize.

THE TRUE WORTH of Interview, a remake of a 2003 Dutch film by the late Theo van Gogh (murdered by a Muslim extremist in 2004), rests in its appeal as an actors' showcase. Take the screenplay, highlight a couple of the more emotionally volatile passages, include them in one of those books with titles like Scenes For Two Actors, and -- voila! -- instant gratification for theater majors on college campuses across the nation.

Beyond its potential in print, however, there's very little that's memorable about Interview, which seeks to explore the strained relationship between the media and the celebrity set yet does so in a manner that's overreaching and unconvincing. Steve Buscemi (who also directed and co-wrote the adaptation with David Schechter) plays Pierre Peders, a political correspondent who's outraged that he's asked to do an interview with Katya (Sienna Miller), a B-movie actress and soap opera star known more for her off-screen exploits than her choice of roles. The pair immediately dislike each other, but as the night wears on, both begin to relax and open up to each other. Or do they?

There's a measure of truth in the hostility that erupts between the journalist, who views his subject with contempt, and the star, who's angered when she feels that the line between expected media exposure and her right to privacy gets crossed. But despite fine performances by both leads, the film works better in concept than execution, with lapses in logic and a denouement that's not too hard to sniff out (not surprisingly, the picture sides with the celebrity more than the journalist). Even at a brief 84 minutes, you'll be glad when this Interview's over.

UPCHUCK WOULD HAVE been a more accurate title for this nauseating effort -- not only does its mere existence instantly elevate the already high standing of such accomplished "raunchy comedies" as The 40-Year-Old Virgin and There's Something About Mary, it also makes them seem as refined as an Ernst Lubitsch farce from the 1930s by comparison.

Dane Cook, whose popularity continues to elude me, plays Chuck, who, as a 10-year-old, had a hex placed on him by a Goth girl, stating that whenever he sleeps with a woman, she will then marry the next man who woos her. This allows Chuck to have sex with all sorts of buxom babes (and, in a couple of cruel sequences straight out of Norbit, obese ones as well) without worrying about commitment issues. But he grows tired of such a shallow lifestyle, especially after meeting Cam (the eternally vapid Jessica Alba), a klutzy penguin specialist he's afraid he'll eventually lose to the curse.

The central premise is no more farfetched than those exhibited in such frothy comedies as 13 Going on 30 and Big, yet Good Luck Chuck forgoes quirky charm and endearing characters in order to focus on bottom-of-the-barrel gross-out gags involving sex with stuffed penguins, grapefruits and a woman with three breasts. Cook and Alba generate about as much chemistry as a mongoose paired with a rattlesnake, while Dan Fogler, as Chuck's foul-mouthed best friend, will likely endure as the movie year's most obnoxious sidekick.

After the film's advance screening, sponsors handed out eMusic cards good for 35 free song downloads, perhaps as a goodwill gesture for having to sit through such a torturous experience. In my case, it wasn't compensation enough: Considering my suffering (not to mention lost hours), nothing short of full partnership in eMusic would have sufficed.