CHARLOTTE FILM SOCIETY Movies begin this Friday at the Manor and continue the following Friday at Movies at Birkdale. Call 414-2355 for details.

* LITTLE OTIK Every movie season needs at least one totally gonzo picture to shake up even the jaded cinephiles, and this outrageous effort from Czech writer-director Jan Svankmajer nicely fits the bill. Alice, Svankmajer's deliriously deranged Alice In Wonderland adaptation from 1988, was a nightmarish, animated oddity that stirred the uneasiness in viewers' collective souls. The live-action Little Otik isn't quite that disturbing, though any movie that manages to work in the skeletal remains of a cat after it's been devoured by a tree trunk with teeth is bound to unnerve a patron here or there. The plot centers on a married couple who are unable to have children; desperate to keep his wife from descending further into depression, the husband dresses up a tree trunk as a baby and presents it to her as an affectionate gesture. But much to his horror, his wife starts treating the wood as a real infant; this in turn allows the trunk to come to life -- unfortunately, with a monstrous appetite that won't be satisfied with a bottle or two of formula. The refreshingly coarse effects that bring Otik to life contribute to the creepiness, but what makes the picture truly special is its attention to its entertaining characters, most notably a neighbor girl who, when she's not busy shooing away the elderly pedophile who lives in the same building, is frantically playing detective in an effort to determine why the new parents won't let anyone see their child. 1/2

* THE BUSINESS OF STRANGERS Just as writer-director Neil LaBute (Nurse Betty) made a startling debut with In the Company of Men, so too does Patrick Stettner arrive on the scene with a like-minded drama that presents the players of corporate America as insignificant goldfish emotionally numbing themselves to the point that their entire universe resembles nothing so much as a self-contained plastic bubble. In Strangers, Stockard Channing plays Julie Styron, the lifelong ladder climber who, after learning that she's finally landed her company's top spot, seeks out and befriends the young assistant (Julia Stiles) she had fired earlier in the day. Stranded in an airport hotel, the two women spend the hours drinking, collaborating and fighting, a situation that becomes even more intense when Julie's acquaintance, a company headhunter (Frederick Weller), joins their party. A mid-movie plot contrivance (and the obvious twist ending that spawns from it) isn't especially convincing, but the movie's real pleasures rest in the impeccable performances by all three leads as well as in the give-and-take power plays orchestrated between the two female protagonists, assertive women who each draw their strength from completely different sources.

* Also: 101 REYKJAVIK, in which the capital of Iceland is presented as a land of perpetual ennui, and WHAT TIME IS IT THERE?, about a street vendor in Taipei whose fleeting encounter with a girl headed to Paris has a profound impact on his life. (Unscreened)

HIGH CRIMES Presumably, most screenwriters begin their drafts at the beginning of the story, but with this adaptation of Joseph Finder's novel about a lawyer who defends her husband on murder charges brought on by the military, it's obvious that scripters Yuri Zeltser and Cary Bickley headed straight for what they believed was a doozy of a twist ending and worked their way backwards. The problem, though, is that the climactic surprise doesn't even merit a raised eyebrow -- heck, the curve ball presented here is so transparent that I (and I suspect numerous others) pegged it by merely watching the film's trailer. In short, don't expect this to place on any year-end "10 Best" lists, though if anybody gave out Truth In Advertising awards for movie titles, this one would be a lock. It's a high crime, for instance, that Ashley Judd, who burst out of the gate delivering formidable performances in indie gems like Ruby In Paradise and Smoke, is now content delivering the same spunky-woman-in- peril job in studio-sanctioned programmers like Kiss the Girls, Double Jeopardy and now this. It's a shame that Morgan Freeman, who's now routinely described as a genuine acting treasure, isn't finding more roles better suited to his awesome abilities. And it's a shame that, in the age of true mind-benders like Memento and The Usual Suspects, we're still force-fed heaping mounds of reheated pulp more adept at creating massive plotholes than at creating any semblance of suspense.

CURRENT RELEASES

BIG TROUBLE Scheduled for release 10 days after the 9/11 tragedy but instantly pulled due to a climax involving a bomb aboard a hijacked plane, this new comedy from director Barry Sonnenfeld (Men In Black, Get Shorty) is finally being released with the hope that audiences will now be more forgiving toward its more unfortunate plot points. It's possible, but what moviegoers won't be as quick to forgive is the simple fact that this is a spectacularly unfunny film, a dismal attempt by Sonnenfeld to recreate the rat-tat-tat patter and inspired casting that made Get Shorty such a smashing success. Alas, Sonnenfeld's instincts seem to have deserted him for this insufferable adaptation of Dave Barry's novel about how a mysterious suitcase ends up impacting the lives of roughly a dozen characters, including a mild-mannered single dad (Tim Allen), a miserable housewife (Rene Russo), and a hippie (Jason Lee) who lives in a tree. With screwball antics that are annoying rather than amusing, Big Trouble wears on the nerves as thoroughly as a hyperactive 5-year-old with a new drum set. Dennis Farina as a sarcastic hit man and Janeane Garofalo as a cool-centered police officer arguably come off best; Stanley Tucci as a seedy businessman and Tom Sizemore as a bumbling crook inarguably come off worst. 1/2

BLADE II With arteries being punctured left and right and vampires disintegrating after getting blasted by silver bullets, it's clear that Blade II may be as disreputable a genre film as recent entries Queen of the Damned and Resident Evil -- but it's also a helluva lot more fun. It also manages to top its 1998 predecessor, thanks in no small part to the decision to hire a real director (Guillermo Del Toro of Mimic and The Devil's Backbone) as opposed to the usual MTV-weaned hack. In this outing, the taciturn Blade (Wesley Snipes), a half-human, half-vampire renegade who's made it his mission to wipe out all bloodsuckers, finds himself reluctantly teaming up with his sworn enemies in an effort to take down an army of creatures (known as Reapers) who enjoy snacking on both humans and vampires. Snipes' Blade continues to rank as a rather dull superhero -- the character periodically takes serum injections to control his inner vampire, but he needs to consider switching to personality infusions -- but the action sequences have some bite, Kris Kristofferson adds some welcome sass as Blade's cantankerous mentor, and the Reapers (seemingly patterned after Reggie Nalder's grotesque vampire in the Salem's Lot mini-series) make formidable foes. 1/2

DEATH TO SMOOCHY Director Danny DeVito's delightful 1996 adaptation of Roald Dahl's Matilda was a sweet-and-sour affair that ladled on the black humor without ever diminishing the essential sweetness of the material. DeVito is less successful with Death to Smoochy, an acrimonious satire that eventually compromises its own welcome venality by insisting on inserting sentimental components where none are needed. Top-billed Robin Williams is actually a supporting player: He's cast as Rainbow Randolph, a corrupt TV star whose kid show is cancelled after his wicked ways are made public. He's quickly replaced by Sheldon Mopes (Edward Norton), a sincere do-gooder whose character, a purple rhino named Smoochy, becomes a hit with the nation's pre-schoolers. Sheldon tries to keep his integrity intact, but the machinations of a materialistic network executive (Catherine Keener), a duplicitous agent (DeVito), and an apparently insane Randolph threaten to undermine his best efforts. As long as DeVito and scripter Adam Resnick are content to wallow in the mire of human folly, this well-acted comedy serves its purpose as a scathing indictment of American avarice, but once the film turns soft in its final act (the instant redemption of one major character is simply absurd), it limps toward an ending that undermines the outrageousness of the material. 1/2

E.T. THE EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL The 20th Anniversary re-issue of this Steven Spielberg masterpiece features never before seen footage (appreciated) and enhanced visual effects (not so appreciated), but ultimately, these additional bells and whistles neither elevate nor denigrate what was already a near-perfect study of friendship and fantasy as filtered through the eyes of a young boy desperately in need of a companion. Spielberg has made at least three films I would rate higher than E.T., but in terms of emotional investment, this one is peerless in his canon, invoking laughter, tears and everything in between as we follow little E.T.'s odyssey to return home (a popular kid flick motif also found in, among others, The Wizard of Oz and Lassie Come Home). Years later, there's still much to savor: the remarkable performance by Henry Thomas as the alien's human soulmate Elliott (it's no coincidence his name begins and ends with "ET"); the equally impressive turns by Robert McNaughton and 6-year-old Drew Barrymore as Elliott's siblings; the majestic sweeps of one of John Williams' best scores; Dee Wallace's achingly real performance as the kids' vulnerable single mom (why Wallace never became a bigger star remains a mystery); and isolated sequences (the classroom frogs, the flying bikes, etc.) that will continue to delight moviegoers for generations to come.

KISSING JESSICA STEIN With a storyline that's equal parts Woody Allen in his prime and Nora Ephron in a tailspin, Kissing Jessica Stein is an indie sleeper wanna-be that's content being merely OK even though greatness was seemingly within its grasp. Jennifer Westfeldt stars as Jessica, a New York journalist who's always had rotten luck with men, much to the dismay of her often overbearing mother (Tovah Feldshuh, doing her best to temper the broad Jewish gestures of her familiar character). Looking like Lisa Kudrow but sounding like Annie Hall, Jessica can never find a guy who meets her lofty expectations, so she ends up answering a personal ad posted by an art gallery manager (Heather Juergensen) in the Village Voice's "Women Seeking Women" section. The two ladies hit it off fabulously as friends, but it takes Jessica a while longer to determine whether she's ready to plunge into a lesbian relationship. Good performances by Westfeldt and especially Juergensen (both women also co-wrote the screenplay) and some refreshingly frank and insightful dialogue are often curtailed by trite plot developments as conventional as any found in such standard Hollywood fare as You've Got Mail. Kevin Smith's Chasing Amy grappled with similar material far more effectively -- and imaginatively. 1/2

MONSOON WEDDING Seeing the moldy expression "feel-good" in relation to a motion picture generally gives me heartburn, but how else to describe this joyous work from Mira Nair, the director of Salaam Bombay! and Mississippi Masala? A picture as full of emotion as the traditional ceremony it celebrates, Monsoon Wedding uses the title event as the backdrop for a work that, among other things, delineates the struggle between "old" and "new" India, examines the compromises that individuals must perform for the sake of family sanctity, and, in the tradition of Father of the Bride, takes a gently comic look at the headaches brought on by pulling the whole thing together. Naseeruddin Shah is cast in the equivalent of the Spencer Tracy role, as the family patriarch who must contend with all sorts of old-fashioned strife in new-fangled Delhi as he coordinates the union of his thoroughly modern daughter (Vasundhara Das) to a handsome man (Parvin Dabas) flying in from Houston to take part in this arranged marriage. Characters come and go, tense situations alternately explode or dissipate, and secrets are uncovered -- yet through it all, most of these ingratiating folks invariably manage to do what's best for themselves and for the family unit. Vijay Raaz steals the film as a wedding planner whose obnoxiousness gets vaporized by true love, and there's an infectious soundtrack that may warrant an immediate trip to your local music store. 1/2

PANIC ROOM Just as Meryl Streep made The River Wild to satisfy the part of her that required one uncomplicated popcorn picture on her resume, we now have Jodie Foster taking part in a commonplace thriller by accepting a role that's less complex than usual. But Foster's participation isn't as puzzling as that of director David Fincher, who, after the jigsaw puzzle plots and moral messiness of Seven, The Game and Fight Club, seems only to be serving as a hack-for-hire. Still, his yen for technical trickery -- the opening credits alone are worth the price of admission -- suits the picture's primary setting, a spacious New York brownstone occupied by a divorcee (Foster) and her daughter (Kristen Stewart). When the two women find their home invaded by crooks (Forest Whitaker, Jared Leto and Dwight Yoakam) searching for hidden loot, they confine themselves to the building's panic room, an impenetrable space with a steel door and a wall of surveillance monitors. A couple of plot twists might have made all the difference in this watchable but routine thriller, though production designer Arthur Max (Gladiator) should be commended for his imaginative and accessible set. As a burglar with a heart of gold, Whitaker delivers the best performance but also provides the most problematic character, inadvertently turning the film's creed that "Crime Does Not Pay" into "Doing Good Deeds May Be Hazardous To Your Health." 1/2

RESIDENT EVIL Here we go again: yet another screen adaptation of a popular video game, and one that makes last summer's doltish Lara Croft: Tomb Raider seem almost Kubrickian by comparison. Writer-director Paul W.S. Anderson, doubtless hoping that financiers will confuse him with writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson (of Boogie Nights fame), has made a career out of helming noisy sci-fi spectacles like Soldier and Mortal Kombat, and here he returns to the same dry well, concocting a shoddy product that tries to beef up its pinball-simple narrative by borrowing liberally from The Andromeda Strain, Aliens and George Romero's Dead trilogy. After an opening half-hour that ranks as the most excruciatingly dull 30 minutes I've sat through in at least two years (basically, expository scenes of a military task force trying to find out what went wrong at an underground genetic research facility), things get moving once our heroes get attacked by hordes of shuffling zombies, a pack of fleshless Dobermans, and a laughable, computer-generated mutant billed as "The Licker" (boy, there's a terrifying moniker). Except for one imaginative (albeit gruesome) sequence involving slice-and-dice laser beams, this isn't even fun on a trash level.

THE ROOKIE This G-rated Disney film comes with the tagline "Based On A True Story," but I'd much rather start seeing a tagline that reads, "Based On A True Story That Translates Wonderfully To Film." As it stands, the tale at the center of The Rookie was a great one when it first appeared on the pages of the dailies, but as a motion picture, it's an overly familiar formula film that won't move anyone who's already seen their share of motivational, follow-your-dream flicks. What little juice this gets comes courtesy of its actors, particularly Dennis Quaid in the leading role of Jim Morris, a high school chemistry teacher and baseball coach who, a decade after what was ostensibly his prime, takes one last shot at achieving his goal of pitching in the major leagues. With John Lee Hancock providing the sleepy direction and Mike Rich supplying a script that's almost as generic as the one he penned for Finding Forrester, there isn't much sense of joy surrounding The Rookie, as a leisurely running time of 129 minutes and too many golden shots of Texas skies and fields (John Schwartzman's camerawork is pretty but predictable) also result in the movie taking an unusually long time to tell its straightforward story. Indeed, for a motion picture meant to inspire us, the perspiration comes through more often than the inspiration.