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RED DRAGON Manhunter, the 1986 adaptation of Thomas Harris' novel Red Dragon (and the first film to bring Hannibal Lecter to the screen), was directed by Michael Mann, a master visualist whose works (The Last of the Mohicans, The Insider) almost always shimmer with tasteful artistry. Red Dragon, on the other hand, is helmed by Brett Ratner, a more commercially mindful filmmaker whose past efforts (the Rush Hour pair, The Family Man) have exposed him as the sort of director who churns out product without bothering to give it his own distinct stamp. That Manhunter should remain the better movie should surprise no one, and yet, the contest is a lot closer than it would appear at first glance. Red Dragon works on its own terms, thanks largely to the efforts of scripter Ted Tally (who won an Oscar for The Silence of the Lambs) and a dream cast that makes the most of the material. Anthony Hopkins, of course, is the star attraction, essaying the role of Hannibal for the third time. Set before the excellent Silence and the execrable Hannibal, this one begins with the good doctor being captured by FBI agent Will Graham (Edward Norton), who promptly retires from the bureau until he's asked to help track down a serial killer (Ralph Fiennes) who's been carving up entire families. Graham needs help tracking down this madman, and he's soon forced to seek advice from his old nemesis, the unflappable Hannibal. Hopkins' Lecter has lost much of his menace over the years, but he's still enjoyable to watch, as is the rest of this sharp thriller. 
THE RULES OF ATTRACTION In one sense, this adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis' novel might be one of the best "youth" movies ever made, but we'll never know because its salient points are simultaneously buried, drowned and smothered in the excesses of writer- director Roger Avary (not having read the book, I don't know how much of the blame falls on Ellis himself). Equally as heavy-handed as the screen versions of the author's American Psycho and Less Than Zero, this college-set satire nevertheless serves as a much- needed affront to the numerous teen comedies that view those coming-of-age years as a time of great joy tempered with just a smidgen of awkwardness and insecurity. Rules mercilessly explores the dark side of this period in one's life, centering on some of the troubled students attending a New England college: Sean Bateman (James Van Der Beek), who uses and abuses people (especially women) as he sees fit; Paul Denton (Ian Somerhalder), a bisexual infatuated with Sean; and Lauren Hynde (Shannyn Sossamon), a virgin whose basic decency stands no chance of survival amid all the casual cruelty surrounding her. The Rules of Attraction dares to bring up issues that other movies of this nature wouldn't even consider touching, but Avary scarcely gives them their due because he's too busy trying to gross out audiences at every turn (nose picking, ass wiping, puking on one's partner during sex -- Avary films it all in living color) while also using numerous cinematic techniques to further distance viewers from the action -- aside from an expertly edited sequence detailing one student's European vacation, the show-off stylistics prove about as pointless as anything else in this thoroughly obnoxious endeavor.
SWEET HOME ALABAMA It's sad to witness once-exciting actresses like Ashley Judd and Angelina Jolie now wasting their talents in exceedingly generic studio products, and it will be even more tragic if Reese Witherspoon follows their lead. Witherspoon was a delight in last year's Legally Blonde, but I'm afraid the success of that film might mean she'll start turning her back on quirky projects like Election and Freeway (fabulous in both) and settle into a stereotypical rut. Sweet Home Alabama certainly lends credence to my fear: A lazy romantic comedy that apparently looked no further back than 1991's Doc Hollywood for its inspiration, this finds the actress basically mining the same Blonde emotions (albeit mining them well) in a picture that relies on the usual narrative props found in seemingly every other comedy these days. Witherspoon plays Melanie Carmichael, a rising New York fashion designer who's just accepted a marriage proposal from the son (smarmy Patrick Dempsey) of the city's mayor (Candice Bergen). First, though, she has to go back to her Alabama hometown and get her first husband (Josh Lucas) to sign the divorce papers, something he's been reluctant to do. From there, everything plays out exactly as expected: Melanie rediscovers her spark with her down-home hubby; she's condescending toward her former friends until the sound of music (in this case, Lynyrd Skynyrd) reawakens her soul; Southern hospitality wins out over Northern arrogance; the sole gay characters, one depicted as fundamentally lonely, the other depicted as on the prowl (in cinema, these are the only two types that seem to exist), hook up; Melanie makes the oh-so-predictable decision regarding her suitors; and the end credits roll and audience members head for the exits. Did I leave anything out?
