CineFest/Philadelphia Film Festival Shorts

Week One Reviews (A-L)

Following are reviews of movies premièring in the first week of the CineFest/Philadelphia Film Festival, March 26-April 1. Up to the day of the show, tickets may be purchased in person at TLA Video locations (11 a.m.-10 p.m.), by phone at 267-765-9700, ext. 4 (10 a.m.-9 p.m.), and online at phillyfests.com (up to 24 hours in advance). Same-day tickets are available only at the screening venue. Single-ticket prices are $9-$10; $7-$8 for matinees until 4 p.m.; and $7 for children 12 and under. Service fees may apply.

Denotes a movie recommended by City Paper critics.

Denotes a highly recommended movie.

4BIA | 20th Century Boys | 20th Century Boys: Chapter II | (500) Days of Summer | Able | The Answer Man | Art & Copy | Art of the Devil 3 | Before the Fall | Blind Loves | Boy Interrupted | The Brothers Bloom | The Chaser | The Country Teacher | Cuttin' Da Mustard | Dioses | Eldorado | Food, Inc. | The Girl from Monaco | Goodbye Solo | GS Wonderland | Herb and Dorothy | Hunger | The Hurt Locker | I Sell The Dead | Jury Duty | The King of Ping Pong | Kisses | Lake Tahoe | Lemon Tree | Left Bank | Love, Soccer and Other Catastrophes

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This set of shorts rounds up a collection of Thai horror auteurs to produce what could very well be billed as "FOUR TALES OF THAI TERROR!" Problem is there is little to no terror involved. Happiness is literally just this girl in a leg cast texting someone the entire time. Tit for Tat features brutal bullying, black magic and a bad guy who looks like a crappily rendered adolescent version of the monsters of I Am Legend. Another vignette involves a flight attendant and the mummy-wrapped body of a jilted princess. None of these are good, especially the texting one. The only real spooks (and chuckles) come courtesy of Parkpoom Wongpoom, who directed two of the four segments — he ensures his characters heavily reference his 2004 hit Shutter throughout In the Middle, which involves best friends, zombies and — of course — whitewater rafting. —Drew Lazor (3/31, 4:45 p.m., TB; 4/1, 9:30 p.m., PMT; 4/3, 4:45 p.m., R5)

20th Century Boys

The 20th Century Boys sci-fi manga, which was serialized from 2000 to 2006, is Japan's answer to Watchmen — Naoki Urasawa's epic, millions-of-characters comic universe runs its fingers across a number of Alan Moore's favorite signposts, including conspiracy, multigenerational brinksmanship and fun with the apocalypse. The first installment of Yukihiko Tsutsumi's three-part film adaptation (see the Chapter II review below) is immediately impressive thanks to his masterful unfurling of some truly dense and confusing source material. Sullen T. Rex-loving former rocker Kenji (Toshiaki Karasawa), who wonders where the time went while he runs a convenience store with his mother, finds his past at his doorstep when a series of odd occurrences and disappearances bring his childhood crew back together with the intent of toppling a powerful cult led by a figure known only as "Friend." Each character's wildly detailed memories, whether windowpane-clear or too fuzzy to tap, map out just what — and who — they need to stop. —Drew Lazor (3/28, 9:15 p.m., RE; 3/30, 9 p.m., TB)

20th Century Boys: Chapter II

Part two of Yukihiko Tsutsumi's trilogy adaptation of Naoki Urasawa's epic manga sinks audiences even deeper into a world blinded by faith as theater. This installment features a drastic generational jump, with the thirtysomething protagonists from the first film grayed and tired but no less disdainful of the wrathful cult that's taken Japan — and much of the planet — by the throat. Kanna (Airi Taira), the infant niece of Chapter I's reluctant Kenji (Toshiaki Karasawa), is now an anti-establishment teen driven by untapped mental powers and a desire to overthrow the globe-trotting lies perpetuated by the masked messiah known only as "Friend." The source material's rather campy comic connotations manifest themselves here in a series of goofy, wide-eyed characters (well-intentioned cross-dressers named Britney and Mariah!) and action sequences that take the edge off the Boys mythology's more morose implications. —Drew Lazor (3/29, 9:15 p.m., RE; 4/2, 9:15 p.m., TB)

(500) Days of Summer

At first blush, the feature debut of music-video veteran Marc Webb seems like a Fox Searchlight special: a young adult romance with a killer soundtrack and enough nudging self-awareness to disarm cynical Gen-Yers. The difference is that, unlike Napoleon Dynamite or Juno, (500) Days of Summer hurts. The time-scrambled script puts the meet-cute between Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel back to back with their decline, and the point where her fetching elusiveness shades into blithe cruelty. Webb tiptoes on the edge of clever-clever land and sometimes hurtles over the line; a Hall & Oates-scored musical number is a nifty set piece (and potent trailer-bait) but also shatters the mood. But for a movie that often doesn't seem to have much on its mind, the cumulative effect is oddly devastating. —Sam Adams (3/26, 6 & 8:30 p.m., PMT)

The Web site of Philly-based Stotler/Robert Film stresses the marketability of the production company's movies, and its debut film seems efficiently manufactured to shock. Set during the initial onset of a virus epidemic that threatens to explode into zombie apocalypse, Able may avoid mimicking the glut of walking dead films on the horror market but still ends up seeming eerily familiar. A torture-porn remix of Romero and early Cronenberg, Able aspires to the social commentary of those directors, but its listless pacing stretches a paucity of ideas to barely feature length despite several interlocking storylines. For the most part, director Marc Robert simply dwells on agonizingly drawn-out images of human suffering, as if setting up a lawn chair at a train wreck. —Shaun Brady (3/31, 9:30 p.m., RE; 4/2, 9:30 p.m., PMT)

As the author of Me & God, Arlen Faber (Jeff Daniels) has been a hero to a generation of truth seekers, but the man himself is something of a mess. Cantankerous, clumsy and (of course) single, he lives a reclusive, pseudonymous life, unable to enlighten himself, let alone others. Enter Lauren Graham's dizzy chiropractor and Lou Taylor Pucci's suicidal bookstore owner, who coax Daniels out of his shell, and so on and so forth. John Hindman's Philly-shot comedy drifts over some interesting ground, but it never puts down stakes, favoring formula romance over spiritual inquiry. Bonus points for coherent geography, though, especially in and around The Book Trader. —Sam Adams (3/30, 8:30 p.m., PMT; 3/31, 2:30 p.m., RE)

Doug Pray's collective profile of the creative minds behind some of the century's most memorable ad campaigns could have been a fascinating peek under the advertising industry's hood: Helvetica for the soap-selling set. But the movie's fawning, credulous approach sinks any chance at insight. Pray treats his subjects, whose creations include Volkswagen's storied "Lemon" ads and the makeover that fit Braniff Airlines stewardesses in paisley Halston, as if their primary purpose was to paint artworks on the cultural canvas. He credits Nike's "Just Do It" for its generic inspirational life, but doesn't mention what it did for Nike's sales. It comes as no surprise that this ad man's autofellatio was funded by industry booster The One Club, Pray didn't have to offer his own reacharound as well. The only voice of sanity comes from George Lois, the blue-collar brawler behind "I Want my MTV," who affectionately refers to advertising as "poison gas." —Sam Adams (3/27, 7:30 p.m., RE; 3/30, 2:30 p.m., RE)

Only about two and a half minutes go by before a bone saw is used on someone's forehead; that fact alone should separate Art of the Devil 3's target audience from those better off staying far, far away. Helmed by a seven-member team of directors, the film flashes back and forth in time to spin an otherwise straightforward tale of revenge and comeuppances. Whether a familiarity with previous entries in the series would help elucidate some of the tangled strands is unclear, but ultimately the payoff being a pile-up of grisly physical acts doesn't exactly reward such close scrutiny. Much of the plotting is standard stuff for Thai horror — black magic, vengeful ghosts, intrigue among multiple wives — but its gorily detailed scenes of violence are straight out of the torture porn realm. —Shaun Brady (3/31, 5 p.m., RE; 4/2, 5 p.m., IH; 4/4, 10 p.m., TB)

With an intriguing high-concept premise — a meteor hurtles toward Earth, threatening the extinction of life in three days, so a deranged killer escapes from prison and stalks a family responsible for his capture — it's no surprise that an American remake is already on the way, courtesy of (ugh) Wes Craven. But unlike so many fascinating foreign genre films dumbed down by American directors, Before the Fall is already a wasted opportunity in its original form. After the world-run-amok scene is set, the sci-fi premise is largely forgotten about until the apocalyptic finale. Instead, F. Javier Gutierrez has created a gorgeously shot exercise in frustration — for most of its length, the film is simply a family-under-siege thriller that not only disregards the impending fate of humanity but makes little sense in light of it. —Shaun Brady (3/28, 4:30 p.m., PMT; 3/29, 9:30 p.m., TB; 4/4, 12:30 p.m., R5)

Blind Loves

Juraj Lehotsky's engrossing and poignant docu-fiction, Slovakia's submission to the Academy Awards, provides an intimate look at four visually impaired subjects who each face some particular challenge in their romantic and professional lives. Shot as separate stories, the independent accounts nevertheless remain connected in their mutual quest to reveal the importance of emotional intimacy for non-sighted persons otherwise passed by in day-to-day life. The unique challenges to and special rewards of love for the director's subjects unite the diverse narratives. Subtle humor, a charming animated sequence and an unsentimental, detached visual style prevent Blind Loves from slipping into simplistic melodrama. —Brian Rouleau (3/27, 2:30 p.m., RE; 4/1, 9:15 p.m., IH; 4/2, 9:30 p.m., R5)

Boy Interrupted

It's impossible to conceive of a subject more harrowing than the one behind Dana Heinz Perry's heartbreaking documentary: the suicide of her 15-year-old son, Evan. A bright and articulate child who began writing plays while still in grade school, Evan was also obsessed with death. Perry recalls Evan flirting with the idea of suicide as young as 5, and his psychiatrist calls him "the scariest kid I ever saw in my life." But despite its terrifying undercurrents, Boy Interrupted is a work of profound compassion, and even hope. In recounting the successes as well as the failures of Perry and her husband, Harlan County USA cinematographer Hart Perry, the movie conveys the sense of a life extended and not just curtailed, and of coming to terms with something irreconcilable. Despite their evident emotion, the Perrys are rarely reduced to tears on screen. Rather than forcing them to relive his death, telling their story brings them closer to Evan's life. —Sam Adams (3/31, 7:15 p.m., RE; 4/2, 4:45 p.m., RE; 4/4, 9:15 PMT)

Adrien Brody, half of a fraternal team of swindlers whose long cons come with literary flourishes, longs for "an unwritten life." But Rian Johnson's moribund romp is so shellacked in style it can't draw breath. Somewhere in between a poor man's Wes Anderson and a middle-class man's Jared Hess, Johnson (Brick) lards his cross-continental caper with kooky fillips like a mute Japanese henchwoman (Rinko Kikuchi) and a narrator (Ricky Jay) who uses the word "'Twould." Swept up in this insufferable pageant are Mark Ruffalo as Brody's more committed brother and Rachel Weisz as a nutty heiress who's either their collaborator or their mark. Johnson thinks enough of his little enterprise to name-drop Dostoevsky and James Joyce, but he's so wide off the mark, it's a joke. —Sam Adams (3/30, 2:15 p.m., R5; 3/31, 9:15 p.m., PMT)

The Chaser

Who do you turn to in a cop/serial killer movie if all the cops are total morons? A former cop who's now a pimp with a short fuse, of course. Gumshoe-turned-pussy-peddler Jung-ho Eom (Yun-suk Kim) wants to know why his best hookers are disappearing into the ether without settling their debts — so in a total Columbo move, co-writer/director Hong-jin Na immediately reveals that young, emotionally mechanical Young-min Jee (Jung-woo Ha) is the sociopathic murderer responsible. Only problem is there's no evidence, and Young-min can be detained for only 12 hours. While the police act like soft-skulled idiots, Joong-ho hits the streets, flexing both wit and muscle (he beats on soooo many people) to uncover the location of prized girl Min-ji Kim (Yeong-hie Seo) — her precocious young daughter in tow. Warner Bros. has reportedly bought the American rights for this flick, so see it in all its gory-ass South Korean glory before Judd Apatow somehow becomes involved. —Drew Lazor (3/30, 9:15 p.m., RE; 4/1, 4:45 p.m., R5)

The Country Teacher

"Wouldn't it be boring if we were all alike? If you were all like me?" Petr, a natural-science teacher (Pavel Liska), asks his students. Petr has just moved from a posh Prague prep school to teach kids out in the farmlands of the Czech Republic. While not in school, he befriends a cow-herding widow and her wayward teenage son, operating in a surrogate father/husband/brother/tutor capacity. He has a secret that he keeps from his students and the townsfolk, which is less a secret and more of an elaboration on his ongoing quarter-life crisis. This cinematic import belongs with a similar sub-sub-genre crop with the likes of Half Nelson and The Class — films about young, inspired, flawed male educators whose curriculum is always a metaphor for their own shortcomings and hypocrisies. The film meanders, but it's engrossing as it quietly observes the humanity of its characters and gives us the linchpin idea that sometimes people must be forgiven simply to avoid their own loneliness. —Andrew Amundson (3/27, 9:15 p.m., R5; 3/29, 2:15 p.m., R5)

Rolo (Brandon T. Jackson) has always wanted to be an actor, but his academy class isn't working out. He enrolls in an underground acting class in the back of a club in Queens. Eventually it turns out that he and his predictably diverse classmates have to put on a hit show in order to save the club from a Jamaican gangster. Or something. Cuttin' da Mustard is a comedy, and once in a while the jokes hit. But plot threads stop and start out of nowhere — about halfway through the film, it briefly becomes a major issue that Rolo can't read; there's a pregnancy scare that's basically forgotten about; and a character named Forty Ounce has a highly emotional, approximately 15-second bout with alcohol addiction (Rolo saves him with a pep talk). It's a mess. —Doron Taussig (3/31, 9:30 p.m., IH; 4/2, 6:45 p.m., TB; 4/3, 7:45 p.m., RE)

Dioses

An upper-crust Peruvian family tries to hide its dirty laundry in this beautifully shot examination of class discrepancies. Diego (Sergio Gjurinovic) hides with the maids, while he secretly lusts after his beautiful, equally spoiled party-girl sister, Andrea (Anahí de Cárdenas). She takes her mind off her unwanted pregnancy by dancing her nights away and giggling about an ecstasy-induced miscarriage. Their father's young girlfriend (Maricielo Effio) is ashamed of her humble beginnings, studying up on flowers and Greek mythology to impress the other society ladies, while ignoring her own family. Their house is located in an idyllic paradise, with slums just scant miles away. Dioses is gorgeous and both disturbing and illuminating in its demonstration of South American class differences. —Molly Eichel (3/30, 12:15 p.m., RE; 4/2, 4:45 p.m., TB)

Eldorado

Tracing the journey of two mismatched characters — burly car dealer Yvan and the emaciated junkie who he first encounters hiding under his bed during a botched burglary — through an eccentric countryside in a vintage car, Eldorado has all the makings of a cloyingly quirky road movie. But director/star Bouli Lanners infuses the entire film with a pervasive melancholy, an aching loneliness that seems to spread through its characters and into the landscape. Despite encounters with a host of oddballs, including a nudist RV driver calling himself Alain Delon and a Doberman that literally drops from the sky, the film never succumbs to cuteness, instead emphasizing the essentially fleeting nature of any human connection. —Shaun Brady (3/27, 9:30 p.m., RE; 3/29, 7:15 p.m., TB)

Food, Inc.

How can Eric Schlosser still eat hamburgers? The author of Fast Food Nation and narrator of Food, Inc. orders a patty at a greasy spoon in the beginning of the film, suggesting that the industrial food complex is so wholly disturbed that there's no point in fighting it. True, but the film argues that you still should. Food, Inc. is muckraking journalism at its finest — animal lover or not, you will leave it weary of the affair between government and industry, disgusted with the alpha crop corn, baffled by the laws that protect corporations more than they do people and revolted at the idea of eating anything that's not cage-free. Do dinner before you arrive. —Holly Otterbein (3/29, 5 p.m., PMT; 4/1, 4:45 p.m., IH)

Perhaps the worst part about The Girl from Monaco is that the main character, Bertrand, bears uncanny resemblance to Vince Fumo — and you have to see him make love to the siren Edith, a grossly vapid twentysomething. No, scratch that. There are worse parts: This French drama is billed as a "sex comedy" when it more closely resembles a poorly made Cruel Intentions. Furthermore, the man-destroying beauty Edith is a stereotype, Bertrand's semi-sexual relationship with his bodyguard, Christophe, is under-explored and yet we're supposed to believe that Bertrand sacrifices his life for him. All very bad. But the Fumo doppelganger's sex scene is pretty bad, too. —Holly Otterbein. (3/31, 9:15 p.m., RE; 4/3, 12:15 p.m., R5)

Goodbye Solo

Ramin Bahrani has proven himself adept at chronicling the lives of people living under the radar of the American dream — immigrants, the poverty-stricken, the neglected. The Iranian-American director's latest is the first set in his native Winston-Salem, and thereby possesses a keen sense of place, but reaches further into his cultural heritage to echo Abbas Kiarostami's A Taste of Cherry. Red West, former chief lieutenant of Elvis Presley's Memphis Mafia, plays the curmudgeonly William, who strikes a deal with Senegalese cabbie Solo (Souléymane Sy Savané) to be driven to his apparent planned suicide. Despite the setup, Bahrani recognizes the struggle of daily life; instead of the cranky white man rescued by the optimistic foreigner, the two men impact each other without necessarily mending what's broken. The balance is kept aloft as delicately as the leaves blown upward at Blowing Rock, William's final destination. —Shaun Brady (3/30, 7 p.m., RE; 3/31, 2:15 p.m., RE)

GS Wonderland

GS stands for "Group Sounds," the outrageously stylized take on Western pop — in particular British Invasion — that was all the rage in late '60s Japan. Awash in day-glo colors, preposterous outfits and giddily upbeat, fuzz-toned tunes, this caper about the rise of a fictional pop band captures the era's freewheeling vibe so convincingly that it's hard to believe it was made only last year. The agreeably silly tone recalls goofball early Beatles movies (Help! comes to mind) but it loses some steam toward the end, as the inevitably formulaic and flimsy plot (which revolves around a bit of gender-crossing deception on the part of Kill Bill's Chiaki Kuriyama) turns unnecessarily sentimental. But for a solid hour or so, this is an unabashed, gleeful romp. —K. Ross Hoffman (3/29, 9:30 p.m., RE; 3/31, 4:45 p.m., RE; 4/1, 7 p.m. TB)

Herb and Dorothy

Half love story, half art doc, Megumi Sasaki's debut follows the titular Vogels, who built a vast art collection on Herb's income as a U.S. Postal Service worker. Sticking to the adage to buy only what they liked, the Vogels inadvertently became the archivists of the abstract minimalist movement — collecting the likes of Sol LeWitt, Robert Mangold and Christo and Jeanne-Claude — before they became art-world heavy-hitters. The film is most successful when it focuses on the elderly couple and their daily lives. To put it plainly, they are adorable — from Herb, who never graduated from high school, to Dorothy, who knew nothing about art until their honeymoon at the National Gallery. The Vogels' love for art equals what they feel for each other. —Molly Eichel (3/28, 4:45 p.m., RE; 3/29, noon, RE)

Hunger

Multimedia artist Steve McQueen (save it) turns to the Troubles for his harrowing account of the hunger strikes in Belfast's infamous H Block, where Bobby Sands and nine other IRA prisoners starved to death in 1981. McQueen's background is in installations, and he approaches a feature-length narrative as a series of tableaux, emphasizing the duration of shots and the actors' physicality. Often, the approach is striking, especially in the movie's centerpiece, a 17-minute single take in which Sands (Michael Fassbender) argues the strike's effectiveness with a savvy priest (Liam Cunningham), engaging in the kind of articulate political debate that's as rare on film as in life. But at times, as with a lengthy shot of a guard mucking out the prison's corridors, the duration is merely excessive, and McQueen's focus on the strikers' suffering runs the risk of sanctifying torment, especially as an alarmingly slimmed-down Fassbender nears his end. It's fitting that the film is produced by Mel Gibson's Icon Entertainment, since McQueen's film amounts to an Irish Republican Passion of the Christ. —Sam Adams (3/28, 12:15 p.m., PMT; 3/29, 7:15 p.m., PMT)

The Hurt Locker

Kathryn Bigelow's ride-alone with a Baghdad bomb squad is thrilling, even when it shouldn't be. Named for the suits that protect the soldiers from unexpected blasts, the movie does its best to slip into their skin. Jeremy Renner takes the lead as a charismatic cowboy whose attraction to risk only makes him better at his job; Anthony Mackie plays his disapproving but grudgingly respectful superior. Casting Guy Pearce and Ralph Fiennes in small but critical roles, Bigelow creates an environment where not even movie stars are safe, upping the sense of unpredictability, creating the most vivid and far-reaching Iraq fiction yet. There's a tad too much action-movie grammar thrown into the mix, but it's still a nerve-jangling ride. —Sam Adams (4/1, 7 p.m., PMT; 4/2, 2 p.m., R5)

On the eve of his execution by guillotine, 18th-century grave-robber Arthur Blake (Lost's Dominic Monaghan) gets a visit from a Franciscan priest (Hellboy Ron Perlman) who offers Blake a last-chance confession. Blake recounts his tale in lazy episodic flashbacks, from his childhood apprenticeship to most recent exploits. This isn't a bad premise, but the promise is soon broken with unsure directorial footing, a muddled tone and a constant losing battle with anachronisms: macabre material played for limp, broad farce. It's less like Shaun of the Dead and more like a painfully unending SNL sketch with each successively lame gag hoping — in vain — to redeem the last. Arthur and partner-in-crime Willie Grimes must have realized that regular corpses don't make bank the way vampires and the undead do, so the film abruptly takes a turn toward the occult — leading to an ultimate jump-the-shark moment when they unearth an Independence Day-style alien and all hopes for entertainment — or even plausibility — are dashed. —Andrew Amundson (3/27, 9:45 p.m., RE; 4/1, 4:45 p.m., RE; 4/5, 9:30 p.m., IH)

Jury Duty

Set against Algeria's fight for sovereignty, Jury Duty is a quiet psychological thriller. Before we even hear him speak, Gregoire, a mild-mannered pharmacist, attempts to rape and subsequently strangles a beautiful blonde. Her ex-boyfriend, an Algerian émigré, is charged; the public decides his fate before the trial even begins because of the color of his skin. Gregoire is racked with guilt, only made worse when he's placed on the jury of the murder he committed. Isabelle Habiague is fabulous as Gregoire's Lady MacBeth-esque wife, who figures out what her husband has done and will go to any length to keep her family together. Just as much a dissection of race issues in '60s France as a courtroom drama, Jury Duty is one of those movies you can't help but feel afterward. —Molly Eichel (4/1, 4:45 p.m., PMT; 4/5, 7 p.m., RE)

Director Jens Jonsson exhibits a sure hand for dry humor and low-key character drama in this quirky coming-of-age tale; too bad, then, that a seeming lack of confidence leads to an over-reliance on character-mocking laughs and a final shift into over-the-top dramatics. At its heart, the film is concerned with two brothers in a perpetually snow-covered Swedish town — overweight, awkward Rille (Jerry Johansson) and his much smaller, more popular kid brother, Eric (Hampus Johansson, unrelated). The two are dealing with a deadbeat but beloved dad, a long-suffering mom and a family friend who may be more connected with the boys than they've been told. Rille expresses his frustrations by becoming a tyrant at the ping-pong table, lording his possession of the equipment-room key over the other kids. Except for the occasional missteps in tone, Jonsson lets their relationship unfold at a slow, gentle pace commensurate with their frozen landscapes. —Shaun Brady (3/30, 7 p.m., BMFI; 4/2, 2:15 p.m., RE; 4/3, 7:15 p.m., RE)

Kisses

It is Christmas in Ireland when 12-year-old Dylan (Shane Curry) gets assistance escaping from his abusive father by his neighbor, Kylie (Kelly O'Neill). The kids make an immediate, unspoken decision to run away to the city, the trip funded by euros Kylie found beneath her parents' bed. The children's Dublin excursion is also ostensibly a search for Dylan's older brother who moved away because, as he tells Kylie, "He would have killed my dad had he stayed." As the odyssey unfolds, writer/director Lance Daly is able to present the wonder and awe of childhood as a needful human quality, not just as an overly precious twee gimmick. Realizing they are too young to change their worlds, Dylan and Kylie opt for weaving their own for the night — the whimsy of their escape and the pair's delicacy with each other during their travels prove nothing short of heartbreaking. —Andrew Amundson (3/28, 2:30 p.m., RE; 3/30, 4:45 p.m., RE; 3/31, 7 p.m., TB)

Lake Tahoe

Every frame in miniature masterpiece Lake Tahoe is a gorgeous, artfully composed still photograph. It's almost jarring when the camera actually moves. Juan (Diego Cataño) crashes his car and sets off to fix it. He wanders around town, meeting people who may or may not help him. It's a simple, shaggy-dog tale that slowly reveals both Juan's story and those of the lonely people he encounters — an old man (Héctor Herrera) with a barking dog; David (Juan Carlos Lara II), who worships Shaolin martial arts; and a young lady (Daniela Valentine) with a baby and a passion for music. Short but considerably affecting, Fernando Eimbcke's quietly powerful film will knock out viewers attuned to its magical, deliberate rhythm and clever dioramic format. —Gary M. Kramer (3/27, 7:15 p.m., TB; 3/29, noon, R5)

Lemon Tree

Eran Riklis (The Syrian Bride) casts Hiam Abbass as a Palestinian widow whose lemon grove is threatened by the security wall in a simple but effective allegory of Israeli-Arab relations. When the new Israeli defense minister moves in next door, his security team demands that her grove be razed, but she fights back with the aid of a lawyer (Ali Suliman) and the minister's sympathetic wife (Rona Lipaz-Michael). The machinations of plot are overfamiliar, but the actors' conviction, particularly Abbass' quiet strength and dignity, gives the movie a depth of feeling that allows it to rise above its relatively mundane outlines. —Sam Adams (3/31, 2:15 p.m., R5; 4/3, 12:15 p.m., RE)

In the age of nonexistent attention spans and seizure-inducing editing styles, a horror film employing the old slow-build is certainly welcome. But Belgian director Pieter Van Hees crafts his suspense at such a slow simmer that eventually the whole film turns cold. It doesn't help that Left Bank borrows so liberally from its antecedents — Rosemary's Baby, among a host of Polanski pics, and The Wicker Man — that even a casual horror fan will grow tired of waiting for the characters to catch up. Eline Kuppens is a competitive runner who begins a passionate affair sidelined by exhaustion. After an unsettling beginning, with strange neighbors and a wound that keeps growing uglier, the film runs in place for far too long before sprinting into a powerful, if predictable, finale. —Shaun Brady (3/27, 9:30 p.m., IH; 3/30, 6:15 p.m., PMT)

Luca Lucini's agreeable comedy/drama parallels the performance of five men on the soccer field with their behavior in the real world, their unlikely championship season unraveling in time with crises in their home lives. It's undeniably a trite gimmick, but one that Lucini doles out in reserved doses, never making the connections too schematic. The film opens with a montage of the teammates cutting out from their responsibilities — class, business meetings, even a tattoo inking — to make their weekly game. None of the types represented are exactly unfamiliar: the middle-aged man with a taste for younger women and an interfering ex-wife, the student whose planning is thrown off by his girlfriend's pregnancy, the neglectful husband turned stay-at-home dad. There's not a single resolution that isn't obvious upon the character's initial introduction, but the cast's charms make getting there a pleasantly diverting bit of sport. —Shaun Brady (3/27, 2:30 p.m., RE; 3/28, 12:15 p.m., TB; 3/31, 4:45 p.m., R5)

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