The clichéd line is never uttered, but without listening very carefully, you can hear its echo throughout Friday Night Lights: In Odessa, football is a way of life. And, as is quickly shown, the only way of life for residents of this small Texas town, where state champions become legends and those who fall short become mere pariahs rejected even within their own families. Though American society worships successful professional athletes, the cult following earned by 17-year old high school seniors is for the most part less widespread. Director and co-writer Peter Berg rightly devotes more time to the Panthers’ trials in their daily lives—how they survive in the face of such intense scrutiny—than their gridiron exploits to underscore that this isn’t just a game but a profession. (TJM)

The Grudge

The camera stumbles upon a door, it bursts open, the hand of the dying woman drops, a guttural boom blasts from the sub, and that $4 bucket of flat Diet Coke resting patiently at your side becomes fizzy and fresh on your lap as you jump—hard. It’s these moments—when some random horrific element comes from nowhere—that make the first act of The Grudge, Hollywood’s latest attempt at remaking a foreign blockbuster, extremely enjoyable. Yet tension gives way to torpor as the first act crawls to a close: the slow reserved pace that initially generates blood-curdling moments soon begins to retard the motion of the film. Even the highly anticipated surprise ending becomes an “Oh, okay” moment instead of a “Wow, no way, that’s his father?” one. The movie, then, becomes a woeful drudge of cinematic excess: it’s cool simply for the sake of being cool. (BJ)

I Heart Huckabees

Albert is unhappy and he isn’t sure why. Sadly, we never care. The root of Albert’s malaise, I think, is that he has sold out. He has entered into a partnership with Huckabees, a chain of K-Mart-like stores, to throw some muscle behind his coalition to save a local wetland. Russell’s sly appropriation of American corporate-speak provide the best moments in the Huckabees script: therapy would be unbecoming for a corporate executive, so Brad rationalizes his sessions with “existential therapists” by insisting they are “pro-active and action-oriented.” While all of the characters in Huckabees seem primed to arc from ironic distance to grand, tragic catharsis, Jude Law alone provides the emotional proximity the film coaxes you into longing for and then so cruelly denies. (DBR)

Ladder 49

Ladder 49 headlines Joaquin Phoenix as firefighter Jack Morrison and John Travolta as Mike Kennedy, captain of Ladder 49 in the Baltimore Fire Department. Despite the hero worship of firefighters post-Sept. 11, the film is in fact touching and sometimes gently funny, tracing one man’s trials and tribulations—as well as honors and accolades. Phoenix is fantastic, but Travolta has an airy nonchalance totally incongruous with the seriousness of some situations. Director Jay Russell creates an familial world of jovial camaraderie sweet and good-natured enough to overlook its implausibility. It may not be a movie about real fire fighters, but it is a movie about real people. (MH)

The Motorcycle Diaries

The Guevara characterized in Walter Salles’ seductive new film The Motorcycle Diaries is a far cry from the iconic figure, sporting beard and beret, found in so many dorm rooms and poetry lounges. This is Ernesto Guevara de la Serna (Gael García Bernal) in his mid-twenties, before he was Che. The film picks up Guevara’s life in 1951 as he embarks with his compatriot, Alberto Granado (Rodrigo de la Serna) on his travels—powered, initially, by the eponymous motorcycle, of course—bound for the southern tip of South America. He is a far more accessible figure, and his journey radiates a certain lost-soul aura to which even a hardened capitalist could relate. (ZMS)

Primer

Primer, the directorial debut of Shane Carruth, lacks any narrative thread, but essentially is a story about four broke, thirtysomething engineers who create a mysterious box in their garage that defies scientific rationality and seems to give them inexplicable control over life. Two members of the group, Aaron (Shane Carruth) and Abe (David Sullivan), decide to probe what potential their creation might have: They explore the commercial possibilities of time-travel for a few hours each day, encounter dreadful mishaps in a Scooby Doo-esque fashion and finally, things end quite badly, with the audience, plot and characters in a state of sheer confusion. If Carruth proves anything with his film, it is that sci-fi movies dealing with the tenuous nature of the time-continuum need Christopher Lloyd. (KMM)

Raise Your Voice

Yes, you will sit amongst 8-12 year-old girls and painfully awkward older men who, surprisingly, come alone. Yes, her group of friends includes a sassy black girl, a goofy white guy, and an ambiguously ethnic love interest. But Hilary Duff, star of Raise Your Voice, surprisingly sheds her Teen Disney roots, giving an uneven yet charming performance as Terri Fletcher, small-town girl whisked away from commonplace and complacency when she lands admission to the prestigious Bristol Hill School of Music in L.A. You’ve undoubtedly seen Raise Your Voice before: this film is formula-driven, from typical start to predictable finish. But no matter how many times Duff clips her lines or awkwardly over-acts her most intense scenes, the film somehow recovers. Despite its reliance on ham-fisted elements to a garner a reaction, Raise Your Voice pulls off moments where palpable, genuine emotion pumps from the screen. (BJ)

Shall We Dance?

Director Peter Chelsom’s new movie, Shall We Dance?, has a dance card full of big-name actors but leaves its audience with little except bruised toes. A remake of Japanese director Masayuki Suo’s 1996 film of the same title—from which it imports most scenes and some dialogue—the movie ultimately seems as bungling on its feet as many of the characters it portrays. John Clark (Richard Gere) wants to ballroom dance. In Suo’s Japanese film this is understandably mortifying because, as a voiceover tells us at the outset, “In a country where married couples don’t go out arm in arm…the idea that a husband and wife should embrace and dance in front of others is beyond embarrassing.” Chelsom never explains what makes ballroom dance equally taboo in 21st-century Chicago. He tries to plug this plot hole subliminally instead by making Miss Mitzi’s look a lot like a brothel. Nevertheless, it’s hard to salvage a bungled plot with neon lighting and sweaty-palmed patrons. (NJH)