Far be it from me to question anyone’s identity politics, but what’s up with all these white women making a fuss about their African street cred? First there was Teresa “bling-bling” Heinz Kerry, then came Juliette Binoche in “In My Country.” And now the regrettable meme attains critical mass with a movie starring Nicole Kidman as Silvia Broome, a militant African freedom fighter-turned-pacifist United Nations translator. Uh, yeah, that’d happen. Silvia may have traded her Matobo village for the West Village, but the rhythms of Africa have forever marked her soul: You can hear them on the soundtrack every time she reminisces about the motherland. When Silvia is feeling moody, she sits beneath her collection of tribal masks, busts out her African flute, gazes off into space, and plays mournful world music.

Directed by middlebrow warhorse Sydney Pollack, “The Interpreter” is a conspiracy thriller about Africans behaving badly and the famous white folks who try to put them in line. Having risen to power as liberator of his people, Matobo leader Zuwanie (Earl Cameron) has since devolved into a bloodthirsty tyrant. In order to ward off an appearance in the International Criminal Court, he is to deliver a speech at the U.N. General Assembly. Late one night, Silvia swings by the office to retrieve her flute and overhears a cryptic plan to assassinate the ignoble despot. Enter Sean Penn as secret agent Tobin Keller, a hard-boiled mope, tormented by his wife’s recent death, who suspects there’s more to Silvia than meets the eye. Good guess, brainiac: She’s about as transparent as the mirrored windows on Kofi Annan’s limousine.

Silvia’s tangled roots in Matobo politics will gradually come to light – but will Keller’s sympathies open as well? Cue distant drumming. Meanwhile, buses are exploding in Crown Heights, as they so often do. The target was Kuman-Kuman (George Harris), an exiled Matoban bigwig who Silvia had arranged to meet in a characteristic bit of shadiness. The plot thickens, as does the torpid pace of “The Interpreter.”

Flute loopiness aside, “The Interpreter” is passably entertaining for an hour or so, as the pieces of the puzzle are put on the table and start sliding into place. The bigger the picture, the fuzzier it gets. I leave it for you, dear reader, to discover the full details yourself – with the caveat that you do so in the one context in which the movie will be eminently worth the two hours: as in-flight entertainment.

Competent but unexceptional, Mr. Pollack’s direction has a pleasant sort of corporate functionality about it. His flagrantly conspicuous cameos are another matter. He wastes the exquisitely sardonic Catherine Keener in the role of Keller’s sidekick, and does next to nothing with his unprecedented access to U.N. interiors. As for the political subtext, you get the usual Hollywood mix of liberal naivete and imperialist condescension. Hey Silvia, how do you say “whatever” in the Matobo dialect of Ku?

***

The buzz on South Korean cinema continues with the Film Forum engagement of festival darling “Save the Green Planet.” The plot goes something like this: A misfit, beekeeping serial killer and his plump acrobat girlfriend kidnap the arrogant CEO of a powerful chemical company, lock him up in the basement of their mountain hideout, and torture him with menthol rub until he confesses to be an Adromedan alien with Royal Genetic Code, involved in an evolutionary conspiracy to destroy Earth during the upcoming lunar eclipse.

It’s almost as fun as it sounds.

Mixing sci-fi, kung fu, romance, torture-chic, detective flick, apocalyptic eco-parable, and half a dozen other modes, director Jang Jun-Hwan has tossed together a rowdy genrepalooza. There’s a touch of Miikemadness to the thing, especially in the off-kilter first reel. But Mr. Jang’s kookiness is rather too calculated, and the breakneck inventiveness of the pastiche slows into a long, tiresome stretch of sophomore artsploitation and convoluted exposition.

Stick it out for the gloriously deranged finale, however, and you’ll be rewarded with knowledge of how the dinosaurs became extinct, where the “2001” monolith came from, and what a Korean version of “Flash Gordon” might look like.

Mr. Jang’s talent and energy are obvious, his sincerity of feeling unexpected and impressive. For all its pomotomfoolery, “Save the Green Planet” throbs with honest concern for spaceship Earth and its self-destructive passengers. That elevates it above a vacuum-sealed exercise in pop hysteria like “Old Boy” and the sophisticated navel gazing of his acclaimed compatriot Hang Sang-Soo. “Save the Green Planet” is both blustery and naive – an adolescent film in the best possible sense.