MARGARET CHO: ASSASSIN
unrated, 85 minutes

Great suffering can beget great art – and great stand-up. Five years ago in her show “I’m the One That I Want,” Margaret Cho mined insecurity, catastrophic weight loss, alcohol abuse, and other trials for both comedy and pathos, bolstered by focused writing, shrewd timing, and gleeful obscenity.

Ms. Cho based the show on the decline she experienced while headlining a soon-canceled ABC sitcom. In her new show, “Margaret Cho: Assassin,” she basks in the love of an adoring fan base. Self-satisfied success might account for the lackluster material she presents. But the real problem lies in the lazy political slant and cant of her recent work, which owes more to MoveOn.org than Richard Pryor or Roseanne.

Ms. Cho degrades her lively routine into a litany of talking points: Iraq, the death penalty, morning-after pills, marijuana – the gang’s all here, with the chief comic twist often just a silly voice or a swagger. A political routine that professes worry on behalf of all Americans, yet insults half of them within the first five minutes, seems ineffective. What’s more, the talented mimicry of Ms. Cho’s best work has largely been reduced to a single persona.

But Ms. Cho’s show is not all slog. She has always boasted a substantial gay fan base, and her sharpest work here addresses, among other things, homophobia. Calling out the millions of Americans who adore “Will & Grace” but oppose gay marriage, she draws a provocative analogy to black-inspired rock ‘n’ roll and the race climate of the 1950s. A riff on the bling-like trappings of the gay-unfriendly pope is simply inspired.

Such highlights compensate for a notably slack sense of timing and the forced levity of the umpteenth joke about lesbian P.E. teachers or Bjork’s costume at the 2001 Academy Awards. But “Assassin” is comfort food for established fans, a community that could care less about reviews.

– Nicolas Rapold

THREE DANCING SLAVES
unrated, 90 minutes

Ostensibly, “Three Dancing Slaves” deals with the lives of three very different brothers as they cope with their mother’s death and make the transition to adulthood. But this plot fizzles before it ever gets going.

Gael Morel’s film is split into three sections, each seen from one brother’s perspective. Marc (Nicolas Cazale), the sexually confused, rebellious middle child and compulsive bodybuilder, pines for revenge when a gang of drug dealers jumps him and forces him to kill his beloved dog. (On screen, he drops it off a bridge, then crushes its head with a rock. Nice.)

Christophe (Stephane Rideau), the oldest, is released from prison and attempts to stay straight. He goes to work for a pork factory, and finds himself adjusting surprisingly well, despite his distaste for conformity. Oliver (Thomas Dumerchez), the youngest brother, enters into a gay love affair with Hicham (Salim Kechiouche), a close friend of Christophe.

This film is long on nudity, but short on narrative. Both of the brothers’ characters are woefully underdeveloped, and because their stories never cross, the project begins to seem pointless.

– Edward Goldberger