ATL
PG-13, 105 minutes

Chris Robinson, a veteran director of hip-hop videos, has delivered a surprise in his new film, “ATL.” In replicating the dark-glam look endemic to the ‘hood genre, he brings friendship into focus. Shot with a present-tense nostalgia, “ATL” is named for and set in the Atlanta that hip-hop fans have recently grown to know and love (or hate, depending on your camp). The rapper T.I. (the self-proclaimed King of da South) plays Rashad, a serious, perfectly poised high school senior whose parents died in an accident. He looks after Ant (Evan Ross), his baby-faced kid brother, and they hang out with friends at the place to skate and be seen, the Cascade roller rink.

As feared, he falls in with a drug dealer (Big Boi of Outkast), a character who is more appealing for his goofy charm than his cash. But the pull of the street takes a backseat to class tension in “ATL.” Rashad’s friend Esquire, a superb student, has to buddy up to a rich member of the country club where he works in order to get a recommendation for college. Meanwhile, Rashad’s new girlfriend, New-New (Lauren London), hangs out at Cascade with his friends. No one knows where she actually lives. Could she be hiding something? A rich family, perhaps?

Despite the likable cast and vibe, the thinly drawn characters and timidness of “ATL” send the film down a familiar path. That is disappointing, given that its starting point offers potential.

Ultimately, “ATL” does not fully develop its provocative ideas about role-playing and society. T.I.’s performance is notable for its charisma and seriousness, without being self-serious – a delicate balance that the rest of the movie lacks.

– Nicolas Rapold

AWESOME, I F- SHOT THAT!
R, 90 minutes

The Beastie Boys are in excellent shape – both physically and musically. The group’s new documentary, “Awesome, I F- Shot That!” centers around a Madison Square Garden show in 2004. At that show, Hi-8 and digital cameras were handed out to approximately 50 fans who were told to shoot whatever and however they wanted. Nathaniel Hornblower, aka MCA (nee Adam Yauch), directs the documentary, a task that mainly included assembling the footage culled from the many cameras into a semicoherent whole.

The film gives a more authentic concert experience than most concert films. There are moments of transcendence and moments of nausea, as well as a rare moment or two of boredom. The concert seems to have been fun and exciting. It “seems” that way because it’s often hard to get a handle on what the concert was like and how the musicians performed. The rough shots and near nonstop cuts convey a sense of mad confusion and excitement as no steadicam can. I had to look down at the ground more than once to avoid nausea.

What does emerge from the fragmentary footage, though, are the essential elements of a compelling film, concert or otherwise. Mike D. (Michael Diamond), Ad Rock (Adam Horovitz), and MCA are more charismatic and camera-friendly than most actors, and their lyrics are more colorful and creative than most screenplays. There is even a cameo by Ben Stiller, who was in attendance, dancing and singing along with trademark hyper-enthusiasm.

– Kevin Lam

MARILYN HOTCHKISS’ BALLROOM DANCING & CHARM SCHOOL

PG-13, 103 minutes

A film with a title like “Marilyn Hotchkiss’ Ballroom Dancing & Charm School” practically screams “What else is playing?” But Randall Miller’s film is relentlessly good-natured and at times so eccentric that it is surprisingly smile-inducing.

Mr. Miller twists dark material into something light. Robert Carlyle plays Frank Keane, a timid sad-sack baker who hasn’t been the same since his wife’s suicide. When he’s not baking, he spends his time at a support group for widowers, (whose members are played by Sean Astin, Ernie Hudson, and Adam Arkin, among others).

While delivering bread in his truck one afternoon, he witnesses a car crash. The driver, Steve Mills (John Goodman), doesn’t look like he’s going to survive. When the paramedics arrive on the scene, they urge Frank to keep Steve talking. In the ambulance trip to the hospital, Steve announces that he was on his way just now to the charm school to keep a promise to his childhood sweetheart. They had promised to meet again on this day (which we know from a flashback starting mediocre child actors). Knowing he cannot attend in his condition, Steve asks Frank to go in his place and find his lost love.

Frank doesn’t find the woman he’s looking for, but he does meet Meredith (Marisa Tomei) to whom he takes an instant liking. Through her, he finds the confidence to sign up for the dance classes. Marienne Hotchkiss, the owner of the school, is played wonderfully by Mary Steenburgen. Her piercing eyes, deadpan delivery, and downright odd demeanor makes Ms. Steenburgen seem as if she’s been displaced from a David Lynch movie. She is enjoyably offbeat and watchable.

Co-written with Jody Savin, Mr. Miller’s film (based on his 1990 short of the same name) is predictable, save for a slight twist toward the end. It is sweet without being overly saccharine or patronizing. Its charms are hard to resist.

– Edward Goldberger

IOWA
unrated, 104 minutes

The tagline intones: “Iowa. They don’t just grow corn here anymore.” Nope, they also grow really bad movies. This crystal-meth scare screed by Matt Farnsworth is tailor-made for high school assemblies. “Iowa” is about two freshfaced kids, Donna Huffman (Diane Foster) and Esper Harte (Mr. Farnsworth, again), who just want to blow their one-horse town. But when they discover the meth stash of Esper’s dead father, it’s just a few quick sniffs before they’re hooked on the devil’s dandruff. One scene later, they’re cooking up their own batches in a scenic barn right in the heart of America’s breadbasket.

Esper’s mother (Rosanna Arquette) is conspiring with her slimy corrections officer lover (Michael T. Weiss) to rob her son of some of his father’s insurance money. Their scheme is so complicated that I still don’t understand how it was supposed to work. This distracts audiences from the bigger question: How broke is Ms. Arquette that she had to make this movie?

Mr. Farnsworth serves up every cheesy cliche in the book: lesbianism, rape, bondage, gunplay, and wild teen behavior. As silly as “Reefer Madness” and as exploitative as hard-core pornography, this is a motion picture version of a Jack Chick comic. It lacks only a concluding shot of Satan laughing with an evil sneer.

– Grady Hendrix

SLITHER
R, 90 minutes

Hollywood has several blockbusters on offer now, but the most fun to be had this weekend is seeing “Slither,” a joyfully excessive, hyper-entertaining gorefest by James Gunn. Mr. Gunn – who wrote “Tromeo and Juliet” before going mainstream with the screenplay for “Scooby-Doo” – makes his debut as a director here. He presents a smart and outrageously fun horror comedy in homage to the genre while creating a world very much its own.

Trouble begins when a meteor carrying a race of oversize slugs crashes in a small town. Pity Grant Grant (Michael Rooker), who is the first to discover it and the first to be infected by a slug spawn. (It shoots itself into his stomach, and infiltrates his brain.) His wife, Starla (Elizabeth Banks), grows suspicious of Grant’s behavior as he begins to transform into a 6-foot slug over the next few days. (If nothing else, the makeup by Todd Masters is excellent.) Aside from noticing Grant’s physical changes, Starla is none too pleased about the sanctuary of dead animals he’s started keeping in their basement.

Enter police chief Bill Pardy (Nathan Fillion) and the foul mouthed mayor, Jack MacReady (Gregg Henry) who tries to contain Grant, but all bets are off when one of his victims, pregnant with hundreds of slugs, “gives birth.” Slugs, they learn, are the least of the problem. Before long the town is fighting off human zombies and killer deer.

The film closes with a final half-hour of wall-to-wall cartoon violence that will get teenagers cheering. Less juvenile audiences can appreciate the witty, tongue-incheek script that Mr. Gunn has authored. “Slither” is a genuine crowd-pleaser.

– Edward Goldberger

IRON ISLAND
unrated, 90 minutes

What is it about putting a man in charge of a boat that turns him into an insane megalomaniac? There’s Captain Ahab, Captain Nemo, Captain Queeg, and pretty much any pirate you can think of. Now there’s Captain Nemat of “Iron Island,” the first insane sea captain in modern Iranian film history.

Never mind that his ship is a brokendown oil tanker abandoned in the Persian Gulf and so corroded that it’s barely held together by rust. Never mind that it’s stuffed with squatters, children, and the occasional donkey. Captain Nemat rises to the challenge of being an insane sea captain by adding a bold new twist: He’s actually an insane plantation owner.

Nemat has filled his sinking kingdom with squatters, and he’s made them a devil’s bargain: They get a place to live and he gives them work dismantling the ship on which they sleep. He sells the scrap, as well as the dregs of the oil left in the hold. They buy their food and medicine through Nemat, who deducts it from their wages.

Director Mohammad Rasoulof does not set up the film as a political parable. But the parallels are available: Here’s an isolated Arab state, kept from the world by a benevolent dictator who micromanages his subjects’ lives “for their own good.” The film refuses to judge Nemat, which is too bad. Forever arranging, dealing, wheeling, backstabbing, and convincing, Nemat is the brand of con man who needs some dramatic friction to really throw off sparks. But no character can challenge his mad vision, and so the movie is merely a character sketch drawn in water, rust, and oil.

– Grady Hendrix

TORO NEGRO
unrated, 87 minutes

Bullfighting has a certain kind of brutal glamor. But when set in rural Mexico, away from posh crowds, slick managers, and big purses, it’s just brutal. “Toro negro” cruises the circuit where dirt-poor matadors in threadbare costumes are worked to the bone by cruel managers. The matadors are lucky if their dressing rooms have lights, let alone plumbing. It’s in this setting that we meet the young matador Fernando Pacheco.

Warm-hearted, open-minded, 23 years old, and genuinely charismatic, Fernando wants to be a great matador. Surrounded by assistants who rarely show up for work, he’s just lucky that he hasn’t been stomped to death by a raging bull. His girlfriend is Romelia, a pregnant woman twice his age who believes in him without hesitation. But then you notice how much Fernando drinks.

He drinks to find the courage to get in the ring, gets injured in the ring because he’s drunk, then drinks even more to numb his injuries before the next bullfight. By the time a drunk Fernando starts beating Romelia while her daughters (and the camera) watch, the journey from point A to point B is clear. When you risk your life for a few bucks in a poverty-stricken world, the only escape is to burn out your soul with plastic bags of rotgut booze. Watching poverty destroy lives on film may be questionable entertainment, but it’s undeniably powerful, and quietly devastating.

– G.H.