There are about 10 uneventful seconds in “Cellular.” High school science teacher Jessica Martin (Kim Basinger) drops her son off at the bus stop, plants a kiss on his forehead, then strolls over the lawn back inside her expansive suburban home. She says something friendly to her maid when – BANG! – a trio of thugs kick down her door, then – BANG! – the maid is shot dead. The bad men scoop Jessica into a black SUV, drive her across town, and lock her up in a dingy attic. Ethan (Jason Statham), the glowering alpha thug, advances with a sledgehammer. He takes a swing, Jessica screams, and the remains of a wall-mounted telephone clatter to the ground.

Cut, more or less, to an episode of “Baywatch,” where smug, topless Ryan (Chris Evans) is chumming it up with assorted beach bunnies and surfer dudes. In an effort to impress his bimbo ex-girlfriend (who was smart enough to dump this hottie halfwit), Ryan promises to lend a hand with the afternoon’s “Save the Bay” event, which is mostly a nonprofit bikini car wash. En route to Office Depot to fetch a box of T-shirts, he receives a hysterical call on his Nokia from Jessica, who’s pulled a total MacGyver on the busted phone.

Whatever, crazy lady; you’re using up my minutes. Somehow Jessica manages to grab onto the last lump of empathy remaining under his Coppertone smarminess, and Ryan agrees to get his phone to the fuzz. This being Los Angeles, a gang war breaks out in the middle of the police station, blocking Ryan from this tedious chore. But while running from the impromptu cholo v. skinhead riot, phone cocked to his ear, he overhears a brutal encounter with Ethan and is jolted out of his complacency. Instant Hero! Much vehicular mayhem ensues as Ryan embarks on a wild, all-day quest to save Jessica and her family from their mysterious tormentors.

Did it really take this long for someone to make a thriller entirely predicated on the cell phone? Not exactly: As evidenced by a Rodney King-like subplot, the idea for “Cellular” was probably kicking around Larry Cohen’s head for a while. Screenwriter of 2003’s “Phonebooth,” the legendary pulp auteur is credited only for the “story” here; writer Chris Morgan worked the basic premise into a script.

Inevitable that the zeitgeist would cough something like this up; the surprise is what a tough, wicked little B-movie it turned out to be. With its crazy-day-in-L.A. scenario and yoke-din-crisis odd couple, “Cellular” plays like the grunge B-side to “Collateral” – and blasts that wobbly star vehicle clean off the road (as with the digs at snooty white Angelenos blasting hip hop from their ostentatious trophy cars).Where Michael Mann’s corny all-nighter trades on a funky surface and blinding star power to mask tired, lazy material, this modest genre exercise knows exactly what it is: juicy, homegrown pulp fiction.

Starting from that two-fisted sucker punch in the opening scene, “Cellular” keeps your attention on speed dial. Director David R. Ellis proves that the flair, wit, and sturdy construction of “Final Destination 2” wasn’t a fluke; he’s a cheeky craftsman who knows his moviemaking nuts and bolts. This was the first preview screening I’ve ever attended where the audience shouted at the cross-cutting: “Go back!” The ghost of Hitchcock smiled on that moment – then asked a happy Sam Fuller to pass the beer.

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Ready to play “Resident Evil: Apocalypse”? If you’ve written down your pass code, enter it now. Otherwise, you can start a new game by clicking on the menu labeled “Sucker” and select option “Load Derivative Absurdity.”

A zombie disease has escaped the secret underground lab of the Umbrella Corporation, the world’s mightiest (and therefore most evil) corporation. Raccoon city has been quarantined, but a handful of wily humans remain inside.

Chief among them are Alice (Milla Jovovich), a combat goddess who survived the first round of “Resident Evil” only to be captured by Umbrella Corp. and endowed with even greater skill, an even skimpier outfit, and significantly fewer polysyllables. There is also a lesser goddess named Jill Valentine (Sienna Guillory), a disgruntled Umbrella security thug named Carlos Olivera (Oded Fehr),and a little girl with an illogical accent named Angie Ashford (Sophie Vavasseur).

Get your thumbs ready! There are five levels of game play. On level one, you must crash your motorcycle through a stained-glass window, back flip in slow-motion, then gun down three amphibious zombie mutations. This part is pretty easy, but remember you get extra points for unnecessary cocking of your shotgun.

Next, in the Graveyard level, you will suddenly be attacked by underground zombies. You are not allowed to use weapons, only kung fu.

Level three is called “Operation Angie.” A scientist from outside the quarantine area will call you, and offer a way out of the city if you successfully rescue his daughter, who is hiding out in her school.

As you make your way to the school – Surprise! – there is a quick sublevel in which you get your first look at Nemesis, the Boss Monster. He looks like a cross between a flayed piranha and the governor of California, packs a machine gun that fires 1 million rounds per second, and will, if provoked, launch missiles at you. Try to escape Nemesis. If you succeed, move on to Operation Angie. (Hint: Look out for the garbage chute). Beware of the zombie dogs. (Hint: they can be beaten off with frying pans.)

In level four, you must get to city hall and commandeer a helicopter. Standing in your way will be a number of heavily armed guards and – Nemesis! Yes, you are nearing the end of game play. Good luck: this part of the game is difficult to see and control, but if you push the buttons fast enough (doesn’t really matter which ones), you will be okay.

The final level is simple: pilot the helicopter out of Raccoon city before it’s destroyed by a nuclear weapon.

Did you make it? Think again! Your helicopter has crashed. Game over? Ha ha, no: here comes the Secret Level. You have to figure that one out for yourself. Please deposit $10.25.

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Speaking of dogs: “A Letter To True” is Bruce Webber’s ode to his golden retriever pup True – and also to things not false. For the jet-setting photographer/filmmaker/diarist, “truth” includes photo shoots at the Chateau Marmont, memories of Elizabeth Taylor, puppy picnics in Montauk, and other (ir)realities of the Vanity Fair set. But also the influence of war photographer Larry Burrows, the Haitian refugee crisis, the loss of a good friend on September 11, the wrenching conflicts in the Middle East.

All of which gets mixed into a breezy, free-form assemblage of photographs, film clips, and super-deluxe home movies. It’s cinema as scrapbook, and this particular volume might be labeled “Happiness is a warm dog.” Unabashedly sentimental and improbably naive, “A Letter To True” makes saccharine taste like nondairy creamer, but it’s caffeinated by total sincerity and goes down smooth via the best photographic equipment money can buy. Take the unironic torch songs on the soundtrack at face value, and leave the cat people at home.