THE MACHINIST
R, 102 mins.

About 10 minutes into Brad Anderson’s resolutely bleak “Machinist,” some viewers might begin to feel trapped. Not a pleasant feeling, for sure, but exactly what Mr. Anderson seems to be going for. This claustrophobia is both the film’s strongest achievement and its Achilles heel.

As thin as a ghost, Trevor Reznik (an impressively, albeit dangerously, underweight Christian Bale) is a haunted insomniac who works in a factory, operating heavy machinery. His nights blend in with his days, and the urban wasteland he inhabits seems perpetually stuck in a grim, gray twilight. To add to the portent, Trevor’s weight is still dropping, he seems to have an obsessive need to wash his hands with bleach, and a mystery guest appears to be playing a game of Hangman with him through Post-Its stuck to the fridge. This may or may not be Ivan (John Sharian), a creepy, portly type who claims to be a co-worker, even though none of Trevor’s fellow laborers on the factory floor know him. Could Ivan somehow be connected to a deep dark secret Trevor is harboring? And whose body was that Trevor disposed of earlier in the film?

Technically, “The Machinist” is something of a marvel: Mr. Anderson uses urban hum as effectively as any musical score, and the film’s Kafkaesque atmosphere is unnerving. The problem is, with so much dreariness, the audience has nothing to latch on to: The gray mood never lets up, and Trevor is too dourly psychotic to provoke affection: He’s no Norman Bates.

Not that Mr. Anderson wants him to be. Although some of its genre trappings might suggest otherwise, “The Machinist” isn’t a mystery, or even really much of a thriller. It’s an effective – too effective – portrait of a tormented soul trying to negate himself.

– Bilge Ebiri

THE MANSON FAMILY
unrated, 95 mins .

Jim Van Bebber’s “The Manson Family,” a multilayered gorefest 15 years in the making, has been much anticipated in the cult film community. Some of this is warranted: Mr. Van Bebber made his name with 1988’s brutal do-it-yourself underground film “Deadbeat at Dawn,” and his music videos for bands like Skinny Puppy kept up his reputation.

“The Manson Family” intercuts re-creations of Charles Manson and his followers raping, partying, and pillaging with a fake documentary interviewing these same folks years later. Watching this footage are two television producers who received it anonymously. Unfortunately, they’re also being watched – by some renegade punks preparing for some ultraviolence of their own.

Such material will sate many an appetite. But the amateurish recreation of the Manson Family’s “heyday” is rife with bad acting and sloppy filmmaking – in stark contrast to the highly realistic jailhouse interviews, which are actually affecting. Somewhere in here, there’s a good film trying to get out; unfortunately, there are also several lousy ones.

– Bilge Ebiri

FISH WITHOUT A BICYCLE
R, 97 mins .

I’ have to find myself,” says Jules (Jenna Mattison), heroine of “Fish Without a Bicycle.” “I know that sounds cliched – I don’t have any answers.” As goes the heroine, so goes the film, which Ms. Mattison wrote and co-produced. From its opening voiceover about fate to lines like “Spare me the psych 101,” “Fish” is a sampler of romantic comedy cliches.

A 24-year-old actress/waitress in Los Angeles pines over her self-absorbed stage director, Michael (Bryan Callen), while ignoring her sensitive co-actor, Ben (Brian Austin Green, who also directs). She listens to advice from sardonic friend Vicki (Jennifer Blanc) and banalities about “soulmates” and “looking within” from a wisdom-spouting bag lady (Edie McClurg). Aside from some minor twists near the end, “Fish” doesn’t add much to these beleaguered tropes.

Neither do the performers. Ms. Mattison’s winsomeness feels calculated and overly ardent. She breaks out her dimpled smile far too often (and in the wrong places). Mr. Green directs with restraint, but he needs to find himself a better vehicle – so to speak.

– Arthur Vaughan

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE
PG – 13, 106 mins.

The “Salute to the Blues” concert at Radio City Music Hall on February 7, 2003, kicked off the Year of the Blues – as designated by Congress, sponsored by Volkswagen, and presented by Martin Scorsese.

The concert featured over 40 big-name artists, lasted five hours and 15 minutes, and had seats priced as high as $1,250. A number of not-strictly blues artists paid homage to the greats throughout the night. Bonnie Raitt, David Johansen, and Gregg Allman captured the spirit of the music. Macy Gray, the Neville Brothers, and Steven Tyler and Joe Perry didn’t.

It’s this evening, and the rehearsals leading up to it, that Antoine Fuqua immortalizes in his relatively workman-like concert film, “Lightning in a Bottle.”

The reigning king of Chicago electric blues, Buddy Guy, was the thread that held the night together. The crowd thrilled as he worked his way up the neck of his guitar with both hands on a version of the Muddy Waters hit “I Can’t Be Satisfied.”

The show closed with B.B. King playing a couple of songs. This was the right note to end on: a celebration of a man and his guitar, just as the blues began.

– Martin Edlund

STELLA STREET
R , 78 mins .

‘Stella Street” is like a bad ventriloquist act: It’s funny for 10 minutes, but by 30 minutes it’s gotten tedious, by an hour it’s run out of gas, and by the end, it’s unbearable.

The film’s three actors (Phil Cornwell, John Ses sions, and Ronni Ancona) assume multiple roles, mostly impersonating A-list celebrities. The plot postulates that famous actors – including Al Pacnio, Joe Pesci, Jack Nicholson, Michael Caine, and others – have moved onto a quiet street in London next to a group of eccentric neighbors. While a few are there just to relax, several attempt to assimilate into their new culture (Mick Jagger and Keith Richards open a corner store).

Based on a series of 10-minute shorts, the film can’t sustain the laughs for its full length. Once the novelty wears off, we’re stuck with a movie where nothing is happening. And when you get down to it, some of these impersonations are considerably bad.

– Eddie Goldberger