DON’T MOVE
unrated, 119 mins.

Within the first half-hour of the sexual drama “Don’t Move,” a married, seemingly upstanding surgeon rapes a young woman, returns to her out of guilt, and falls in love with her. The woman reciprocates these feelings, and they enter into an affair. Like this film or not (and I rather liked it), there’s no getting around its cynicism. Fortunately, it is uplifted by accomplished, tough performances.

Penelope Cruz, hidden under heavy makeup and a pair of false teeth, costars with Sergio Castellitto (who directed and co-wrote as well). She is Italia, a low-income hotel maid sexually assaulted by Mr. Castellitto’s Timoteo. She doesn’t try to fight him off – she’s used to being abused by her father. He is listless in his mundane marriage; she accepts love wherever she may find it. Their attraction is based almost entirely on sex, but it is the most meaningful relationship they’ve ever been in.

That the film is based on a novel written by a woman (Margaret Mazzantini – Mr. Castellitto’s wife) may make it seem less misogynistic. Mr. Castellitto’s assured, confident direction keeps the film feeling intimate. And the literate script has many well written scenes, though some poor foreshadowing makes the film’s final reel fairly predictable.

Most of all “Don’t Move” provides – ironically, given the film’s subject matter – a welcome opportunity to see Ms. Cruz be an actress rather than just a sex symbol. It turns out she remains beautiful even when dressed up to be ugly, and can be proud to call her determined performance as a humiliated, beaten-down woman one of her best.

– Edward Goldberger

MAIL ORDER WIFE
R, 89 mins.

Andrew Gurland and Huck Botko’s uncomfortable mockumentary “Mail Order Wife” at first plays it straight, trying to trick its audience into thinking that it is real. In the final half-hour, however, it gives up on this strategy, choosing instead to turn into a “wacky” comedy.

The film follows Mr. Gurland, playing himself, who is filming a documentary on Adrian (Adrian Martinez, currently at the Public in “The Last Days of Judas Iscariot”) a sad-sack doorman who pays $5,000 to bring a wife over from Asia. Once Lichi (Eugenia Yuan) arrives, Adrian puts her to work, forcing her to cook and clean for him and eventually subjecting her to sexual abuse. At this point, Mr. Gurland steps in and takes Lichi away to live with him. More chaos ensues.

Putting aside that the film isn’t very good (and boy, it isn’t) “Mail Order Wife” does have some of the best timing in recent cinema history: None other than Jose Canseco shows up late in the film, playing himself, to rent Mr. Gurland his boat. But aside from a few humorous non-sequiturs like these, the film is not funny. It is creepy, manipulative, and off-putting, though I imagine that was the point.

– Edward Goldberger

THE BOYS AND GIRL FROM COUNTY CLARE
unrated, 90 mins.

There are nice things to look at and listen to in “The Boys and Girl from County Clare.” Traditional Irish music drives much of the plot along, and many shots show emerald-green fields that slope down to the sea and country roads clogged with sheep and cows. If first-time screenwriter Nicholas Adams’s script is heavy on sibling rivalry and unconvincing romance, “The Boys” is still a toe-tapper right through to the end. Never mind that the actors aren’t actually playing those instruments.

In the late 1960s, against the backdrop of Beatlemania, the estranged McMahon brothers Jimmy and John Joe meet again at the All Ireland Music Competition. Jimmy (Colm Meaney) lives in Liverpool and directs the Liverpool Shamrock Ceili Band, while John Joe (Bernard Hill) still lives in the small Irish village of their birth and leads an unnamed band that plays at the local pub. An romance between John Joe’s fiddler (Andrea Corr of, yes, that band, The Corrs) and Jimmy’s flute player (Shaun Evans) provides much unoriginal conflict. The brothers recognize that there’s more to their relationship than a 20-year rivalry. Everything irons itself neatly out, though the film occasionally buckles under the weight of its own charm.

– Michael Rose