SECUESTRO EXPRESS
R, 90 mins.

You don’t watch “Secuestro Express”; you’re assaulted by it. This Venezuelan film about a kidnapping aims to put the audience in the characters’ shoes, and it succeeds wildly: When the credits finally roll, you’re so pulverized, battered, and screamed at, that it’s a genuine relief to find you’re still in your seat in the theater and not in the trunk of somebody’s car.

Martin (Jean Paul Leroux) is a coke snorting, bratty, rich boy. Carla (Mia Maestro) is the doped-out debutante who enables his sulky excesses. They are kidnapped by a trio of ghetto thugs who jam guns in their ears, scream a lot, and demand a ransom. This isn’t a well-planned crime, but a spontaneous business endeavor to score some quick cash, like a particularly violent trip to the ATM.

Jonathan Jakubowicz shot his film on digital video, and it looks like grotesque vacation footage from a summer trip to hell. Faces leer, stretch, and distort, lighting comes in different shades of toxic yellow, green, and red, and I have a strong suspicion that the cameraman is a speed freak. If he is, he probably scores from the editor.

As for Mr. Jakubowicz, he’s eager to prove that no matter how bad a situation is, it can always get much worse. But this is no shallow exercise in neo-noir. Slowly and sneakily, the jumble of shouting, sweating, and sobbing faces resolve into a gallery of three-dimensional characters. Call it cinematic Stockholm Syndrome, but by the last reel you’ve actually started to like these desperadoes.

-Grady Hendrix

MY DATE WITH DREW
PG, 90 mins.

Finally! A movie that simultaneously caters to two all-important demographics: Romantics and Stalkers. “My Date With Drew” should be creepy and unsettling, but instead this quirky documentary is entirely charming.

Brian Herzlinger has been in love with Drew Barrymore since he was 8. Now 27 and unemployed, he’s flush with $1,100 thanks to a game show (the winning answer? Drew Barrymore), and he decides to pursue his fantasy of getting a date with her. After “buying” a video camera from Circuit City – the store has a 30-day return policy, which gives him just a month to close the deal – he teams up with two friends who help him document the journey.

The ticking clock and dwindling bank account give “My Date With Drew” an edge-of-your-seat quality few romantic comedies can match. Mr. Herzlinger’s enthusiasm is infectious, and he goes to smile-inducing lengths to realize his dream, be it sending a three-minute trailer to Ms. Barrymore’s production company or sneaking into the “Charlie’s Angels 2” premiere. His film (co-directed with Jon Gunn and Brett Winn) is exceptionally well edited, but, more importantly, it is funny.

-Edward Goldberger

SAINT RALPH
PG-13, 98 mins.

The marathon film “Saint Ralph” is a pleasant summer surprise, despite spouts of corny dialogue and a maudlin setup. Writer-director Michael Mc-Gowan’s film muddles through some unremarkable coming-of-age fare – Ralph, the 14-year-old protagonist, discovers masturbation, and also dives into a budding romance with a fellow student – but when Mr. McGowan gets out of the way, “Saint Ralph” flourishes.

The 1950s Canadian tale concerns Ralph Walker (newcomer Adam Butcher), whose father was killed in World War II and whose cancer-stricken mother (Shauna MacDonald) falls into a coma. “It would take a miracle for her to wake up” Ralph is told. And a miracle is what Ralph goes looking for.

A troublemaker in his Catholic school, Ralph takes up competitive running and gets the idea that winning the Boston Marathon would be a miracle great enough to reawaken his ailing mother. An idealistic young priest, Father Hibbert (Campbell Scott), admires Ralph’s tenacity and agrees to train him.

Mr. Butcher’s lack of experience shows in his inconsistent performance. But Mr. Scott shows again he is among the best actors working today, overcoming dialogue that can be wildly out of character. (“Before I met that man,” he says of Ralph, “I didn’t much believe in anything.” Keep in mind this is coming from a priest.)

For the most part Mr. McGowan (himself a former Detroit Marathon winner) milks the heartwarming moments without bashing his audience over the head with sentimentality – although peppering the soundtrack with an umpteenth cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was probably unnecessary. He sees the plot through to a logical and mature conclusion, and the result in an unexpectedly winning film.

-Edward Goldberger