Roger’s a pig, the kind of man who boasts of nightly sexual conquests but
is more likely to sit at a bar, fulfilling his wretched opinion of himself by
insulting the woman next to him (”What you mistake for a personality is really
a collection of Vanity Fair articles”). It takes a visit from Nick (Jesse
Eisenberg), his 16-year-old nephew, to make him confront his booze-soaked
delusions.

Kidd’s script sparkles with wicked one-liners and gives us the benefit of
two perspectives: the crotch-level view of men who see women as chattel, and
the exasperation of women who want to be desired without being demeaned. The
heart of the film is a four-way conversation among Roger, Nick and two out-for-
fun women (Jennifer Beals and Elizabeth Berkley) in a bar.

It’s Roger’s intention to give his nephew a crash course in plundering
women, but it’s Nick, sweet and virginal, who charms the ladies. We can see
that reversal of power coming long before Roger does — the movie’s a bit
schematic in that regard — but the writing and acting are so sharp it doesn’t
matter.

Scott, one of our best underused actors, has never been better — layering
Roger’s cocky demeanor with pain, rage and helplessness. Isabella Rossellini
has a juicy role as Joyce, the classy woman who dumps him and replaces him
with a younger, nicer model.

More surprising are Beals and Berkley, two actresses who have rarely had
the chance to be more than decorative — but register here with affecting,
natural performances. Berkley, heretofore stained by the “Showgirls” fiasco,
is the big revelation. See for yourself: She’s very, very good.

My only problem with “Roger Dodger” is the wobbly, handheld cameras — a
technique that sometimes works but seems here like a trendy, bothersome
affectation.

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- This film contains raw language and sexual references.

– Edward Guthmann

Drama. Starring Timothy Spall and Lesley Manville. Directed and written by
Mike Leigh. (R. 128 minutes. At the Lumiere and Shattuck in Berkeley.)

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After hitting a career high with “Topsy-Turvy,” his dazzling glimpse of
songmakers Gilbert & Sullivan, British filmmaker Mike Leigh returns to
familiar ground with “All or Nothing,” a bleak working-class tale set in a
housing project in southeast London.

From the first image — a young woman mopping the floor at an old people’s
home, underscored by Andrew Dickson’s plaintive music — we know we’re back on
the social and emotional turf that Leigh knows best.

Gourd-shaped Timothy Spall, the most frequent of Leigh’s actor-
collaborators, plays Phil, a downtrodden cabdriver who shares a flat with
common-law wife Penny (Lesley Manville), a supermarket checker, and their
grossly overweight children (Alison Garland and James Corden).

Life has never been sweet for Phil, a man who hates getting up in the
morning and whose blank, shell-shocked face is a poster for defeat. Any
ambitions Phil once cherished, any defenses he once had, were ground to a nub
long ago — an emotional legacy now assumed by his surly couch-potato son,
Rory.

It takes a near-death for this sad little family to realize how far they’ve
drifted from one another — and how little they have besides one another.
Leigh doesn’t sentimentalize these tragic, dead-end lives but allows his
characters to be ugly and stupid, to make horrendous mistakes. Sometimes
they’re laughable, and yet there’s never the sense that Leigh is mocking them.

A large and very capable cast plays the friends and co-workers surrounding
Phil and Penny. Ruth Sheen, well remembered from Leigh’s “High Hopes,” plays
Penny’s friend Maureen, the mother of a hell-bent daughter (Helen Coker), and
Kathryn Hunter is amusing as a relentlessly nosy cab passenger who pelts Phil
with questions about his family.

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This film contains raw language and sexual situations.

– Edward Guthmann

Suspense. Starring Sarah Polley, Catherine McCormack, Sean Penn. Directed
by Kathryn Bigelow. (R. 114 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)

“The Weight of Water” involves two mysteries — one it gives away and the
other featuring such badly drawn characters that its outcome hardly matters.
But the picture looks great, its nautical motif allowing director Kathryn
Bigelow to compose some lovely shots.

Half the film is set in the present, on a sailboat carrying a photographer
(Catherine McCormack) to a remote New Hampshire island where two murders
occurred in the 1870s. She’s working on a story about the crime and suspects
that the man hanged for it wasn’t guilty. So she turns Nancy Drew, with
halfhearted assistance from her drunken poet husband (Sean Penn) and his
brother (Josh Lucas, “Sweet Home Alabama”).

Bigelow (”K-19: The Widowmaker”) shot this film a few years ago, and it
evokes her arty early work such as “Near Dark.” She and cinematographer Adrian
Biddle capture the “magic hour” often, using glorious sunsets as backdrops for
petty squabbles and catching every sliver of sunlight coming off the water.

Less artful are the constant, overwrought musical cues and the sight of
Elizabeth Hurley, sans bikini top, sliding ice cubes down her body. She’s
playing Lucas’ date but looks awfully cozy with Penn.

Polley (”The Sweet Hereafter”) stars in the other half of the film, which
depicts the crime and its aftermath. She plays a Scandinavian immigrant who
sees the ax murders of her sister and sister-in-law. Polley gives the
character a manner as baleful as her rocky surroundings, making it clear this
woman is haunted by more than having witnessed a crime.

“The Weight of Water,” taken from a novel by Anita Shreve, strains for
parallels between Polley’s and McCormack’s characters. Polley’s family forced
her into a marriage of arduous labor and joyless sex with a dull older man.
McCormack’s modern-day photographer, by contrast, had more choices but picked
a husband who quotes Dylan Thomas while blowing cigarette smoke through his
nostrils.

Penn’s role is one-note, as are Hurley’s snaky seductress and Lucas’
oblivious nice guy. McCormack was given more to work with, which she augments
by suggesting that her character is fascinated by the murders so she won’t
have to think about her crumbling marriage. McCormack’s voice-over foretells
trouble for the sailboat, but hers is the only character to whom you’d feel
compelled to throw a life preserver.

The 1870s scenes provide more intrigue, even though it’s clear who did it.
Polley is a marvel in a scene where her neglected character finally gets some
tenderness. She grimaces at being touched, then shows an ache for affection
that’s startling in its nakedness.

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This film contains violence, nudity, sexuality.
– Carla Meyer

Documentary. Directed by Eugene Jarecki. (Not rated. 80 minutes. At the Castro
Theatre.)

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Documentary. Directed by Patricio Guzman. (Not rated. 109 minutes, in Spanish
with English subtitles. At the Castro Theatre.)

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It makes sense that these two illuminating documentaries are on the same
bill. “The Trials of Henry Kissinger” argues that the former secretary of
state should be charged with war crimes for his approval of the 1973 coup in
Chile, the secret bombings of Cambodia in 1969 and Indonesia’s 1975 invasion
of East Timor.

The coup in Chile killed the country’s democratically elected president,
Salvador Allende, and brought Augusto Pinochet to power — a dictatorial reign
that led to thousands of deaths and disappearances. “The Pinochet Case” is
about the 1998 arrest of Pinochet and his legal wrangling to avoid a trial on
charges of human rights violations. Interviews with Pinochet’s victims put a
human face on the systematic torture that existed under his rule.

Kissinger and Pinochet are defended in both films by friends. And in
“Kissinger,” Eugene Jarecki uses news clips and TV interviews with Kissinger
to give him more of a voice. That voice, however, seems to tell lies as
Jarecki presents damning evidence that Kissinger would say and do anything to
gain power, control power and rid the world of communism and Marxism, even
knowing his actions would lead to widespread suffering.

Haunting music, the seriousness of the allegations and riveting interviews
with Alexander Haig, Christopher Hitchens (whose book inspired the film) and
others give “Kissinger” extra drama and urgency.

Kissinger and Pinochet would no doubt rather forget about the events of
decades past, but documentaries like these will make sure that more people are
aware of both men’s tarnished histories. These movies are especially timely
given the renewed public debate about international war crimes and the United
States’ responsibility to intervene in the affairs of other countries.
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These films contain scenes of military violence and human remains.

– Jonathan Curiel

Drama. Starring Michel Piccoli, John Malkovich. Directed and written by Manoel
de Oliveira. (Not rated. 90 minutes. In French and English with English
subtitles. At the Opera Plaza, Shattuck in Berkeley and Rafael Film Center in
San Rafael).

.

People grieve in mysterious ways. Gilbert, the protagonist of “I’m Going
Home,” is a famous French actor using his art to work through the loss of his
wife and daughter in a car accident. The strategy works, at least for a while.

“I’m Going Home” lets Portuguese director Manoel de Oliveira, 93, meditate
on aging and mortality, as older European filmmakers are wont to do. But the
picture is subtly powerful instead of self-conscious or maudlin. De Oliveira,
a director for 70 years, continues to make quality films as if they, like
aging and loss, are a matter of course.

Michel Piccoli (”The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie”) plays the actor,
who learns of the tragedy after performing Eugene Ionesco’s “Exit the King.”
De Oliveira renders the last scene of the play in full detail; the king curses
his lack of immortality as Gilbert’s agent waits, and waits, offstage to
deliver the sad news.

The scene’s luxurious pacing causes momentary fear that “I’m Going Home”
will be filled with such windbag moments. But it’s not. De Oliveira shifts to
Gilbert’s offstage life a few months after the accident, when he’s busy
pretending not to be devastated.

Piccoli drops the actor’s onstage bluster for a pleasant, slightly
befuddled demeanor. His character window-shops, signs autographs and talks of
releasing pain through performance. “Remember, I act,” he says, as if that
fixes everything.

Piccoli is so good at playing carefully squashed grief that things don’t
seem amiss until he cracks a real smile, reserved for the widower’s grandson
who has been left in his care. Otherwise, the guy seems to be sleepwalking.

De Oliveira knows good storytelling doesn’t have to focus on action. During
a conversation between Gilbert and his agent, De Oliveira keeps his camera
trained on Gilbert’s shoe. It’s a good-looking brogue, but emblematic of the
widower’s struggle, an impulse buy meant to salve his pain.

Gilbert takes a role in an English-language movie whose director is played
by John Malkovich. Again, De Oliveira leaves the action for a more evocative
image, this time Malkovich’s face. As Gilbert struggles with his lines and his
English, Malkovich registers worry, pride, delight and regret, all in the
space of a minute.

– Carla Meyer