One of the best things about Jonathan Glazer's brightly colored gangster film "Sexy Beast" is that the title is completely irrelevant. No one in the movie is sexy, though I guess Ben Kingsley's character could be considered a beast.

After that, the best things about "Sexy Beast" are delicious performances, amusing plot twists, and an enjoyable hearkening back to good old caper films (with just a touch of redeeming social value thrown in).

Gary "Gal" Dove (Ray Winstone) is a professional crook who has retired wealthy from a life of crime to a beautiful villa in Spain. He lives with his wife, Deedee (Amanda Redman), whom he adores, and lounges next to his swimming pool, drinking and bossing around his houseboy (Alvaro Monje). Gal and Deedee often have dinner with their friends, Aitch (Cavan Kendall) and Jackie (Julianne White). Life is good.

One night, Aitch and Jackie are absolutely panicked to inform Gal that Don Logan has called. Don Logan (Ben Kingsley) is an old crime associate who has been enlisted to put together a crack squad of thieves to burgle a bank back in London.

Don is a fearsome man; watch the terror in the foursome's eyes just to talk about him. He has a shaved head and a goatee and far more strength than a slender man like him should have. Nonetheless, desiring to protect Deedee from the trouble that comes from illegal activities, Gal stands up to the steely-eyed psychopath and turns down the assignment. Don uses his powers of persuasion, and it would seem one more night "on the job" is in the cards, despite Gal's protestations.

Kingsley is the one to watch here. His Don Logan is at once terrifying and amusing, his speech pattern distinct — he'll say "no" eight times instead of just saying it once — and his demeanor deceptively calm. He's the kind of lunatic who is reserved just enough to make you realize that when he explodes, it's going to be big.

Aside from some thick British accents that are at times difficult to comprehend, "Sexy Beast" turns out thoroughly, violently enjoyable.

Grade: A-

Rated R, abundant harsh profanity, some strong sexuality,

It's a miracle David Spade isn't shoveling horse manure somewhere for minimum wage, because that's what he'd surely be doing if he weren't starring in feature films. The excitement preceding a David Spade film is akin to the excitement preceding a traffic jam — most of us look for some way around it.

Everything this film is about is captured in the title, which is as much as anyone should want to know. Spade plays a former child star whose catch-phrase, "That's nuckin' futs," was all the rage back in the '80s. Now, he's a loser trying to revive his career. It's the role Spade was born to play.

With a part in the latest Rob Reiner film at stake, Dickie shacks up with a family to rediscover the childhood he never had. What he discovers instead are two of the most nausea-inducing kids this side of "Teen Idol" and the hottest mother (Mary McCormack) in L.A. Viewers will not be surprised to learn that Spade buddy Adam Sandler co-produced the film, which makes its regurgitation of the "Billy Madison" script rather curious.

When "Dickie Roberts" goes poignant on us, it's time to conclude that the filmmakers have the same regard for genuine emotion that they do for interns. Working up concern for David Spade should be an Olympic event, given its extreme difficulty. There hasn't been a decathlete in the history of the sport who broke a bigger sweat than me trying to generate some sympathy during "Dickie Roberts."

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Note: This is an weight title in NTSC format from Japan. Supposing readily obtainable online and at many specialty shops throughout America, a region-free or Precinct 2/NTSC entertainer is required when viewing this title.

Director Kinji Fukasaku always said that when he made The Green Slime (Ganmaa dai 3 go uchu dai sakusen, or “Gamma No. 3 — Big Outer Space Military Operation,” 1968) his aim was to draw parallels to the Vietnam War, and that its story of a space station overrun with monsters might be likened to an America military in way over its head fighting in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Maybe so, but the charms of The Green Slime lay not in its lofty ambitions, which are almost invisible, but rather in its eminent, almost endearing goofiness.

When a runaway asteroid threatens earth, retired astronaut Jack Rankin (Robert Horton) is ordered to take command of Space Station Gamma 3. At the expansive outpost, populated by a large contingent of soldiers and medical personnel, Rankin runs into old girlfriend Lisa (Luciana Paluzzi) and her fiance, Commander Vince Elliot (Richard Jaeckel), formerly Rankin’s best friend. Rankin, Elliot and some men launch a rocketship toward the asteroid, laying charges there to blow it up before it reaches earth. The mission is a success, but a green, globby liquid is brought back to the station unnoticed, and, rising from the soapy green suds, little creatures grow and spread like a virus, creating hoards of clumsy but electrified and tentacled monsters!

Until the monsters show up, The Green Slime is cheap (probably made for around $750,000) but effectively made. As was often the case with Japanese genre films of the 1960s, an absurdly inadequate budget is nearly overcome through the sheer bravado of its filmmaking. Fukasaku infuses the film with determined energy, keeping everything moving at such a pace audiences (he hopes) won’t have time to notice that the space station’s support beams look like cardboard tubes, or that the tractor used to bore holes in the asteroid is so flimsy one questions whether it could even drill through a Kleenex.

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The miniatures are toy-like, more so than those seen concurrently on Thunderbirds or in Eiji Tsubuaraya’s spfx extravaganzas produced at rival Toho, but they are also shot and edited in such a striking, dramatic fashion they almost become acceptable. The opening shot, for instance, is like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey: on the widescreen frame, the sun (or maybe the Milky Way) is in the center of the frame, and gradually a slowly rotating earth enters from the extreme right of the frame, which is then followed by the introduction of Space Station Gamma from the extreme left. Though not especially convincing, the effect is almost epic. Similarly, the final seconds leading to the destruction of the runaway asteroid is extremely well edited, almost Eisensteinian in its cutting.

But the monsters are outrageously silly, somewhat resembling Billy Crystal’s one-eyed Mike Wazowski character in Monsters, Inc.. When they attack en masse, it’s rather like watching costumed revelers at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s as if somebody prepared a list of components monsters were expected to have — one big eye, tentacles, lots of little eyes, green skin, lobster-like pincers — and threw it all together without ever considering how silly it might look. Making matters worse is the incessant squeaking noise the creatures make, like millions of rubber duckys suddenly crying out in terror.

Both Horton and Jaeckel phone in their performances, while Paluzzi seems lost. The real fun, acting-wise, is watching the rest of the cast, non-professional actors living in Japan, taking obvious delight appearing in what amounted to a Big Break, a Hollywood-style movie working alongside recognizable names. Fans of Japanese films will note the presence of Robert Dunham, whose good Japanese won him steady work in such films as Fukasaku’s High Noon for Gangsters (Hakuchu no buraikan, 1961) and a leading role alongside Yosuke Natsuki in Dagora, the Space Monster (Uchu daikaiju Dogora, 1964). William Ross is there, as is Kathy Horan (or Cathy Horlan, nobody seems to know for sure), the latter familiar for her role as the widow in Goke, Bodysnatcher from Hell (Kyuketsuki Gokemidoro, 1968). One has to feel sorry for Linda Miller, though. After starring in the Fay Wray part in King Kong Escapes (Kingukongu no gyakushu) only the year before, she’s reduced to a mere extra with no lines at all in The Green Slime, a shame.

The Japanese version of The Green Slime differs from the American one in at least two respects, both improvements. The U.S. version ran an hour-and-a-half, but Fukasaku’s cut clocks in at a brisk 77 minutes, some 13 minutes shorter. This reviewer hasn’t seen the American version in many years, but Fukasaku seems to have mainly trimmed the labored and cliched conflicts between Rankin and Elliot, and the result is a film of almost non-stop action. The first act race to stop Flora leading up to its destruction has real energy in both versions, but afterwards the U.S. cut gets quite sluggish while Fukasaku’s version keeps that frantic pace up for the rest of the picture.

Charles Fox rescored much of the film for its release in America, most notoriously adding a lively but alarmingly inappropriate title song. The Japanese score, by Toshiaki Tsushima, is a melange of pounding military marches and the like, and better suited to the material.

U.S. home video versions of The Green Slime are panned-and-scanned, but Toei Video’s widescreen DVD does Fukasaku and DP’s Yoshikazu Yamasawa’s compositions and blocking justice. Shot with all the vitality of the Battles without Honor and Humanity films, The Green Slime’s roving, striking compositions and taut editing give the film some terrific momentum, and make a nice contrast to the stately, technophilic compositions of Ishiro Honda’s outer space melodramas (Battle in Outer Space, Gorath, etc.).

Conversely, the entire film, including the visual effects sequences, is egregiously over-lit. Modern Japanese favor unsubtly bright rooms in general and this seems to have been carried over for the lighting scheme of Space Station Gamma. Bad as the monsters are, had they been kept in the shadows the film might have worked a lot better, perhaps along the lines of the original Thing (from Another World). Even the miniature spaceships are too bright, so much so that they look more like plastic and lacking in detail than they need to have been. In this regard, the film seems to have used George Pal’s Conquest of Space as a guide as much as Tsuburaya’s work. Some sequences are very imaginatively conceived, but others are too ambitious for what money and time allowed. One shot of the green slimes clinging to the hull of the space station looks as if it were done with finger puppets. For the record, the picture’s visual effects were done by Japan Special Effects Movie Co., Ltd. (Nippon Tokusatsu Eiga Kabushikigaisha), the same people who did The X from Outer Space (Uchu daikaiju Girara, 1967) at Shochiku, and Gappa, the Triphibian Monster (Daikyoju Gappa, also 1967) at Nikkatsu.

And for all of Fukasaku’s ambitiousness, The Green Slime’s fate in Japan was, arguably, even worse than its campily promoted American release. In Japan it went out as part of a package of features and shorts called Toei chibi-ko matsuri (”Toei Little Children’s Festival”), topping a bill that included the animated Pinocchio in Outer Space.

There’s a cartoonishness in the nitty-gritty of “Night and the City,” a insatiate remake of the 1950 film noir that finds Robert De Niro twitching like Roger Rabbit after a insincere espresso. De Niro, whose TriBeCa company produced the project, leads yet another tour of Supplemental York’s most overexplored anatomical mug, its underbelly, as a boozy ambulance chaser with a sudden urge to trade his bar stool at a peculiar tavern for the duration of a table at Elaine’s. But lawyer Harry Fabian is a natural also-ran and his last furious attempt to be somebody only confirms that he was born to nosh knuckle sandwiches and suck up suds.

Basically, Harry’s kin to the scamps who sell swamp land to pensioners in “Glengarry Glen Ross” and to Dustin Hoffman’s antiheroic scam artist in “Hero.” Perversely, just when the recession-weary nation could use a George Bailey, all the greats decide to play two-bit hustlers. Of course Harry isn’t even worth two bits. His bank balance is $00.00, which is lucky when you consider he’s held up at the graffiti-covered money machine in the colorful rush of the opening scene. No doubt about it, this is the scuzz-packed navel of the underbelly.

An eternal optimist and a tried-and-true New Yorker, Harry proceeds unfazed to his favorite watering hole, a Runyonesque sports bar called Boxers where everyone knows his name as well as his number; as one of the regulars says, “If Fabian saw a bird digging up a worm, he’d get the worm to sue for whiplash.” The surly barkeep, Phil (Cliff Gorman), tolerates Harry even though it’s obvious that Phil’s sultry wife, Helen (Jessica Lange), has a thing for the diminutive blabbermouth. As Jessica Rabbit said of Roger, “He makes me laugh.” Blinded by fondness — Lange and De Niro don’t exactly convey burning desire — she doesn’t see that Harry is incapable of love.

A man with no friends to speak of, Harry makes enemies easily. He foolishly antagonizes big-time boxing promoter Boom Boom Grossman (Alan King) by bringing a bogus personal injury suit against one of his fighters. Intrigued by his foray into the fight world, Harry makes matters far worse by trying to elbow his way into the fight game with help from Boom Boom’s estranged older brother, Al (Jack Warden). Boom Boom threatens to kill Harry if any harm comes to Al, an excitable former champion with a heart condition. Given Harry’s lack of good sense, it’s all too easy to figure what comes next.

Richard Price, who also wrote “Sea of Love” and “The Color of Money,” sets De Niro’s cynicism against his naivete in this lighter reworking of the much bleaker 1950 film. Directed by Jules Dassin, it starred Richard Widmark as Fabian, a wrestling promoter in pre-World War II London. Time, place and occupation aside, the two Harrys have in common the need to be somebody.

Irwin Winkler, who made his directorial debut with De Niro in “Guilty by Suspicion,” is behind the camera for the second time with “Night and the City.” The producer of a slew of Oscar-nominated films from “Raging Bull” to “Rocky,” Winkler is clearly comfortable with the muscle of the boxing milieu, captured so successfully by the camera of Tak Fujimoto. A film that gets in your face and stays there, it ultimately subverts all that effort with its improbably upbeat conclusion. Still, the performances are technically knockouts, the kind that leave your underbelly churning.

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“Night and the City” is rated R for profanity and violence.

Record in mid-19th century local France, this tells of a young sweetie who arrives to teach at a girls’ boarding school and falls in love with a colleague, at worst to discover to her own astonishment that she is in fact a people. It’s excellently performed and speedily, and Féret teases discernible the ironies of Alexina’s predicament, denied the properly to love either as woman or man, with sure, calm clarity. Absolutely, however, it never entirely escapes a predetermined dullness, while its study of oppression born of ignorance and fear is unduly bromide-dimensional. Fascinating, nevertheless, as a sensitive account of an extraordinary story based in historical deed data.

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How hip was “Moonlighting?” How presumptuous, entertaining and all-pervasive was it in the 1980s? Allow me to elucidate. One day, in 1987, when I was in the eighth stage, I was leaving to get my hair cut. My mother asked me what technique I was getting. I told her that I was getting it picture be fond of my warrior, David Addison. I was too young to understand that Bruce Willis’ haircut was not by choice, and my mother hurriedly sat me down and explained to me the concept of male decorate baldness. Can you indict me, though? All I knew was that David was the coolest, greatest make fun of on TV, and he got to hang out with Maddie Hayes all the yet and solve mysteries and participate in woo after superb chase at the bring to an end of almost every adventure. Hell-what thirteen-year-outdated kid wouldn’t hunger to be David Addison?

“Moonlighting” was an hour-dream of comedy/drama following the adventures of two would-be detectives, Maddie Hayes (Cybill Shepherd), a former cover girl, and David Addison (Bruce Willis, when he still had hair), ne’er-do-soundly loafer-cum-gumshoe. “Moonlighting” practically invented the term “watercooler show,” as, every Wednesday morning, people in offices the surroundings throughout were discussing Dave and Maddie’s antics of the night prior to. “Moonlighting” was nothing short of a cultural event, which lasted until the end of the third season, when the two sparring partners at the end of the day slept together. The final two seasons of “Moonlighting” may leave a bitter taste in the mouths of many a fan, but not many leave disagree that the commencement three years of “Moonlighting” represented ground-breaking, prodigious television that was as much a artistic and comedic miracle as it was a rollicking inside bon mot to all the people in the industry. The crew of “Moonlighting” constantly worked through tight budgets, tighter schedules, arguments among the remove, scathing tabloid stories, and a writers’ take apart, only to produce what can arguably be called one of the best and most original series of the 1980s.

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In the affair featured on this DVD, the two-hour pilot, Maddie’s accountant runs away with her profitable assets, forcing the nonesuch to private and liquidate the remainder of her holdings. One such holding, apparently maintained as no other purpose than as a tax write-off, is the City of Angels Detective Intercession, headed by Mr. Addison. When the two meet, it’s loathe at first sight; David can’t stand Maddie’s uptight, cold, abundant-bitch persona, and Maddie is constantly driven up the go bust enclose by David’s minor humor, cocksure attitude and unduly-gregarious essence. David pleads with Maddie to also gaol the agency unregulated. She refuses. David begs, borrows, steals and finally connives Maddie into a murder case involving stolen Nazi diamonds, hoping to check to her that he’s as piece-goods e freight a detective as he says, and that she needs him stay off of the poorhouse.

The mystery and detection were always a far substitute in priority, though. “Moonlighting” was all with reference to chemistry, comedic timing and word acrobatics. The jesting in the midst the characters-Dave and Maddie in particular-ranged from David Mamet-style interplay to the onomatopoeic and alliterative stylings of Dr. Seuss. The murder cases were a mere backdrop exchange for the fantastic chemistry-like oil and water-between Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd. They may have had their disagreements-both on and off the indicate-but they both gave 110% when it came to the series, and it shows.