BLACK DYNAMITE

Deliberately loading a film with absurd situations, cliche-ridden dialogue, farcical characters and even continuity errors seems an ideal formula for disaster, yet that's precisely what makes Scott Sanders' ode to '70s African-American cinema a delight. Sanders' love and knowledge of the blaxploitation genre is evident both in the movie's grainy look —accomplished through the use of Super 16 Color Reversal Kodak film and cannily inserted stock footage that shoves you back to 1972 — and star/co-screenwriter Michael Jai White's brilliant portrayal of the title character, a former CIA agent forced back into action to avenge his brother's murder.

White expertly mimics the mannerisms, gestures, mack-daddy rhetoric and improbable martial arts ferocity of the heroes who made Shaft, Truck Turner, Coffy and the many other period flicks referenced here so beloved to '70s audiences. But he's careful to maintain the balance between homage and parody — something that raises Black Dynamite a notch above previous spoofs such as Undercover Brother or I'm Gonna Git You Sucka. Those were played solely for laughs, while this one, though it also frequently aims for the comic jugular, adds a layer of righteous edge that keeps the humor from straying into toothless irrelevance. Like its predecessors, Black Dynamite offers a skeletal storyline that incorporates unprovable conspiracies about governmental/organized crime complicity in black community misery, weaving two classic schemes into its plot. One involves heroin smuggling in orphanages, the other a scandalous ingredient inserted into malt liquor.

Thanks to the inspired casting — an all-star roster ranging from Tommy Davidson and Arsenio Hall to Phil Morris, Chris Spencer, Mykelti Williamson, Salli Richardson and Bokeem Woodbine — and many hilariously spot-on sequences and figures (most notably Captain Kangaroo Pimp), it's easy to forgive some mistakes that aren't deliberate. These include clumsy transitions, some weak gags, and the third-act padding that stretches 70 minutes of greatness into a good 90. Still, watching White and company "stick it to the man" recalls fond memories of huge Afros, mythical archetypes and an era when it seemed that an evolving, erratic, but also exciting and potentially empowering black film industry was emerging out of the Hollywood underground. (Opens Friday at The Belcourt; Frank Dobson of the Bishop Joseph Johnson Black Cultural Center at Vanderbilt will lead a discussion after the 8:05 show Saturday night.) — RON WYNN

BROKEN EMBRACES

The first hour of Pedro Almodovar's melodrama/noir/comedy

Broken Embraces is about as good as the venerable Spanish director gets, mixing wit and worldliness into a well-told, economical story about betrayals and long-held secrets among a circle of aristocrats and artists. As always, Penélope Cruz is at her best working with Almodovar: Here she plays an ex-prostitute who marries a rich man, gets him to pay for her acting career, and then falls in love with her first director, played by Lluis Homar. Broken Embraces is told largely in flashback by the now-blind director (working as a screenwriter under the pseudonym "Harry Caine"), as he and his peers try to explain to the next generation how they came to be so damaged, and what they've learned from their mistakes.

There's a lot in Broken Embraces about how people put on one face to strangers and another to family, and a lot about how people sift through records of their loved ones — photographs, documents, home movies, etc. — to piece together a story of their time together that makes sense. The movie starts out strong, but as the time-jumping structure gives way to something less kinky, Broken Embraces comes down with a near-terminal case of connect-the-dots-itis. What seemed so assured and tantalizingly mysterious in the early going becomes labored and predictable toward the end. Almodovar rallies late with an ebullient scene from his movie-within-a-movie, and he caps the film well with a sweet final line. But there's a bit too much of Almodovar coasting on craft here, and while his craft is some of the strongest in the business, this time—in an inversion of Broken Embraces' story—Almodovar the writer lets down Almodovar the director. In Spanish with subtitles. (Opens Friday at Green Hills) — NOEL MURRAY