ALICE’S HOUSE Opens Jan. 25

As the title character in Alice’s House, Carla Ribas gives a superb performance as a working-class woman in almost constant despair. The film, written and directed by queer filmmaker Chico Teixeira, is presented in near-documentary style, opening with images of Alice’s claustrophobic apartment, which she shares with her mother, Jacira (Berta Zemel), her husband, Lindomar (Ze Carlos Machado), and their three hunky (and often shirtless) sons, Lucas (Vinicius Zinn), Edhino (Ricardo Vilaça) and Junior (Felipe Massuia).

There is considerable tension in the household, and it unfolds to form this largely plotless drama. Eventually Alice is a woman who, after years of taking care of others, finally wants to find someone to take care of her. When Alice meets Nilson, the wife of her client at the beauty shop where she works, Alice recognizes him as a boyfriend from her past. She begins an affair with him in part to escape from her despair. However, Alice should be trying to solve her problems, not run away from them.

If Alice’s House plays like a melodrama—or a gussied up telenovela—that is because it is. There are clichés involving Jacira finding evidence of Lindomar’s sexual conquests in his wallet while she does the laundry, and a pair of birds in a cage are potent symbols for Alice and her mother who are trapped in their domestic positions as Brazilian women. But this film rises beyond these conventional elements to become something more profound. Teixeira wants to show not just why his characters are anguished, but also how they cope with it.

The film’s grittiness is as palpable as Alice’s despair, and watching it is fascinating. The rhythms of her routine are hypnotic, and audiences will get caught up in this compelling family even as they long for some relief to all of Alice’s suffering. A —Gary M. Kramer

Caramel Opens Feb. 1

Caramel is one of those emotionally enriching, but ultimately frustrating foreign films that caters to the idea that it’s OK to leave audiences hanging because, “Hey, in real life, there are no happy endings.”

The story here centers around a beauty salon in Beirut, where five women come together to interact while living out their own emotionally turbulent lives. Salon owner Layale (director Nadine Labaki) is involved with a married man; Nisrine (Yasmine Elmasri) is engaged to be married to a man who believes that she is still a virgin; Rima (Joanna Moukarzel) is secretly a lesbian and is falling in love with a mysterious woman who frequents the salon; Jamale (Gisèle Aouad) is an aging actress who desperately tries to hang on to the appearance of youth; and Rose (Sihame Haddad) is the seamstress who lives and works across the street, where she cares for her older sister. During the course of the film, each woman confronts the reality of her situation, turning to her friends at the salon to offer her support and compassion.

It’s a very simple movie. Unlike other multi-character films (like, perhaps, those of Robert Altman or John Sayles), Caramel is not concerned with resolutions. In fact, most of the stories that are introduced don’t have any sort of resolution to them at all. Life simply goes on existing in much the same fashion as when the movie began. For some, such open-ended storytelling may be comforting; for others—like me—it will be perplexing. It’s not that all storylines need to be tied up with nice, neat bows by the end, but some sense of climax or denouement would be nice. Still, there is much to enjoy here, especially in the rich performances of a fine ensemble cast. In each of these women, the possibility of hope comes alive. For that alone, Caramel is a sweet success. B —Ken Knox

How She Move Opens Feb. 1

How She Move is in the long line of entertaining—if not exactly mold-breaking—“street” dancing flicks like Step Up and Stomp the Yard. It’s riddled with genre clichés. And yet, it’s one of the better popcorn flicks to come down the pike lately.

Raya (film newbie Rutina Wesley) has broken from the drug-infested ghetto that’s worn down her Jamaican parents and claimed the life of her sister. Studying for entrance to college at the tony Seaton Academy, she returns to her family after her sister’s overdose. Back home, Raya runs up against the inner-city prejudices and petty jealousies of old friends. She clashes with Michelle (Tré Armstrong), grows close to potential love interest Bishop (Dwain Murphy), and gets involved in the local step-dancing scene.

Helmed by Ian Iqbal Rashid (he directed Touch of Pink, a frothy gay love story), How She Move begins badly. It’s all fast edits, hand-held camera shots; as if the essence of the “ghetto” can only be communicated with fuzzed-out, shaky framing and jagged sleight-of-hand. The first “dance-off”—between Raya and Michelle in a shop class—is insane. They don’t seem to be dancing; it’s more like watching seizures with rhythm.

Yet as the film progresses, Rashid tones down. He frames the actopm in long-shots to give scope to their movements, which are like acrobatics crossed with traditional dance. And though there are no real surprises—guess, just guess who wins the big competition?!— the set pieces, featuring crews of talented steppers, are enthralling. Despite the lame plot, you’re rooting for the underdogs, applauding along with the rest of the screen audience over a tricky move or over-the-top combination of bodies synched as one. Where it counts—which is onstage at the competitions—How She Move is excitingly nimble. B —Dan Loughry