First impressions can be deceiving. I first saw Jackie Brown during its theatrical release and, coming three years after Quentin Tarantino’s revelatory Pulp Fiction, this two-and-a-half-hour follow-up seemed indulgent and sluggish. Even Tarantino’s agent at the time reportedly griped to Miramax execs after the premiere, “There’s the ultimate case for not giving the director final cut.”

But, like the two protagonists at the film’s crux, Jackie Brown improves greatly with age. Viewed far from the imposing shadow of Pulp Fiction, it stands as perhaps Tarantino’s most emotionally meaty work, as soulful as The Delfonics and Bobby Womack songs that punctuate its soundtrack.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t also a hell of a lot of fun, brimming with dark humor, film-geek references, show-off set pieces and Tarantino’s patently quirky dialogue. Most notable, however, is that the writer/director snags outstanding performances from two beloved icons of 1970s B movies: Pam Grier and Robert Forster.

Based on Elmore Leonard’s Rum Punch, the crime thriller takes off when L.A. baddie Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson in full-on badass mode) whacks an underling (a mercifully quick appearance by Chris Tucker) before the guy can turn informant. A series of circumstances leads to Jackie Brown (Grier), a down-on-her-luck flight attendant who is one of Ordell’s smugglers. All this and Robert De Niro taking bong hits with Bridget Fonda’s leggy surfer girl.

Grier is smart, sexy and dangerous in the title role, but for my money, it’s Forster who damn near steals the picture as Max Cherry, a world-weary bail bondsman whose fate bumps into Ordell and Jackie. Forster makes plain, no-frills decency seem downright cool, and his performance — even-keeled, relaxed, laconic — is pitch perfect. —Phil Bacharach

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If every home came with a built-in Elisha Cuthbert, there’d be no housing crisis. The evil dude in Captivity keeps one in his basement, albeit against her will. Even though the movie stinks, I still want one. After all, I’ve seen The Girl Next Door. Four times. She looks like fun.

Here, she’s Jennifer, a high-fashion model who carries a poodle as an accessory. She’s supposed to be über-famous, yet she goes completely unnoticed in a crowded nightclub as she sips her roofie martini. She wakes up in the gloomy basement of her kidnapper, who has some mini-Saw games in store for her.

These sequences feel tacked-on, as if an afterthought. So does a midpoint revelation that Jennifer’s not alone: There’s a cute boy (Daniel Gillies) trapped in the adjoining room! This is convenient, because not only can they maybe help each other out, but also, sex can be had.

Larry Cohen co-wrote the script, which isn’t up to the level of his other thrillers of that era, Cellular and Phone Booth. But how to explain twice-Oscar-nominated director Roland Joffé at the helm? You can’t. He does bring a visual style to the show, but that’s about it. —Rod Lott

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Armored is one of those movies whose trailer got played so many times in front of other movies, for what seemed to be an interminable amount of months, that you feel like you’ve already seen it. And you pretty much have, although it’s still a mildly enjoyable 88 minutes — decent, but by no means necessary.

Columbus Short is Ty, the cash-strapped vet who secures a gig with an armored truck company (so that’s what the title refers to) in an attempt to set a new, clean course in life. That route appears doable until co-worker Mike (Matt Dillon, doing Matt Dillon) approaches him with an offer he can’t refuse: He and his fellow armorees (I just made that word up) — Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno, Skeet Ulrich and that Hispanic guy from Prison Break — will hijack their own truck and make off with $42 million.

Needing money so child welfare can’t split him from his orphaned little brother, who likes to graffiti owls on their kitchen wall, Ty agrees, even though Skeet is involved. All goes according to plan until some asshole hobo has to fuck everything up, and, well, money corrupts, especially when we’re talking enough Benjamins to fund a Dillon vehicle.

Predators helmer Nimród Antal directs with enough competency to keep things slick and moving along, even when the story gives up. Short is really likable in this, which is good, because Heroes‘ Milo Ventimiglia, as a cop, is not. In his first scene, he scarfs down chili cheese dogs like he’s auditioning for gay porn. —Rod Lott

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The title says it all: Bunny Lake Is Missing! But we’ll fill you in anyway.

Having just moved to a new neighborhood in London, single mom Ann Lake (Carol Lynley) becomes alarmed when she goes to pick up her little girl, Bunny, at school, and the tot is nowhere to be found. Not only that, but no one at the school remembers ever seeing her. And not only that, but they think Ann to be somewhat of a loon.

And not only that, but the authorities — led by Newhouse (Laurence Olivier — pardon me, Sir Laurence Olivier) — think about giving up on the search, because there’s no evidence Bunny ever existed. Or at least none that Ann and her brother, Steven (Keir Dullea of 2001), can present, as Bunny’s personal items at their apartment have vanished.

Director Otto Preminger deliberately toys with the viewer, making you question whether Ann is telling the truth or off her rocker. (It doesn’t help that Preminger cleverly has a cuckoo clock sound off in the background a couple of times — a clue or a joke?) And does that creepy bastard of a landlord (Noel Coward) have anything to do with it?

Although it could stand to lose a couple of scenes that go nowhere, this is a tight, black-and-white thriller with an awfully bizarro final act that’ll have you wondering if you weren’t drugged. It holds up pretty well today, minus the repeated songs of The Zombies. —Rod Lott

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Despite Miramax’s best efforts to make you think otherwise (i.e. never releasing it in theaters, waiting five years to dump it on video, giving Skeet Ulrich a lead role), Track Down isn’t as bad as you’d expect.

It’s the true story of Kevin Mitnick, the hacker who evaded the FBI for two years after breaking into computer networks and stealing software and data that could have been highly damaging, had he chosen to do so.

Mitnick is played by Ulrich, who no longer looks like Johnny Depp, but Kevin Federline. As he attempts to live off the grid, he’s chased not only by federal agents, but computer security expert Tsutomu Shimomura (Russell Wong), whose hard drive Mitnick wiped clean and whose super-secret virus-worm-thingie he swiped.

Track Down has an interesting dilemma: How do you make hacking visually exciting? Well, other than having Angelina Jolie strip down in a pool, you can’t. So it has to rely on your standard cat-and-mouse setup to generate any thrills. But in doing so, Track Down forgets to dumb down the technology aspect to make it easily acceptable. It assumes you already know a lot about hacking, from the lingo to the how-to.

I obviously don’t know as much as I should have, because after watching the film, I have no idea what exactly Mitnick did or who Shimomura is. But I do know that Halloween 6 director Joe Chappelle so obviously used this flashy piece as a calling card to get his CSI: Miami gig.

Jeremy Sisto, Master P and Amanda Peet are thrown into the cast just to piss me off. —Rod Lott

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