chop idol; Hannibal Lecter might be safely locked up but Ralph

PERHAPS I missed the exact moment when it happened, but somewhere between The Silence of the Lambs and the latest installment of the Lecter story - the prequel Red Dragon - Hannibal stopped being a chillingly brilliant homicidal maniac and started to be a bit of a laugh. Perhaps the threat of Lecter is somehow dissipated because, early in this movie, the man that we're meant to believe is an infallible criminal genius is vanquished by gauche detective Ed Norton.

Perhaps it's because Anthony Hopkins has tired of devouring his victims over three films and has decided to munch on the scenery instead. Perhaps as it's 12 years since Hopkins first took on the role and over 15 since Lecter first appeared on our cinemas - in Michael Mann's Manhunter, the original cinematic interpretation of Thomas Harris's novel Red Dragon - familiarity has started to breed just the slightest edge of contempt in the viewing public. Whatever the reason, the cinema at the first UK screening was full of appreciative chuckles rather any real discomfort.

Curiously, this in no way undermines enjoyment of the film. Hopkins' performance may be knowing, but his mere presence on screen engulfs the scene - no wonder Norton's nervous detective Will Graham looks positively tearful in his presence. And while the gothic, Grand Guignol elements of the story - William Blake imagery, a disused asylum - may be familiar, not only from previous treatments of the Lecter story, but also from almost every other serial killer thriller of the 1990s, that doesn't lessen their atmospheric impact.

In short, there are no surprises here, but what we get is pretty much what we require from a Hannibal movie, with the added bonus of some extraordinarily fine supporting performances.

The ever-brilliant Philip Seymour Hoffman appears as a particularly vile tabloid journalist whose rather baroque ending courtesy of the serial-killing Tooth Fairy is one of the film's most genuinely horrible moments. And Ralph Fiennes as the killer gives Psycho-era Anthony Perkins a run for his money in the delusional and damaged nutcase stakes.

If there's a weak link in this rich array of material and talent, then it's director Brett Ratner. A rather workmanlike film-maker, he lacks the strong visual signature of the three other directors who have tackled the material (Mann, Jonathan Demme and Ridley Scott); his aesthetic brushstrokes are too broad.

The forensic, obsessive details that could have made this film exceptional are completely absent. And as a consequence, what we get might be great entertainment, but it falls short of being a great movie.

As Hopkins provides the axis around which Red Dragon turns, so Richard Harris is the substance that gives Don Boyd's My Kingdom its credibility. A version of King Lear set in gangland Liverpool, this ensemble piece is wildly inconsistent in tone and acting style. But Harris is outstanding as Sanderman, a feared crime lord and the father of some of the most treacherous, venal women in the history of cinema.

Unfortunately Louise Lombard and Lorraine Pilkington play his two elder daughters as pantomime ugly sisters - the theatricality of their scenes is at odds with the refreshing naturalism of Emma Calderwood (one of the most promising young actresses around) as the youngest daughter. It's an ambitious project, and one that is not entirely successful. But Boyd's vision and sheer force of will give the picture a conviction that diverts attention from the occasionally mannered performances and gangster cliches.

This is one of those weeks when our movie theatres are flooded with mediocre movies. When it comes to a decision between Hannibal Lecter and, say, Super Troopers every sane movie fan will chose the former, so I can only assume that the distributors are hoping to deflect attention from these sorry offerings. This cheap American comedy about Vermont State Troopers is about as funny as a fungal infection of the toenail. It's utterly charmless - imagine Police Academy without the finesse - and features the kind of brutal frat- boy humour that encourages you to laugh at grown men smacking each other around the head (a strategy that presumably reduced the need for genuinely funny dialogue).

Even worse is the latest picture from Cuba Gooding Jr, a man seemingly on a single-handed crusade to convince the world that the Oscar he won for Jerry Maguire was a fluke. In Boat Trip, Cuba and a chum find themselves on a gay singles cruise which allows the film- makers to include every dubious homosexual stereotype that they can think of. This sub-Farrelly gross-out is about as far from being PC as it is possible to get, which in this case means that large portions of the script are blatantly homophobic. Avoid.

Witless teen movie of the week is a half-baked attempt to create a Back To The Future-style time manipulation teen adventure. But instead of a technically enhanced Delorean, the kids in Clockstoppers have to make do with a cheap-looking digital watch. Admittedly the watch has the power to speed up the molecules of the person wearing it, until everything around them appears to be stationary and the wearer becomes invisible to the rest of the world - surely a gift to any enterprising teenager. But star Jesse Bradford is too insipid to come up with any genuinely inventive mischief and so contents himself with punishing vandals (right on, Jesse!) and traffic wardens. Of course, the Forces Of Evil want to get their hands on the invention. And of course, it's up to a hormonally challenged teenager to save the day. God help us all.

It's perhaps unfair to lump The Rookie in with the rest of this week's dross, but what the heck. Starring the under-used Dennis Quaid and the fantastic Australian actress Rachel Griffiths, this Disney movie manages to waste the talents of almost everyone involved. The saccharine tale of a middle-aged high school teacher who realises his boyhood ambition of getting signed by a minor-league baseball team, the film is one of those in-sufferably sanctimonious message movies about the American Dream. The performances are strong all round, but the material is tedious - surely I'm not the only person that thinks that movies about baseball are the cinematic equivalent of dinner- party conversations about mortgages?

Equally dull is Villa Des Roses, the tale of group of European ex- pat eccentrics holed up in a semi-derelict hotel in pre-War Paris. Julie Delpy mopes around in the kind of role usually reserved for Juliette Binoche - all melancholic pallor and passionate but joyless relationships. Shirley Henderson gives a spirited performance as the house cook, and Harriet Walter snaffles some choice lines as Olive Burrell, one half of the British couple who run the boarding house. But a few impressive supporting performances can't disguise the fact that Delpy and her co-star Shaun Dingwall generate about as much excitement as the long-range weather forecast.

Finally - at last - a film worth seeing. A gentle political satire from Iran, Secret Ballot follows a young female polling official and the soldier assigned to accompany her as she tirelessly tries to rally an apathetic island community into voting. Not much happens, to be honest, but it's such an exquisitely-photographed film that even a two-minute shot of a box in a desert can be rendered somehow meaningful.

All films are released on Friday, except Boat Trip which is out now reviewed red dragon (15)brett ratnerHHHH My kingdom (18)don boydHHH super troopers (15)jay chandrasekharHH boat trip (15)mort nathanH clockstoppers (PG)jonathan frakesHH the rookie (u)john lee hancockHH villa des roses (12)frank van passelHH secret ballot (U)babek payamiHHH

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