Ty's movie picks for Friday, August 15

You have two choices here: Loud, messy, violent, and manic with "Tropic Thunder," or lightweight, sensuous, sunlit, and mellow with "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." They're both funny, too, "Thunder" in skit-like fits and starts, "Vicky" with the consistent pulsing of a late-summer lightning bug. And each has one bravura, worth-the-price-of-admission performance.

In "Thunder," it's Robert Downey Jr. -- I'm so very happy this man has finally become an A-level star -- as a lordly ham Australian actor gone undercover as a late-1960s black man. (Racism? Discuss. Me, I think Downey's fierce intelligence is the exact opposite of smug complacency, and that his joyful, committed playing of the role(s) opens the door to a conversation about modern blackface -- even at the inarticulate multiplex level -- rather than slamming it shut. I'm less forgiving toward Ben Stiller and the rest of the movie, mainly because he and it simply aren't as smart as Downey is.)

The breakout performance in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" belongs to Penelope Cruz, who finally sheds whatever misperceived covergirl/baby-Bardot image she has acquired from her Hollywood movies. (That fact -- that she gets better reviews for acting in Spanish than in English -- is mischievously teased in the new movie.) Cruz's character, the possibly bipolar ex-wife of the painter played by Javier Bardem, is scary, adorable, and worthy of worship in equal measure, and she's the one hint the movie offers that life is not a sunny Barcelona dream. I guess Wesley's right and that everyone here is a cartoon. But cartoons can offer great pleasure and sometimes small truths, and the spaces between their lines can be filled with as much or as little as you want. (Oh, and a word for the actress playing Vicky, Rebecca Hall, on whom I think I'm developing the sort of movie-crush even seasoned critics can fall prey to. She's delightful as a prim woman startled to discover that she's capable of lust. Ladies, stop complaining, you have Javier Bardem.)

By the way, how come the studios aren't publicizing the fact that Woody Allen wrote and directed "Vicky" and that Tom Cruise steals "Tropic Thunder"? Funny you should ask: Here's my big Friday morning thumbsucker on the subject.

The animated "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" opens today. Does anyone besides George Lucas really care? I don't know a soul who's interested in this movie besides the publicists. That sound you hear is the kitchen timer: after 31 years, "Star Wars" is done.

"Fly Me to the Moon" has excellent 3D and not a whole lot else, but six-year-old boys of all ages will probably like this imitation "Bug's Life" about houseflies hitching a ride on the Apollo 11 moon mission. What I miss about the new 3D technology is that you can't turn the polarized glasses around and make everything look inside-out anymore.

Wesley doesn't think much of the new Brad Anderson train thriller "Transsiberian," although it has its defenders. I haven't seen it. I have seen "Henry Poole is Here" and I can tell you this little L.A. fable is a deeply felt crock. Please, please, no more mopey dramatic montages set to alt-rock ballads. I'm begging here.

Elsewhere, there's a weary end-of-summer vibe in the air and the theaters. The Harvard Film Archive is dark for the rest of the month; guess they have a summer share in Nantucket. The Brattle is hosting a Sing-Along weekend for those of us with no weekend homes or friends to mooch off: "Grease" tonight and "The Muppet Movie" on Saturday. The MFA has an engaging mixed bag of movies, and if you can get through the weekend to Monday, the Coolidge is hosting the first "Big Lebowski" Bowling Party Extravaganza. Roll a strike for the Dude.