Ordinary Decent Criminal (2000, UK release)

In this second feature about the Irish gangster Martin Cahill, Kevin Spacey plays a thinly fictionalized Belfast crook who’s so impressed with his own thieving ways, the man’s smirk and ego overtake his abilities. Or maybe I mean Kevin Spacey the actor falls into this trap. It’s hard to tell as his Irish accent bounces and goes so much it could make a man puke his Lucky Charms. Spacey is coasting in a film made in 1998, but unseen in ’Merica until 2003. With reason. He plays “Michael Lynch” (that is, Cahill of “The General”) a gang leader with two wives (who are sisters), a bundle of children, and a talent for eluding prison as he robs banks, dole offices, and –- in a scene that shits on fact -– an art museum. Director Thaddeus O’Sullivan’s story is so vacant of any danger it makes a crime all its own. But Spacey –- filmed before “American Beauty” -- smirks self-satisfied. His worst gig. Colin Farrell appears, pre-stardom. Sorry, Colin. C-

The Robe (1953)

Biblical epic “The Robe” is more akin to “Ben-Hur” than any film about Christ. It follows a (fictional) man inspired by Christ, here Marcellus Gallio (Richard Burton), the rich, man-ho, authority-bucking Roman centurion who oversaw the very crucifixion of the Son of God. The titular red robe is that worn by Jesus, dropped at the cross, and won by Gallio in a bet. The robe, or course, isn’t just cloth. It’s the whole blood of salvation thing set to wake up Gallio from his life’s stupor. Too dumb for analogies? Dude also literally gets Jesus’ blood on his hands. The rest of the film tracks Gallio as he becomes a believer. Burton gnashes teeth down to the gums and when he gets that robe near his face, he “sucks” it up like Frank Drebin wrestling with that pillow in “Naked Gun.” Tin sword fights on stairs abound, too. Very “Robin Hood” sans tights. Thank the Lord. Still, for all the unintended laughs, many of director Henry Koster’s images are knock out: A distraught Judas walking off into the night, a tree in the distance is stunning. The end-scene “walk to heaven”? Just ick. B

300 (2007)

My snob self should hate the sandal-and-swords war romp “300” and its acid-trip virtual reality CGI effects salted by cliché dialogue about oaths of brutality as honor, and it’s need to be the War Porn film to end all War Porn films. Hell, it pits brave European men against soulless Prussians, i.e., lots of white guys squaring off against dark-skinned guys. But the hell with snobbery and politics, “300” is a blood-in-the-head, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs shock-and-awe blast for the eyes and ears that takes Frank Miller’s gloriously bloody graphic novel of King Leonidas’ last stand against Xerxes and puts it on the screen frame by panel, splatter by splatter, blood mixed with ink. Director Zack Snyder takes all the carnage of the page and adds in screaming, raging men, and thundering music primed for the male ego. Sexist? Homophobic? Ha. “300” has a massive female and gay fan base. One guess why: Those 300 men. This is not Best of the Decade film a la “There Will be Blood,” but when Gerard Butler -– in a star-making performance -– as Leonidas screams “This! Is! Sparta!” and kills a dude … “300” is my Guilty Pleasure of the Decade. A-