Let’s talk about sex, indeed.

Anyone expecting a dry, academic, snigger-inducing portrait of famed sex researcher Alfred Kinsey is going to be hugely surprised by Kinsey – I certainly was. Kinsey is that rarity in contemporary American film: an intelligent, finely crafted work that boldly addresses social issues yet is still richly entertaining. With this, his fourth theatrical venture, writer-director Bill Condon shows that the memorable Gods and Monsters (which brought him a well-deserved Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award) was no fluke.

Between his own fanatical upbringing by a priggish Methodist minister (a sterling John Lithgow), and our country’s rabidly puritanical attitudes about S-E-X (things haven’t changed as much as we’d like to believe), it’s something of a miracle that a forward-thinking scientist of Kinsey’s caliber was allowed to flourish in the ‘50s, let alone exist. But flourish Kinsey (a never-better Liam Neeson) did, at a time when masturbation was said to cause blindness and insanity, and couples thought there was only one sexual position to be enjoyed – if they dared – on their honeymoon night. Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, the first of his series of groundbreaking volumes about American sexual habits, not only became the biggest-selling scientific study of the time, it got people talking about a taboo subject (in all its myriad forms, including homosexuality) that permanently impacted how we think about what goes on (mostly) behind closed doors.

While minimizing the man’s less savory qualities, Condon explores in depth (perhaps more than is necessary) Kinsey’s unflagging efforts to document the American sexual experience while attempting to lead a “normal” life with his strong, supportive wife, “Mac” (a superior Laura Linney). Condon’s screenplay is surprisingly funny and completely absorbing, not to mention amazingly frank without ever seeming “dirty.” (Contrast this with the new Bridget Jones outing, which has a severe case of gratuitous potty mouth.) There are numerous highlights, including a scene in a gay bar in which Kinsey tries to interest the clientele in serving as interview subjects; and a close encounter between the so-called “sex doctor” and his male assistant (played with low-key grace by Peter Sarsgaard). The cherry on the cake is Lynn Redgrave’s powerful 11th-hour cameo. Amusingly, Redrave (Oscar-nominated for Gods and Monsters) said she initially was disappointed that her role was so small. As she later came to realize upon reading the exceptionally literate screenplay, there are no small parts, only small actors. (Landmark’s La Jolla Village and Hillcrest Cinemas)

What’s wrong with Trevor Reznik?

An emaciated factory worker with no friends (beyond a kindly call girl named Stevie, nicely played by Jennifer Jason Leigh) or hobbies, Reznik (a spellbinding Christian Bale) hasn’t slept in a year. Besides bills, the only mail he gets are the incessant Post-It notes he writes himself as he charts his continuing weight loss (121 pounds and counting). “If you were any thinner you wouldn’t exist,” remarks Marie (Spanish actress Aitana Sanchez-Gijon), the beautiful waitress who serves him pie and coffee each night at an airport diner. Funny, that’s the same thing Stevie said to him only the day before.

As if his hold on reality weren’t tenuous enough – sleep deprivation has been known to cause extreme paranoia and dangerous mood swings – Trevor goes off the deep end after causing an accident that results in a co-worker (an unusually sympathetic Michael Ironside) losing his arm. Someone keeps leaving cryptic messages on his refrigerator (primarily in the form of a game of Hangman, a clever idea), and the toothy, bullet-headed plant employee (scary John Sharian) who keeps taunting him doesn’t exist, according to his plant boss.

To say more would spoil the surprises of this arresting, ultra creepy psychological thriller (superbly shot by Xavi Ginmenez), smartly penned by Scott Kosar (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake) and helmed with Hitchcockian flair by Session 9’s Brad Anderson. (Roque Banos’ score, which makes brilliant use of the theremin, is a rich homage to frequent Hitchcock musical collaborator Bernard Hermann.) At the center of it all is Bale’s startlingly committed performance. The actor (the new Batman, believe it or not), who buffed up for American Psycho and Reign of Fire, willingly shed a staggering 63 pounds for the part – he plays the part from the inside out, to illustrate the hollow man that Trevor has become as he battles his inner demons. A “gimmicky” turn? That’s what some people said about Charlize Theron in Monster. Pardon me, but isn’t that an Oscar gracing her mantle? (Landmark’s Hillcrest Cinemas)

Finding Neverland will make you believe: in fairies (duh – you’re reading the Gay & Lesbian Times, for corn sake), in Johnny Depp’s ever-deepening talents, perhaps even (and this is something I never thought I’d say) in the future of PG-rated movies. If you have any kind of sentimental tendencies, you’d best bring along some facial tissues when you see this sweet, family-friendly drama, which has charm to burn.

David Magee’s script (“inspired by true events”), based on Allan Knee’s play The Man Who Was Peter Pan, opens in 1903 as Scottish writer J.M. Barrie (Depp) sees his newest stage vehicle flop before his eyes. Inspiration for his next (and most beloved) play strikes when he meets Sylvia Llewelyn Davies (a marvelous Kate Winslet) and her four young boys at the park one afternoon. An instant bond is formed between them, although he can’t seem to get through to the sullen Peter (scene-stealer Freddie Highmore), who’s still mourning the loss of his father. Ignoring local gossip (it was considered inappropriate for a grown, married – albeit unhappily – man to spend so much time with a widow, not to mention four adolescent boys), James adopts the Davies family (and vice versa); it is they who provide the basis for Peter Pan, which would become a timeless classic about the eternal child in us all. (You’ll know why I suggested bringing facial tissues to the theater as soon as you hear Winslet cough for the first time.)

Marc Foster, who directed the highly dramatic Monster’s Ball (which garnered Halle Berry an Oscar), might seem an offbeat choice to helm such tender material, but he carries it off beautifully. (Certain aspects of Barrie’s life have no doubt been sanitized, but that’s hardly a shock.) The performances (including that of Julie Christie, who plays Winslet’s overprotective mum) are first-rate down the line, and the mixture of reality and fantasy (a scene on a pirate ship, a trip to Neverland at the film’s end) is expertly handled in all departments. How would I describe Finding Neverland in a single word? As Peter says to James upon seeing Peter Pan, “magical.” (playing citywide)

Kyle Counts is the film critic for the Gay & Lesbian Times