Written and directed by Jafar Panahi

Starring: Sima Mobarak-Shahi, Ayda Sadegi, Shayesteh Irani and Golnaz Farmani

93 min.

The majority of the action in this Iranian comedy/drama takes place in two locations. For the first two-thirds, we observe a makeshift military holding center in the upper corner of a bustling soccer arena where women, prohibited from watching the game, are held.

Once the match ends, we ride with several of the detainees on the way to the police station.

That’s it.

Ninety-three minutes and not one special effect. The cast is filled with unfamiliar faces, none of whom are ever called by name. Even though filmed at the Azadi Stadium in the middle of a World Cup match between Iran and Bahrain, we never spend more than five minutes inside of the arena. And unlike We are Marshall, Friday Night Lights or Invincible, the film does not conclude with a sporting event.

If there is a sharper, more compassionate and better made film to play San Diego this year, shoot off a flare to alert the film community.

With only four features behind him (The Mirror, The Circle, Crimson Gold and The White Balloon), Jafar Panahi again chimes in as one of world cinema’s preeminent voices. Jean-Luc Godard observed that the more narrative film and documentaries play off of each other, the healthier cinema will be. Aside from Michael Winterbottom, no working director is more skilled at blurring the line between fact and fiction than Jafar Panahi.

In 1979, after the establishment of the Islamic Republic in Iran, women were not allowed to enter a stadium where men watched sporting events. Without a centerfield knothole to spy through, a few brave young girls resort to disguising themselves as boys in order to sneak in.

Those who get caught are detained by the military. It seems the government wants to protect womenfolk from hearing profanity-laced catcalls that events such as this bring out in men.

When one of the teenage girls is reluctantly escorted to the bathroom, she is asked to cover her eyes so as not to read the profane graffiti on the men’s room walls. It is OK to detain and humiliate women, just make sure to shelter their tender ears from curse words while doing so.

All but one of the women we follow is there for the joy of the sport. The first female that we are introduced to has a more personal motive behind her masquerade. To alert a reader that a film has a surprise somehow subtracts from the moment of disclosure.

Don’t expect a latex mask to suddenly be peeled back or Jaye Davidson’s penis to pop out in the last reel; it’s not that type of reveal. Panahi shifts gears with the greatest of ease. What motivates our heroine to crash the game will break your heart, but not for long.

The film’s curtain shot will leave you feeling both liberated and exhilarated. Panahi never tells you what to think or how to react. He trusts and respects his audience that way. This must-see movie is your antidote to last week’s infectious spider bite.

Rating: 4 stars

Written and directed by Sarah Polley

Starring: Gordon Pinsent, Julie Christie, Olympia Dukakis and Kristen Thomson

110 min.

As soon as Fiona (Julie Christie) put the freshly washed frying pan in the freezer, the Lifetime Channel alarm went off: Did I detect a big screen blowup of that disease-of-the-week made-for-cable staple, Alzheimer’s?

From the moment they first met in college, Grant (Gordon Pinsent) didn’t want to be away from Fiona. At 18, Icelandic Fiona surprised her Norse Mythology professor by popping the question.

Almost half of their 44 years together were spent harmoniously in a rustic Canadian cabin his grandparents left them. Minor memory blips were one thing, forgetting where she lived after a routine ski hike another. There was only one thing Fiona was certain of: Grant could no longer be her primary caregiver.

Everything changes, including the lighting and camerawork, when Grant arrives at Meadowlake. The administrator (Wendy Crewson) is as warm and congenial as any well-programmed automaton. A giant plasma screen plays to no one in particular and oldsters take their teacups for a walk. It’s hell with an overabundance of sunshine.

Does Fiona really need a place like Meadowlake? She was always a bit of a flake; what if she’s pretending? When reminded that she’s going to visit the facility, Fiona plays dumb for a moment before surprising Grant with a “just kidding!”

Most disheartening is a 30-day acclimation period before new arrivals can receive visitors. The loneliness is only slightly less debilitating than Grant’s constant state of cheery denial. Their reunion is heartbreaking: Not only is Grant a faded memory, but Fiona has replaced him with Aubrey (Michael Murphy), a near catatonic fellow patient.

To say that this functions quite well as a training film for loved ones of Alzheimer’s victims might scare off some readers. It shouldn’t, if for no other reason than Away from Her marks the directorial debut of talented Canadian actress Sarah Polley (The Sweet Hereafter, The Claim, Don’t Come Knocking).

One would automatically assume that a 27-year-old filmmaker would only tackle this material as a form of personal therapy. On a plane back from Iceland, Ms. Polley discovered Alice Munro’s short story, The Bear Came Over the Mountain, in the New Yorker. This flight occurred during the filming of Hal Hartley’s No Such Thing, in which Ms. Polley starred opposite Julie Christie.

Almost by way of appreciation, Ms. Polley handed Ms. Christie the role of her career. Comedy is not something readily associated with the story of a couple coming to terms with the onset of memory loss, but Ms. Christie constantly surprises us with flashes of humor.

Even more difficult to play is the husband, whose eternal optimism is tested and battered on a near hourly basis. Mr. Pinsent is never out of the moment and his performance is so honest and heartbreaking that Academy voters are bound to forget both him and Ms. Christie come next February.

As Aubrey’s angry wife Marian, Olympia Dukakis more than makes up for In the Land of Women’s unbearable grandma Phyllis. She also adds her own unique piece to the puzzle. When Grant leaves her house after requesting that Aubrey be brought back to Meadowlake to keep Fiona company, she mutters, “What a jerk.” Whether that’s in reference to Grant or Marian remains ambiguous.

At times, Ms. Polley can’t hide her freshman status. With the exception of a lovely dance to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, her use of music is overbearing. The same can be said for her inclusion of W. H. Auden’s Letters from Iceland. It’s OK to leave a copy conspicuously placed on a coffee table, but the constant voiceovers become oppressive.

Judging by some of the camerawork, the vessel in the freezer wasn’t the only misplaced pan. These complaints are minor when compared to her overall handling of the actors and steadicam.

You’ll cry for about 20 of the film’s 110 minutes. You’ll also laugh in addition to being extraordinarily moved. Alzheimer’s disease may not be the subject de jour for a date-night movie. Catch a Monday late show by yourself.

Rating: 3 stars

Directed by Q. Allan Brocka

Written by Q. Allan Brocka and Philip Pierce

Starring: Derek Magyar, Patrick Bauchau, Darryl Stephens and Jonathon Trent

88 min.

Once upon a time, there was a trio of horny studs living under the same roof and all terribly hot for each other. Three perfect specimens, running around an apartment in various states of undress, and not a frog in the bunch.

Don’t panic, there’s more to the story than fairytales. “X” (Derek Magyar) is a flourishing high-priced hustler, a self-professed “whore” who’s not a slut. “X” provides the film with its free association narration.

His 18-year-old roommate, Joey (Jonathon Trent), is so cute he lives rent free. Even with Joey’s perfectly formed ass there for the taking, “X” resists. Not only did the boy just become legal, but outside of work, “X” hasn’t had sex with anyone since he was 12.

Andrew (Darryl Stephens) proves more of a problem. In spite of his “fucks for bucks” agenda, “X” finds himself obsessing over Andrew. “X” is not only jealous of his roomies’ sexual conquests, he begins judging the way Andrew disposes of his morals. According to “X,” sex is acceptable only when money changes hands. Free love is a waste of time.

“X” has two women in his life. Lucy (Emily Brooke Hands) is a fag hag who runs a local coffeehouse. The other female substitute is a Virgin Mary statue he keeps in his closet. One look at her “cunty expression” and “X” instantly understood what it was like to be a gay man.

“X” limits his clients to a preferred few, but a death leaves an opening in the roster. Gregory (the always wonderful Patrick Bauchau) is the “I only want to talk” type. After five dates, “X” is sprawled out on the couch while his trick assumes his position in the analyst’s chair.

At 25, “X” fears his days as a desirable escort are nearing an end. With an education limited to the art of sex, “X” envisions a future as a video store clerk. A sugar daddy, particularly a reclusive one, might be just what “X” needs.

Boy Culture reaffirmed the importance of seeing everything. Just because a director disappointed in the past doesn’t mean they are incapable of making a good movie. Q. Allan Brocka’s Eating Out was a mess; an obvious laff-machine that failed to deliver. It was that rarity in contemporary cinema: the sequel was better.

Coaxing brilliance out of Mr. Bauchau is a snap. Just turn the camera on. As the whore with a heart of stone, Derek Magyar gives a strong, credible performance. His delivery of the instant access narration is letter perfect.

Maybe comedy is not Brocka’s bag. Without having to strain for a light touch, he makes normally reviled cinematic tricks work in this context. As obtrusive as the constant voice over is, it never gets in the way. This time around, it appears Brocka worked a lot closer with his videographer and production designer.

If Eating Out was a term paper, Boy Culture is Q. Allan Brocka master thesis.

Rating: 3 stars