Bad Education opens in limited release today.

Harmed irreparably by a PG rating that strips any sense of danger or actual romantic spark between its sloppily coupled leads, National Treasure is nothing more than a temporary fix until The Da Vinci Code hits theatres.  Unless you’re a big fan of chase scenes, chase scenes, chase scenes, you’d be better off waiting, even though Ron Howard will undoubtedly find a way to make Dan Brown’s best-seller into something breathtakingly mediocre.  Films like this confound me to virtually no end, especially when you hear people laugh at how unbelievable the story is, and then in the next breath, champion the idea that it’s “educational” and “like a history lesson.”  This, I would imagine, would explain the popularity of the C.S.I. franchise.

Speaking of C.S.I., Treasure features the glorious return of Nicolas Cage (Matchstick Men) to Bruckheimer Auto Pilot (this is his fourth flick with the producer).  He plays, with virtually no gusto, Benjamin Franklin Gates, the last in a long line of kooks who, thanks to a fairly hazy story handed down by his grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, believes in the story of the treasure of the Knights Templar.  Armed only with a vague hint of where the riches might be, Ben is, of course, easily able to track down various clues and quickly solve riddles, which lead him to believe the map to the treasure is located on the back of the original Declaration of Independence.

Since the Gates clan is something of a running joke in the historical community, Ben has trouble convincing anyone to give him access to the DOI.  So he steals it, instead (if anything, Treasure teaches viewers that the security detail at our country’s greatest monuments is easier to foil then leftover chicken).  Somewhere along the way, he picks up a German chick named Abigail (Troy’s Diane Kruger) and an enemy called Howe (Sean Bean, also of Troy), and has comic relief provided by an irritating sidekick (Justin Bartha, Gigli).  And then the chasing – oh, the wonderful chasing.

The highlight of the insanity was Ben determining the steeple of Independence Hall would, at a precise time, cast a shadow on the location of the next of a long string of clues.  Daylight Savings Time was written into the script, but the filmmakers glossed over the fact that the shadow would only point to that specific point two days a year.  It’s that kind of careful attention to detail that makes something like The Goonies more thrilling and easier to accept than Treasure.  Hell, the Cyndi Lauper "The Goonies 'R Good Enough" video was, too.  Why not just have Ben get the map of a replica of the DOI?

Additionally, there’s never any explanation of what evils Howe might attempt should he actually find the treasure first.  Since selling just one of the priceless artifacts would be enough to raise red flags around the world, Howe would have too much trouble trying to fence the stuff, and would likely be revealed fairly quickly.  Instead, we get the same old, “Keep the treasure away from the British,” line, and since Howe sounds kind of British, we just go with the flow, man.

Released in the UK before his critically lauded HBO show, Sasha Baron Cohen’s Ali G Indahouse is now available on video/DVD after bypassing theatres in North America.  Ali G, in case you aren’t familiar with the show, is one of three characters Cohen portrays in a drop-dead hysterical form of ambush comedy that is more intelligent than Tom Green, and makes The Tonight Show’s “Jaywalking” segments seem as original as a phony phone call about running refrigerators.  A “wigger” from West Staines, the dimwitted Ali G is all about dope, pussy and drive-by shootings, even though the former is the only he has access to on a regular basis.

Indahouse plays like a cross between Spice World (a hastily-produced UK-based money grabber full of stars who should have known better) and Malibu’s Most Wanted (another crazy wigger adventure spun off from a television character), only much funnier.  Just not nearly as funny as Cohen’s show, sadly.

I’m no fan of Metallica, and after seeing the Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, I think I might like them even less.  I did, however, enjoy Monster a great deal, perhaps because it makes Metallica’s members look even more shallow, jaded, self-centered, disconnected and unlikable than I originally thought they were.  I mean, who else would give documentary filmmakers this kind of access to their lives?  I’ll tell you who: Anna Nicole Smith, and any of the has-beens who appear on The Surreal Life.

Monster follows the band during the tumultuous two-year process that resulted in the critically maligned St. Anger album – their first since bassist Jason Newstead quit because he couldn’t sense the group becoming more and more wussified (he was temporarily replaced by producer Bob Rock).  Singer James Hetfield spends months in rehab, and further delays the project by refusing to return to the studio for nearly a year.  And drummer Lars Ulrich infamous battle against Napster is thrown in there, too.  You know, there’s something really neat about a guy who threatens to sue the pants of people who download his “art” without paying for it, and the next moment, makes millions of dollars by selling other people’s art at a Christie’s auction.

If that wasn’t exciting enough, viewers also get to partake in Metallica’s constant therapy sessions (there are more of these than things like songwriting and rehearsing, so fans – beware), for which they shell out $40,000.00 a month.  But, goddamnit, don’t download their music.  Because they’ve got kids to feed.

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Next week: Alexander.  We hope you like man sex.