THE LAST SEDUCTION. Linda Fiorentino isn't just a femme fatale in this modern noir piece by Red Rock West director John Dahl. She's a superbitch. The story, by local screenwriter Steve Barancik, takes Fiorentino from a bad relationship in New York City to a manipulative one in a small town, where she toys with nice-guy Peter Berg until you're ready to shake him and say, "Wake up!" Dahl's direction is swift and sure, and Fiorentino proves herself every bit Sharon Stone's superior. The movie's only liability is its one-note premise; you want these well-drawn characters to go somewhere other than the usual noir path, and they don't.

Last Supper. It wouldn't be fair to blame all of this dog of a movie's failures on Annabeth Gish, but it isn't a bad place to start. Last Supper opens as a promising attempt at social satire as a group of five liberal arts graduate students try to reason their way through, literally, getting away with murder. They start with Zach, a red-blooded, white trash patriot who soundly thrashes them for not being willing to stand up for their beliefs. "You mean we're not willing to die for our beliefs," says Gish derisively. "No," says Zach. "Dyin's easy. A cause you're willing to kill for, now that's somethin'." From this early success the movie spirals into stupidity from an overdose of melodrama: Inviting extremists to Sunday dinner for death by debate really should seem like a lot more fun. It may not stimulate much discussion on social consciousness, but it will undoubtedly alter your opinion of tomatoes.

Leaving Las Vegas. A moving, melancholy portrait of a desperate alcoholic making one last grab for love and redemption in the city of neon. Nicolas Cage plays Ben, a total loser who has lost his family, job and self-respect. He goes to Las Vegas in an effort to escape everything, basically, and there he meets Sera (Elisabeth Shue), a heart-of-gold hooker who takes him in and accepts him just the way he is (sort of). There's no moralizing about the evils of drink here, or romanticizing either--it's just relentless scenes of Nicolas Cage quaffing liquor like water and spreading some kind of bottomless sadness all over the screen. Though Leaving Las Vegas is very sad, it never panders and it never manipulates the audience. Instead, it treats its grim subject matter with intelligence and restraint.

LEGENDS OF THE FALL. It looks, sounds, and feels like an epic drama of the highest order, but as the credits roll you sit there and wonder: What does it add up to? And that's when you realize that this long-winded tale of brothers who survive Montana ranch life, World War I and prohibition-era corruption together doesn't have much in the way of a point. Most of the plot happens as a consequence of all three men (Henry Thomas, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn) falling in love with the same woman (Julia Ormond), who is apparently the only woman in all of Montana. Is the point, then, that men in remote locales should try to get out more? If so, Pitt takes this advice a little too seriously during the film's middle section, in which the stringy-haired wildman travels to Papua New Guinea to hunt and run around without a shirt on. Wait a minute--that's the point. Case solved.

THE LION KING. Dig underneath this colorful, well-animated Disney spectacle and you'll find some disturbing messages. The lions' dominance over the other animals supports class hierarchies and nepotism, and the banishment of the ethnic-voiced hyenas to the elephant graveyards supports racial segregation. The movie's "circle of life" message is undermined by a hypocritical rationalization of meat-eating, and the male lion's need to return home to set things straight suggests that the female lions are either too weak or too stupid to do it themselves. Inherent moral messages aside, this is still a weak entry for Disney, with unmemorable music and a predictable storyline. Kids love them cute kitties, though.

LITTLE WOMEN. Louisa May Alcott's story of sisterhood, liberation and love gets a competent, reverent Hollywood treatment from Australian director Gillian Armstrong, but the casting is all wrong. Since when is Winona Ryder capable of carrying a movie? Starring as the multidimensional Jo March, Ryder robs the movie of its professionalism and renders trivial skilled performances by the other Little Women in the cast: Trini Alvarado (playing the sweet, marriage-bound sister), Claire Danes (who makes sickliness look like a virtue), Kirsten Dunst (as the fiery young'un) and Susan Sarandon (as the ever-consoling mom). Ryder has been OK in other films, but in pictures like this you can tell she's trying to act. You shouldn't be able to tell.

Lone Star. Director John Sayles delivers an offbeat, thoughtful examination of border life and love in this winding tale of one lawman searching for his roots. Chris Cooper plays a divorced Texas sheriff trying to sort out fact from legend, particularly in regard to his father, who may or may not have been a bad kind of a guy. His search leads him across the big, dusty state and into a half-dozen different recollections of a puzzling past. Though the characters have an annoying propensity for explaining their motivations in gruesome psychological detail, and though Sayles (as always) can't resist an opportunity to preach the liberal cause; and though the production values of this movie are so shoddy that nearly 20 annoying minutes of it are out of sync, Lone Star still somehow manages to be an engaging, surprising film.

LORD OF ILLUSIONS. A Manson-esque cult leader with supernatural powers, a world-famous magician with an ill-timed sword trick, a New York detective who is "drawn to the dark side," a love interest/potential victim who wears sheer garments with no bra, and more violent impalings than you can shake a stick at... What more could you ask for from a Clive Barker horror flick? Well, for starters, you might ask for a plot that makes sense, intelligent characters or scares that don't become increasingly dull and hokey as the film progresses. A few more impalings wouldn't hurt.

LOSING ISAIAH. Don't be dissuaded by the fact that this tale of a custody battle between a black birth mother and a white adoptive mother looks like a typical TV-movie-of-the-week. It's not. A wise, elliptical script and extraordinarily skilled, heartfelt acting allow this picture to achieve what for so many is impossible: pure, fully effective dramatization of a topical issue. You're there, and you feel the wrenching pain of separation between parents and children. Halle Berry deserves deep respect for her portrayal of a reformed crack addict fighting her way through her guilt and loss, while Jessica Lange's performance as a loving, struggling mother is nothing short of heroic.