It's time again for the annual Los Angeles Film Festival (LAFF), which shares, with the November AFI Fest, the title of Biggest, Most Significant All-Purpose (i.e., not centered around a specific constituency or subject matter) Film Festival. This year, in addition to seminars, special screenings, panels, and other events, there will be more than 60 new features from around the world, spread out over 11 days.

Since much of this wasn't available for advance screening, and there's no way any one person could have seen it all anyway, below are capsule reviews of what I (AK) and my intrepid staff - Paul Birchall (PB), Annlee Ellingson (AE), James Greenberg (JG), Leonard Klady (LK), Wade Major (WM), and Luke Y. Thompson (LYT) - were able to see. These only cover the first week of the festival; capsules for the final four days will appear in next week's issue.

We highly recommend you check out the full schedule at the website (Lafilmfest.com), since your cup of tea may not be among those we've sampled.

Cavite. It may sound like a dental problem, but Cavite is in fact the name of a town in the Philippines, where a young man is drawn into a nightmare whose meaning is disturbing, if not always clear. Adam (Ian Gamazon, who codirected with Neill Dela Llana), living in California, receives a call to return home on urgent family business. On his arrival he's given an envelope containing a cell phone; it promptly rings, and the voice on the other end tells him his family is being held hostage and gives him instructions and tasks to secure their safety. This ultra-low-budget effort actually benefits from its economy of means. Shot digitally, with the action seen exclusively from Adam's perspective, it evolves as a hallucinogenic travelogue, in which questions of identity, faith, and reality loom large, and character trumps logic. (LK) (Fri. 7:30 p.m., Mon. 9:30 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5, 8000 W. Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood)

The Century Plaza. The title refers, not to our local upscale development, but rather to a rundown Portland hotel, where junkies, ex-cons, and psychos rub shoulders with people who are just down on their luck. It's an SRO building - "single room occupancy" - a type of hostelry that is rapidly disappearing, raising the question "Where will these people live then?" Director Eric Lahey's camera prowls the hallways, often seeming to follow the path of the only inhabitant with access to all the rooms - Rico, a cat who belongs to everyone and no one. Most of the people we meet have hopes of escaping this squalor, and it's clear that most of them never will. Lahey manages to delineate a good dozen or so characters - though the end crawl makes it clear that what we've seen is only the surface of their lives - without forgoing an often poetic visual style. The result is moving and more than a little downbeat. (AK) (Mon. 7:30 p.m., at the Directors Guild of America (DGA), 7920 W. Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood; also showing there on Fri., June 24, 5 p.m.)

Ears, Open. Eyeballs, Click. An unvarnished ride-along with a group of Marine recruits as they endure the rigors of Camp Pendleton boot camp, this debut feature from San Diego documentarian Canaan Brumley doesn't exactly break new ground - it feels tame alongside the exaggerations of films like Full Metal Jacket - but the refreshing lack of editorializing gives it an eerie indelibility. That's not to say that Brumley, who served four years in the Navy, doesn't have a point of view. But, rather than lean on narration or on-screen interviews, which might have queered his chances for securing such open access, he makes his points editorially and with a handful of very modest music cues. At 115 minutes, it's still far too long to be commercially viable, but there's no shortage of strong material between the lulls, from which a tighter, leaner, and more judiciously constructed picture could be made. (WM) (Fri. 4:45 p.m., Tue. 9:45 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

The Grace Lee Project. A clever idea, whose execution often transcends mere cleverness: When Korean-American documentarian Grace Lee leaves her Midwestern home and moves to California, she discovers for the first time that her name is ridiculously common. Wanting to examine the similarities and distinctions of the other Grace Lees - a private eye comes up with at least 314 in Los Angeles alone - she sets up a website. The overwhelming majority are of Korean and Chinese extraction, and they seem to embody the stereotype of Asian-American women: People describe the Grace Lees they've known as "nice, smart, quiet, and accomplished" - even the one who set fire to her high school. Lee focuses on a half dozen of her nominal clones, who, not surprisingly, are not quite so similar as those descriptions suggest. She touches on some fascinating issues, but doesn't really have the time to go into depth. But this is one of the fastest-moving documentaries at the festival, with some spiffy animation. The onscreen IDs become a running gag: ten speakers in a row, each identified simply as "Grace Lee." (AK) (Sun. 3 p.m., Tue. 9:30 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

How to Eat Your Watermelon in White Company (and Enjoy It). The life and work of Melvin Van Peebles is the subject of this engrossing, fairly straightforward biographical documentary by Joe Angio. Commonly known only as either A) the father of '70s black cinema with his seminal 1971 film Sweet Sweetback's Baadassss Song or B) the father of actor-director Mario Van Peebles, who paid homage to Dad's work just last year with his own film, Baadassss, the elder Van Peebles is here shown as more of a globetrotting 20th-century Renaissance man, whose pioneering efforts in film, literature, and music singlehandedly altered the landscape of American race relations. Through extensive interviews with Van Peebles and his family, friends, associates, and admirers, Angio paints a compellingly enigmatic portrait of a brilliant, and frequently misunderstood, artist. (WM) (Sat. 10 p.m., Tue. 5 p.m., at the DGA)

In a Nutshell. If you ever needed proof that America is the country where you can follow whatever dream you like, no matter how goofy, Don Bernier's charming documentary about the famous Nut Lady of Connecticut will turn you into a believer. Sweet, elderly Elizabeth Tashjian is an inveterate nut collector and operates her own private museum in the living room of a spooky Victorian mansion. While the film portrays Tashjian as the humble servant of nuts, it is clear that nuts have served her well, too, gaining her numerous appearances on talk shows and game shows, not to mention documentaries like this one. Bernier's film tells Tashjian's story with affection, not ridicule, which adds to the charm: We're left with the impression of a dotty but delightful lady, who might be utterly deranged - but is blissfully happy in the fantasy world she's created. (PB) (Sun. 7:15 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5; also showing there on Sat., June 25, 1 p.m.)

La Sierra. Focusing on three young people caught up in drug wars and paramilitary activities in Colombia, this documentary from Scott Dalton and Margarita Martinez provides a balanced, contained perspective on a situation that's chaotic, unflinching, and lethal. The title refers to an impoverished section of Medellin, where rival groups vie for control of a modest drug trade. The pressure-cooker environment has all the hallmarks of a tragedy just waiting to unfold. The filmmakers spent a year chronicling the life of the village, zeroing in on a charismatic leader, a teenage widow, and a soldier. Arithmetically at least one of the three is apt to be a victim of misadventure, and that inevitability proves emotionally potent. (LK) (Sat. noon, Sun. 9:30 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

Maid in America. Los Angeles, film capital of the world, employs more Latinas as domestic workers than any other city in the U.S., yet this population is almost completely absent from the silver screen. Sadly the most high-profile exception, Spanglish, was simply awful; and, while Crash at least makes note of a Latina housekeeper, her underwritten role is almost an afterthought. Anayansi Prado's documentary focuses on three women: Judith has had to leave her children with family in Guatemala, in order to make enough money here to keep them fed; Telma is a Salvadoran who is like a second mother to the son of a busy, well-to-do couple; and Eva is studying in her meager spare time to become an accountant and move upward. The film's brevity (57 minutes) suggests it was designed for public television. The personal stories are passably interesting, but the movie bogs down when Prado gets more explicit about domestic-worker advocates. (AK) (Sat. 11 a.m., at the DGA; free)

Me and You and Everyone We Know. For her debut feature, performance artist Miranda July pulls off a minor miracle - a truly original film about quirky people in a quirky world. July plays a waifish artist and sometimes cab driver for the elderly, who is smitten with Richard (John Hawkes), a distracted department store shoe salesman. As these reluctant lovers circle each other, July spins an enchanting web of secondary characters and subplots in which life seems to make sense even in its randomness. Even some elements that might sound tawdry become sweet in July's hands. Where movies too often tell us everything, Me and You and Everyone We Know leaves room for mystery. More than anything, it's a tone poem about chance encounters, the unexpected power of love, and the unlimited possibilities for the child in all of us. (JG) (Mon. 7 p.m., at the DGA; Tue. 4 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

New York Doll. Not all fallen '70s-era rock stars die of excess - some of them, at least one, by this film's account, find religion. That's the story of Arthur "Killer" Kane, formerly of the legendary New York Dolls, more recently a recovering alcoholic and converted Mormon. But the contrast between the ostentatious Kane of rock lore and the current Kane - a quiet giant beloved of his fellow employees at the genealogical library behind L.A.'s Mormon temple - is just one part of this remarkable, engrossing story. The most compelling segments actually unfold serendipitously over the course of the filming, as Kane finds his past and present unexpectedly and inspiringly rejoined. This is a superlative achievement in all respects and a stirring arrival for documentarian Greg Whiteley. (WM) (Sat. 9:45 p.m., at the DGA; Tue. 5 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

Nine Lives. Each of the nine segments in writer-director Rodrigo Garcia's new film focuses on a different woman: mothers, daughters, wives, and girlfriends, each confronting a crisis, whether it be life-threatening or mundane. A few of the characters spill over into other segments, more by happenstance than to make a broader point the way such multi-character, interwoven sagas as Crash or Short Cuts do. Kathy Baker is intense and funny as a woman with breast cancer; Sissy Spacek is touching and vulnerable as she contemplates infidelity; and such performers as Glenn Close, Amy Brenneman, and Robin Wright Penn get ample opportunity to shine in meaty vignettes. It's foolhardy to search for a binding element beyond the stylistic: Each segment is shot in a single take, a decision that favors the more self-contained stories and makes the lighter moments comparatively flat. (LK) (Tue. 7 p.m., at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, 8949 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly Hills)

Rize. On the streets of South Central Los Angeles, an aggressive style of dance dubbed "clowning" or "krumping" has surfaced. Characterized by athletic moves, warrior-like face painting, and at times violent playacting, it's a physical response to the poverty, drug use, and gang activity in which its practitioners are immersed. Juxtaposing images of the dancers with footage of the 1965 Watts riots and African tribal traditions, celebrity photographer and music-video helmer David LaChapelle tacitly explores the dance's roots. LaChapelle pads to reach feature length, while glossing over nuances. The dancing, though - glistening bodies against a primary-blue sky - is gorgeous. (AE) (Fri. 8:30 p.m., at the Ford Amphitheatre, 2580 Cahuenga Blvd. East, Hollywood)

Stolen. On St. Patrick's Day in 1990, three men broke into Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and made off with 13 paintings, including Vermeer's "The Concert," considered to be the most valuable missing work of art in the world. More than a decade later, filmmaker Rebecca Dreyfus reopens the case, enlisting 75-year-old art detective Harold J. Smith (who has died since the film was shot). Dreyfus's film intercuts the quest with some history about Gardner and her expert buyer, Bernard Berenson - their letters are read in voiceover by Blythe Danner and Campbell Scott - as well as art historians' views about the Vermeer. The history is informative but can't compare to the often comic experiences of Smith and Dreyfus. Near the end, they hook up with Paul "The Turbo Charger" Hendry, a British art-thief-turned-informer, with a personality so large he would seem too outrageous in a fictional film; he tries to convince them of a plan to recover the Vermeer, involving the participation of Sen. Edward Kennedy, the IRA, and the Catholic Church. Even though there's no neat resolution, the entire ride is a pleasure. (AK) (Sun. 5 p.m., Mon. 2:30 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

Tony Takitani. An emotionally stunted graphic artist (Issey Ogata), on the verge of middle age, finds himself in love for the first time, with a woman (Rie Miyazawa) with one bizarre flaw, but his bliss is short-lived. Japanese director Jun Ichikawa has picked a strange work to adapt - a short story by the terrific Haruki Murakami, which contains almost no dialogue. Ichikawa has maintained most of the story's narrative, which means that nearly everything is laid out for us in voiceover as well as on the screen; and one of the few instances where the voiceover isn't totally explicit ends up being confusing. It's an interesting aesthetic experiment that is only half successful. Ichikawa creates a mood, and he's smart enough to keep the film well under an hour and a half, but the final effect is oblique and not very satisfying. (AK) (Fri. 9:45 p.m., at the DGA; Mon. 7:15 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)

Yes. Writer-director Sally Potter's latest tells the story of an American woman (Joan Allen), whose failing marriage to an English politician (Sam Neill) gives way to a whirlwind affair with a charming Lebanese doctor (Simon Abkarian), now reduced to working at a London restaurant. The idea of two exiles, an American and an Arab, who fall in love despite the presumed cultural barriers of the post-9/11 world, is undeniably compelling. And in the two best scenes - where racial, religious, and social tensions are allowed to explode into the open - the film soars. But that tantalizing, fleeting taste is all the audience is allowed: The remainder of the picture finds Potter falling back into her usual aesthetic traps. The decision to write the dialogue entirely in rhyming verse is but the most perplexing of her many misguided choices. If only she'd put as much energy into proving she could tell a story. (WM) (Tue. 7:30 p.m., at the DGA; Wed. 2 p.m., at Laemmle's Sunset 5)