Iraq’s rebels speak out

Adding yet another perspective to the already extensive list of films about the Iraq war, “Meeting Resistance” examines Iraq’s insurgent movement -- specifically, the anti-American, self-dubbed “freedom fighters” aiming to reclaim their country. The film is largely interviews with members of the resistance whose faces are obscured to protect their anonymity.

An expose of a controversial and rarely seen subculture, “Meeting Resistance” in theory should have been a revealing documentary. In truth, however, the measures taken to protect the informants’ identities dilute the potency of their statements and diminish the film’s efficacy as a historical document.

Not that it wasn’t necessary to take those measures; filmmakers Steve Connors and Molly Bingham, trained as photojournalists, obviously took considerable risks to pursue their story and track down their subjects. But because the interviews are most of the film, and because Arabic inflections, to Western ears, are indecipherable, the aggregate effect, despite subtitles, is to render the resistance fighters more as mysterious and secretive rather than as demystified.

What is disclosed is fascinating, to be sure: a woman reveals how her abaya (shroud) is perfect for concealing weapons, various fighters discuss the importance of martyrdom and several jihadists make clear why they think the U.S. has no business being in their homeland.

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“Meeting Resistance.” Unrated. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes. At Regency Fairfax Cinemas, 7907 Beverly Blvd., at Fairfax Avenue, L.A. (323) 655-4010.

Swimming with concern for sharks

Ecological passion meets unquenchable self-aggrandizement in the beautifully filmed deep-blue-alert documentary “Sharkwater,” an achingly sincere plea from biologist and underwater photographer Rob Stewart to save the 400-million-year-old oceangoing predator from erroneous media hype (curse you, “Jaws”!) and, worst of all, escalating threats to the species’ survival.

Stewart’s fact-filled defense is eye-opening -- sharks are afraid of us, we’re told, their food chain importance is paramount to eco-balance and the rigorously protected elephant kills more humans anyway -- but Stewart is as in love with his own part in the story as he is with his maligned subject. When Stewart’s beach bum drone pops out holistically needy nuggets such as, “I learned to dive so I could get close to sharks” and “I wanted to be friends with them,” you unfortunately get a Timothy Treadwell vibe.

But the underwater footage Stewart captures of his marine idols has an unquestionably rapturous, aquatic-heaven limpidity, even though there’s seemingly just as much film of hacked-up sharks when Stewart begins focusing on mass slaughter for the trillion-dollar shark fin trade (curse you, soup purveyors!).

What elevates “Sharkwater” above the usual crusading documentary, though, is that Stewart jumps into the fray himself, joining Greenpeace activists as they square off against illegal long-line fishers off the Galapagos, getting hauled in with the activists by Costa Rican authorities and violating his house arrest to infiltrate secretive Taiwanese docks where thousands of fins dry on rooftops and tables. Stewart’s distracting personality is too often a problem in “Sharkwater,” but there’s no denying he’s a committed hero for the sea’s oft-labeled villain.

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“Sharkwater.” MPAA rating: PG for images of animal cruelty, thematic elements, language and some smoking. Running time: 1 hour, 39 minutes. At Mann Beverly Center 13, 8500 Beverly Blvd. (at La Cienega Boulevard), L.A. (310) 652-7760 and the Landmark NuWilshire, 1314 Wilshire Blvd., Santa Monica (310) 281-8223.

Charm missing from ‘Fat Girls’

“Fat Girls” aims to be a gay “Napoleon Dynamite,” but without the quirky charm. And if you take away the good-hearted eccentricity from “Napoleon,” you’re left with a bitter and unlikable group of people -- not the most enjoyable company for 83 minutes.

Writer-director-producer-star Ash Christian uses his titular term to refer generally to outcasts comfortable with themselves, but one wishes his stupid and selfish protagonist were less comfortable with his unappealing foibles. Young Rodney longs to escape his small, enervated Texas town for Broadway stardom despite having no discernible talent. He’s also remarkably uncaring -- when his father dies and his distraught mother weeps on his shoulder, the slow-witted miscreant giggles not in discomfort but seemingly because he’s tickled by his mother’s grief.

The 22-year-old filmmaker describes his feature debut as a “dark coming-of-age comedy,” but the comedy in it doesn’t come for ages. Only Christopher Guest veteran Deborah Theaker, as Rodney’s religious-lunatic mother, is able to wring any moisture from this turnip. Rather, the film seethes with dully throbbing anger; where “Napoleon” was fond and tolerant, this one lashes out limply with neither force nor precision.

Without insight, memorable dialogue or interesting characters, “Fat Girls” quickly wears thin.

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“Fat Girls.” MPAA rating: R for strong sexual content including graphic dialogue, language and some drug/alcohol use -- all involving teens. Running time: 1 hour, 23 minutes. At the Regent Showcase, 614 N. La Brea Ave., L.A. (323) 934-2944.

‘Genius Club’ lacks intelligence

On Christmas Eve in a secret Washington bunker, seven strangers with off-the-chart IQs -- including a scientist, a seminary student and a casino owner (?) -- are ordered to solve the world’s problems or the moderating madman (Tom Sizemore) on the video feed will detonate a nuke. Why “The Genius Club” was made should have been the first talking point.

Writer-director Tim Chey’s hopelessly ludicrous, faux-smart thriller -- the IQ criteria was the first giveaway -- wants to be a “Twelve Angry Men” sitting in judgment of our troubled times but amounts to little more than a badly acted, unintentionally funny group whine about why consumer products don’t last, elected politicians don’t cure cancer now, baseball players earn millions of dollars and other “Did ya ever notice?” topics that are the bread-and-butter of any half-witted observational comic.

Invariably the movie chokes on its noble intentions when not provoking choking laughter from, say, Sizemore’s hammy Col. Kurtz knockoff or a lumpy Stephen Baldwin as the chess whiz who slums in pizza delivery. I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say that ultimately the movie’s overarching (and not-so-subtly Christian) solution eschews all intellectual rigor and amounts to a pageant-contestant-worthy plea to stop hatin’ and start forgivin’, with a few sad stories and a lot of tears reducing these “geniuses” to little more than a bunch of emotionally broken confessors.

It all leads one to think the title of this movie should have been “No-Brainer.”

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“The Genius Club.” MPAA rating: PG for thematic elements and some disturbing content. Running time: 1 hour, 54 minutes. At Laemmle’s Grande, 345 S. Figueroa St., downtown L.A. (213) 617-0268.