The Other Sister<> and 200 Cigarettes<> It might be hard to imagine two more different movies than The Other Sister<>, a feel-good foray into wealthy, dysfunctional Southern California family dynamics, and 200 Cigarettes<>, an indie flick portentously set in NYC on New Year's Eve 1981 and populated by an ultra-trendy cast. As different as they are, however, these movies are alike in a couple of crucial ways: both are mired in cliches and both are pretty much relentlessly bad. Spawn of World Dominator Disney by way of Touchstone, The Other Sister<>, unsurprisingly, is more expensive, more obviously commercial. It's directed by Garry Marshall, who is best known for the mega-hit Pretty Woman<>, but also responsible for Beaches<>, Frankie and Johnny<>, and Exit to Eden<>, point being that most of his work lacks subtlety or a sense of its own cultural context. The Other Sister<> is no exception. Ungainly and annoying, it follows the adventures of Carla Tate (Juliette Lewis), the high-spirited and mildly retarded daughter of annoyingly self-involved parents, Elizabeth (Diane Keaton, reprising her twitches from First Wives Club<>) and Radley (Tom Skerritt, looking tired and unhappy during most every scene, even those where he's supposed to be happy and energetic). So that there's no mistake that Carla is indeed "other,'' the movie supplies her with two charming blond sisters, who tend to support her whenever mom lapses into one of her overprotective spasms. One plans her excruciatingly straight wedding for most of the movie (so that the climactic crisis can involve foofoo dresses, a church setting, and embarrassment in front of a slew of stuffy guests. The other one is really the other sister, at least as far as this movie handles her: she's a lesbian and mom disapproves so neurotically that the film itself can't seem to broach the topic without wincing (you see the girlfriend's arm in a bedroom scene, and then she speaks a few words right at the end of the film). According to the trailer, Carla is looking for what everyone wants, "independence.'' But it comes in the form of a regular old marriage plot: at school, Carla meets a boy who is also mildly retarded, Danny (Giovanni Ribisi), whose unseen father pays his rent and a big brotherish ex-Green Beret (Hector Elizondo) who never takes off his beret (all of the movie's characterizations are, true to Marshall's form, ardently overstated). The Other Sister<> pretends to be generous concerning Carla and Danny's relationship, allowing them a few clever, passionate, and frankly adorable exchanges (as when they kiss for the first time at a costume party: she in duck's gear and he dressed as a puppy dog; or again, when they pore over The Joy Of Sex<> in preparation for their first intercourse). The most disturbing aspect of the movie's depiction of the relationship is its gauche humor, at the expense of the principals: on one level the movie argues that Carla and Danny must be considered as any young couple might be considered, with respect (and maybe even a semblance of wit). But on another level, it condescends to them, odiously: these kids are just so cuuute when they don't know how to handle themselves socially, when their speech patterns or behavior is outrageous, when they think that Madonna "invented'' sex. Ha ha. I understand it's supposed to be a stretch for actors to play characters with abnormal speech and thinking patterns, but too often (as in this movie or Theory of Flight<>), the stretch seems to be the primary or only point, to the exclusion of anything interesting, like characterization, social context, or sex and class politics. Of course, not every film must address such issues head-on. But this movie raises them and then drops the ball, rendering its critiques of class and generational biases incoherent. Or rather, it ties them up in a knot that is too coherent, convenient, and trite, blaming mom for dad's alcoholism and her daughters' misery: the girls only need to get married and suddenly they're fine. To the extent that The Other Sister<> is so obviously about making peace with otherness, it indicts culture-bound anxieties, angers, and ignorant good intentions. But it makes this peace by way of assimilation: otherness here is only a stage to being like everyone else. In Risa Bramon Garcia's 200 Cigarettes<>, exploration of character and social context is not an issue. Rather, the film makes vague gestures toward coolness, mainly by putting an achingly trendy cast through the motions of a plot. At the very end, one of the characters, semi-geek Kevin (Paul Rudd), in a burst of post-coital poetry, articulates what would seem to be the film's thematic thrust and climactic insight, something about the similarity between looking for love and smoking too many cigarettes. At once rudimentary and cryptic, this observation unfortunately sums up the movie, which tracks several apparently unrelated characters through the Village on New Year's Eve. They're all looking for the same party, hosted by Monica (Martha Plimpton). She waits in her apartment throughout the film, arranging the chips-and-dips table, pacing, and fretting. Her ex-boyfriend Eric (Brian McArdie) arrives, whereupon they discuss why she dumped him: he's the worst lover she ever had and a preeny poser, she's a neurotic-girl stereotype. As much fun as this scene could have been, the film cuts it up in order to show what everyone else is doing. This "everyone else'' is a handful of cliches and quirks, pretending to be characters. Bridget (Nicole Parker) and her pal Caitlyn (Angela Featherstone) are cruising bars, and zero in on a hottie bartender (Ben Affleck); Kevin fights in various diners and on sidewalks with his best friend Lucy (Courtney Love) while trying to get back with his ex (Janeane Garafolo). Val (Christina Ricci, affecting a terrible and unoriginal new-yawk accent) and Stephie (Gaby Hoffman, remember her as the little boy's best friend in Sleepless in Seattle<>? ) pick up some punky boys (one of whom is Casey Affleck). A scuzzball self-styled lothario (Jay Mohr) is mesmerized by his otherwise dreadfully uncool and pink-frocked date (Kate Hudson, who has a young Goldie-Hawnish look and klutziness) when he learns that their previous night's sex was her First Time. I suppose that the film might be commenting on the state of dating, but its intended audience is as unclear as its reason for being. Setting it in 1981 allows for a pre-fab soundtrack (though it's intrusive as hell in the film, as when "Tainted Love'' plays while someone observes that a relationship is -- uh-oh -- "tainted''). But sight gags like Flock of Seagulls haircuts and jokes about macrobiotic diets and Joni Mitchell are already old (post-Adam Sandler). The cast would seem to be appealing to a younger audience, for whom such references aren't funny or interesting, but their roles and performances are so sketchy that you don't care who gets laid or who doesn't. In the climactic scene everyone gathers at the party, and it's here that the movie finally gets a clue, cutting itself to some clever bare bones. The predictable flirtatious encounters appear as a series of Polaroid-looking stills, under some mildly funny and generally obnoxious commentary by Dave Chapelle (who also plays a know-it-all cabbie in the earlier part of the movie, also known as the Black Guy in Search of Booty) to suggest all the commotion and fun that should be going on, given how long the characters and we have been waiting for the big emotional, comedic, or romantic payoff. There's no such payoff, though. Only banalities. And relief because it's over.