The idea sounds ripe: Will Smith, one of the screen's most engaging movie stars, playing a surly wino of a superhero, making a mess of Los Angeles as he comes to the occasional aid of those in need. But not even Smith's charisma can mitigate the chaos that is "Hancock."

It depresses me to think of all the preteens who'll be sitting through this, since it squeaked by with a PG-13 rating; the violence and the general abrasiveness are a genuine drag. Then again, adults won't be much better off. In this highly superheroic summer of "Iron Man" and the forthcoming "The Dark Knight," "Hancock" can offer only an A-list headliner in a D-list project.

The notion is that a vaguely self-loathing superhero, who spends his days flying around Los Angeles and taking care of its assault-weapon-toting vermin, suffers from self-esteem issues that prevent him from being the best he can be.

Enter a public relations whiz ( Jason Bateman), whom Hancock saves from a collision with a train. The PR man, despite the protestations of his wife ( Charlize Theron), takes on Hancock as his latest project. The flack makes Hancock, who doesn't know how he gained his special powers, see the value in soft, non-destructive landings and the odd kind word.

Halfway through, screenwriters Vy Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan dump a huge load of superhero back story onto the movie's doorstep. Director Peter Berg and his cinematographer shoot a lot of "Hancock" in gritty, nausea- inducing close-up, and the effects—aurally bombastic, visually ordinary—sit on the action in all the wrong ways. Why shoot this film like an R-rated action thriller? What good does all the nastiness do except to rough up an audience like a corrupt cop interrogating a suspect?

Pro that he is, Smith doesn't dog a minute of it. He's such an easygoing presence, he periodically humanizes the material. His name alone may well ensure a profitable week or two for "Hancock." But like "Last Action Hero" and "My Super Ex-Girlfriend," this is a film searching, desperately, for the right stylization and the right tone. The sight gag destined to be the film's talking point involves a man with his head rammed up another man's hindquarters. And if you don't like hearing about it, don't let your kids see it.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I sat down to watch Juno - another kinda cool indie film? But 5 minutes into it, the cool, sardonic attitude of Ellen Page and the casual delivery of some of the best written lines in ages had me completely engaged and laughing out loud. If this film doesn't win against its much higher budget competitors in this year's Academy Awards I will be very surprised and disappointed.

"Enchanted" is a contraption redeemed by a delightful leading performance. The world may not have needed another attempt to cash in on all things princess-y, but Amy Adams, per the old "Mary Tyler Moore Show" theme song, takes a (potentially) nothing day and suddenly makes it all seem worthwhile. Like Marlo Thomas in "That Girl," she's diamonds, daisies, snowflakes, chestnuts, rainbows and springtime. Yes, and springtime.

"Enchanted" begins as an animated tale set in the land of Andalasia. Young, warbling Giselle seems all set for a happy life with Prince Edward, but Edward's mother, Queen Narissa, doesn't like her and throws her down a magic well, which is some sort of nutty portal to another world -- live-action New York City. (This isn't a film that blends animation and live action, a la "Who Framed Roger Rabbit"; it's more a one-or-the-other deal.) The prince, played by James Marsden, and a chipmunk follow her into live-action land, as does the Queen's confidant (Timothy Spall). So does the queen, played by Susan Sarandon.

Giselle's protectors in New York are a cynical divorce attorney (Patrick Dempsey) and his daughter (Rachel Covey). Idina Menzel, who won a Tony for "Wicked," plays Dempsey's fiance, and while we're on the subject of "Wicked," let's just say "Enchanted" wants in on "Wicked's" popularity so badly it practically drools.

Director Kevin Lima ("102 Dalmations") and screenwriter Bill Kelly reference half the Disney canon in "Enchanted," from "Sleeping Beauty" to "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs." In the end, Sarandon (lively in a predictable role) transforms into a dragon, and while I thought "Beowulf" was only fair, the "Beowulf" dragon could eat the "Enchanted" dragon for brunch.

Through good scenes and derivative ones, Adams is disarming. She played the pregnant hometown girl in "Junebug," as well as the nurse with the braces in "Catch Me If You Can," and the way she combines irrepressible high spirits with slyly subversive comic wiles in "Enchanted," she's every Disney princess in one ebullient package.

A key scene early on has Giselle singing one of the score's Alan Menken/Stephen Schwartz songs with half of New York in Central Park, and it works; director Lima and the songwriters build the sequence deftly, ending with a sight gag of Prince Edward getting creamed by cyclists (it's in the trailer) that seals the deal.

Ten years ago Adams was doing "The Varsity Drag" in a revival of "Good News" at the Chanhassen Dinner Theatre in suburban Minneapolis. She was great. Now everybody knows it.

If I'm in the mood for delicious, quick food and some killer margaritas with friends, we always pick Aqui. It's also very kid friendly.

He's back, and he's hacked off. The most striking aspect of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" is its contrast between the hormonally and supernaturally tormented teenager at its center and the modestly well-made and easygoing picture unfolding all around him.

No. 5 in the omnipresent global franchise, "Order of the Phoenix" lies at a no-nonsense halfway point between the best of the Potter films ("Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban") and the most impersonal ("Sorcerer's Stone," which made just under a billion dollars worldwide). Though some of the large-scale effects settle for the familiar, the young actors guiding the ongoing J.K. Rowling magic act keep our human interest. We have watched these young actors grow up on-screen, and somewhere along the way Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint -- Harry, Hermione and Ron to millions -- turned into increasingly assured, slightly older young actors.

I had no particular affection for the first two pictures, the ones directed by Chris Columbus, which played and felt like hyper-protective producers' films as opposed to an imaginative director's. Once those were out of the way, though, the Potter series became freer to allow each installment some stylistic breathing room, within Rowling's parameters and the relative universe governed by a global fan base not keen on surprises.

Directed by Potter newcomer David Yates, whose résumé includes the piquant HBO romance "The Girl in the Cafe," "Order of the Phoenix" cares little about bringing newcomers up to speed. Nor is the film trying to be the biggest dog on the block. It's gratifying to see a summer picture whose primary impulse is not to destroy the audience, even as Rowling's story line nearly destroys Harry by subjecting him to a fate worse than Voldemort: teen angst.

Harry describes himself as "so angry, all the time," miserable at home, fighting against his darker impulses, struggling to act on his better instincts. Thanks to Daniel Radcliffe, who turns 18 later this month and seems ready for a hardy career once all seven Potter books have been filmed -- already he has appeared nude in the West End revival of "Equus" -- our hero's "Look Back in Anger" phase carries genuine feeling.

Rowling's owlishly charismatic hero is returning to Hogwarts for his fifth year. Straight off he's nearly expelled for "underage sorcery" while on Muggle turf, brought on by an attack of two soul-sucking Dementors working for the other side. Headmaster Dumbledore helps sort it out and gets Harry off the hook, but Hogwarts quickly enters a dubious new phase under the stewardship of Prof. Umbridge, who has no patience with non-traditional curriculum and implements a "Ministry-approved" set of rules and regulations. The title refers to the shadowy Order of the Phoenix, in which Harry's godfather Sirius Black is a member and whose collective eye is on Voldemort's inevitable return.

The Potter series has been a reliable employer of half the character actors in England, and one of the chief assets here is Imelda Staunton as Umbridge. Her manner of evil -- officious efficiency dressed in various shades of pink -- reminds audiences there is more than one way to get a laugh while striking a threatening chord. Forced into action, Harry and his pals Hermione and Ron recruit their classmates to join them in "Dumbledore's Army," training for a showdown with Voldemort and his slithery allies including Helena Bonham Carter, whom no one can accuse of underplaying.

Oddly the action climax can be accused of underplaying. The wand-zapping battle is a climax in name only; this is the sequence, about 20 minutes in length, that is being shown in 3-D at IMAX theaters. I suspect 3-D will help. Working from Michael Goldenberg's screenplay, director Yates is more at home with scenes depending on a subtler interweave of live-action and digital concerns. My favorite is an old-fashioned training montage, in which Harry, Hermione and Ron develop their fighting skills. The scene has a nice shape and rhythm to it, and unlike John Williams' music for the first three "Harry Potters," composer Nicholas Cooper opts not to compete with the amazements on screen.

The big wows are familiar, but the visual details pack the frame tightly with eccentric crosscurrents of the world as we know it and the non-Muggles land of wizardry. In other words, a particularly menacing character may display her decorative china emblazoned with cat pictures on her wall, but the meowing cats are actually meowing, and moving, and acting like real cats.

It's clear by now that Radcliffe, Watson and Grint were terrific casting choices, though this time Grint has little to do. The same is true for various Hogwarts faculty members played by Emma Thompson, Maggie Smith and Alan Rickman. That's the way it goes with a series such as this one: New characters come along, crowding the old ones, and something has to give. The shortest of the five Potter films so far, "Order of the Phoenix" is destined to be remembered as the one that handed the screen Harry his first kiss. Like much of the film, the smooch comes and goes briskly, without a lot of fuss.

"How was it?" Harry is asked. Answer: "Wet."

Like gravy with mash potatoes, a visit to the Varsity should be a part of every Atlanta vacation or business trip.

This is one of the coolest burger joints around and is a must for grease and fry lovers everywhere.

Pixar has outdone itself with this film with attention to detail, animation quality and a truly entertaining story.

While I was geeking out on the incredible animation and the subtle nuances intended for the adult audience, my 4-year-old daughter was watching the movie from a different viewpoint and was equally enjoying it.

Definitely not one of those kid movies that adults feel forced to sit through for their kids. I'd go see this one again by myself.

The ads for the ravishing new Disney/Pixar feature "Ratatouille" spell out the titular dish phonetically (as rat-a-too-ee), a tactic not necessary in last summer's marketing and promotion of "Cars." This provides a clue as to why writer-director Brad Bird's story, about a sweet aesthete of a rat who dreams of becoming a chef, may not be in for "Cars"-type action at the box office.

Well, there's no justice in the world. "Ratatouille" may be rated G, but its sense of humor is more sly, more sophisticated and more interesting than most PG-13 or R-rated comedies at the moment. The film may be animated, and largely taken up with rats, but its pulse is gratifyingly human. And you have never seen a computer-animated feature with this sort of visual panache and detail.

The film is also unexpectedly moving in the way it unites all its major characters in their passion for food and the warm feelings that come with it. Bird and his sterling collaborators have created something wholly new here. It's the haute cuisine of contemporary animation. Plus it's crazy about Paris, the way films such as "Funny Face" were crazy about Paris, and rarely have you glimpsed more supple and detailed images of a great city and its eccentric inhabitants.

"Ratatouille" is a tale of two young males learning to grow up and make their way in their respective worlds, which intersect in clever ways. Remy the rat lives in the French provinces with his dad, Django, his brother, Emile, and extended rat clan. The young rat's rarefied nose and highly developed palate ("I know what this needs! Saffron!") serve the family well in the role of poison detector.

A food-finding mission takes the rats into a shotgun-wielding woman's farmhouse, to tense results. After shooting the rapids of a nearby river--an exciting scene, and not merely in the I'll-wait-for-the-video-game "Flushed Away" way--Remy is separated from his loved ones and finds himself in the City of Light. The famous deceased chef Gusteau appears to Remy in Tinker Bell-like form, guiding him along until Gusteau, and Fate, plunk Remy into the very kitchen of Gusteau's restaurant, a former five-star landmark fallen on hard times.

The way Remy makes his bones working in the big leagues is one thread of the "Ratatouille" story line. Another concerns his relationship with a young twentysomething human named Linguini, a hapless new restaurant employee with a mysterious connection to the founder. Linguini's reluctant mentor in the kitchen is Colette, the sole female in a kitchen full of rough characters. Quite by accident Remy turns his human surrogate Linguini into a marionette-like conduit for his culinary magic.

The comic set pieces are very impressive, but it's the way Remy cooks his new pal an omelet early one morning at Linguini's apartment that gives "Ratatouille" its heart. This is a busy film that nonetheless knows how to take time for the little things. It is, after all, French.

Younger audiences may have a difficult time tracking the Linguini part of the narrative, which has to do with a contested will and the machinations of the head chef, Skinner, who resembles a pint-size Akim Tamiroff. Writer-director Bird errs, I think, in making Linguini such a clod. Also, he's not memorably voiced; Lou Romano simply isn't in the league of his grade-A colleagues, spanning everyone from Patton Oswalt as Remy (sounding like a rapturous Wallace Shawn) to Brian Dennehy's papa rat to Brad Garrett's Gusteau to Janeane Garofalo's Colette, who always seems to be on the verge of smacking Linguini around. (The movie is encoded to make little boys fall in love with surly French women with fantastic haircuts.) Ian Holm has a sniveling ball voicing Skinner. Best of all is Peter O'Toole as the viciously influential restaurant critic Anton Ego. Ego's Scrooge-like thawing near story's end provides the film with its delightful and slightly bittersweet coda.

In Bird's previous and highly kinetic feature "The Incredibles," composer Michael Giacchino whipped up one witty variation on James Bond-style espionage themes after another. To "Ratatouille" Giacchino contributes the most delightful musical score of the year. His delicate, nimble flute theme for Remy (like Jean-Pierre Rampal on uppers) captures the hectic pace of a rat's life, and there's a genuinely rhapsodic swell of feeling in the way the orchestral music augments the rooftop view from Linguini's tiny apartment, as seen through the eyes of Remy.

Without getting too serious about imparting a lecture on the subject of tolerance and understanding, "Ratatouille" hits on something most every kid feels at some point in her or his life: the attraction of a new world, a new chapter, a universe previously unexplored, preferably one with fresh spices and an eight-burner stove. Early on, a horrified Skinner orders Linguini to dispose of Remy lest the restaurant attract unwanted attention from the health inspector. On the banks of the Seine, trapped in a glass jar, Remy wordlessly entreats Linguini to save him. Slowly the young man realizes that the rat understands what he's saying. He asks Remy if he can cook. The way in which the rat responds--with a shrug and a look of sheepish but unmistakable pride in his abilities--cements the emotional core of the picture. Such fleeting moments make "Ratatouille" special.

Too special for a huge international audience? Maybe. Maybe not. While 6-year-olds may not get jokes targeting Skinner's overly aggressive exploitation of the Gusteau brand, they just may respond to a film of unusual delicacy and surprise. As a bonus the end credits are terrific, too, done in a style of animation (two-dimensional '60s, with a dash of Ronald Searle) a world apart from the feature itself.

"Ratatouille" is preceded by a very funny "Monsters, Inc."-y short called "Lifted," in which a young alien attempts to beam a sleeping human aboard his spacecraft. The film's comic design has little in common with the feature following it, but for its exceptional quality.

Muchos has the best burritos downtown. The Gigante is enough for two unless, of course you don't like to share.

The rotisserie chicken is always juicy and tasty. When I worked downtown, we ate there all the time. Good food at cheap prices.

Everything about this movie was over the top, which is perfect. The visuals were so beautiful that if the rest of the movie - characters, dialogue, story, costumes, etc. - were not also over the top, then the movie would have lagged.

This is my favorite movie of 2007 and the year isn't over yet.

Lena Headey is awesome as Queen Gorgo. She ranks right up there with other strong female characters in action flicks, like Trinity and Lara Croft, and there are not that many.

Surf's Up is yet another film about penguins, but it's still original.

This animated film about surfing penguins unfolds documentary-style, complete with scratchy "archival" footage of surf legends from the past.

Cody Maverick (voiced by Shia LaBeouf), a tiny Rockhopper penguin and surfer, talks directly to a camera crew that follows him from his home in Shiverpool, Antarctica, to a big surfing contest on a tropical isle.

Once you get past the idea of penguins needing surfboards to negotiate water, a premise that initially evokes that famous quote about fish and bicycles, the faux-documentary angle is pretty nifty. So is the animation.

Big-wave and underwater scenes are vividly rendered, and a sequence in which a storm brews over the surfing contest creates an impressive sense of mood. But the adventures in Surf's Up tend to be more modest than those in Happy Feet or even March of the Penguins.

The voice acting, by contrast, is more nuanced than in most animated films. Much of the charm of Surf's Up derives from the relationship between Cody and his mentor, voiced by Jeff Bridges. LaBeouf and Bridges invest these characters with real personality.

Directed by Ash Brannon and Chris Buck, Surf's Up assumes that kids have seen those other penguin movies and know about such things as regurgitated meals. Though Cody isn't as instantly adorable as Emperor penguin Mumble from Happy Feet, he shares with Mumble an individualistic streak at odds with the penguin fold. His zest for surfing prompts disapproval from his brother (voiced by Brian Posehn, who, oddly enough, sounds more like a surfer than other voice actors).

But Cody feels as if he was hatched to surf, and not just in Antarctica's icy waters. His idol is the late Big Z, a surfing legend who once visited Shiverpool and bestowed a special clamshell medallion on Cody.

Shots of Big Z hot-dogging on a long board might remind parents of the stellar surf documentary Riding Giants. Apart from the surfers being penguins and not people, of course.

Cody makes it to a major surf contest dominated by the towering Tank Evans (Diedrich Bader), who is like Laird Hamilton plus feathers and epic insecurities. After Cody wipes out, the local lifeguard, Lani, takes him to the home of Geek, a jungle-dwelling hermit and surfing guru. Lani is voiced by Zooey Deschanel, whose quirky-croaky delivery compensates for her character's lack of visual distinction.

Heavy-set and sporting the feathered equivalent of dreadlocks, Geek doesn't want much to do with the kid at first. But they soon form a mutually inspiring duo, leading to some terrific Karate Kid moments.

Just as LaBeouf plays youthful enthusiasm without going broad, Bridges, bringing in hints of The Dude from the The Big Lebowski, plays a burnout without ever making him a loser. LaBeouf and Bridges often recorded their roles together -- not the norm for animated films -- and it shows in lively, beautifully timed exchanges.

In a fun touch, surfers Kelly Slater and Rob Machado voice penguin versions of themselves. A trio of youngsters provide consistent laughs in talking-head, penguin-on-the-street interviews.

Jon Heder brings comic life to Cody's pal Chicken Joe, who looks and moves like a floppy rubber chicken. Some setups involving Chicken Joe are cliched, but his attitude sends a healthy message to kids. This surfing fowl doesn't care about winning, only catching the perfect wave.

Even if you don't check out a Sharks game or any of the hundreds of other events at the HP, there's always the great kids park on the Pavilion grounds with a beautiful carousel for kids. It's only a buck to ride.

I would eat here every night if I could afford it. The food is always incredible and the menu changes from week to week depending on what's in season.

The atmosphere is very cool and upscale, but no turns their nose up at you if you come in in jeans and a t-shirt.

Every dish I've ever had here - and I've sampled one of everything - has been consistently good and the wine list is huge!

I took my 4-year-old to see this and we really enjoyed it, but her thoughts walking out of the theater sums it up best - "it wasn't Happy Feet." I think the PG rating is right, but not for the language or humor. The plot is a spoof on reality shows and documentaries that are a little over a 4-year-old' head.

Surf's Up is definitely entertaining for the adults and probably best suited for kids age 6-8.

We met up with some friends at Thea for an evening out minus kids and had a great time. We ordered just off the appetizer menu and they just kept the appetizers coming in. Everything I tasted was great and the service was excellent. Even though the food was a little on the expensive side (average appetizer was $10) I would definitely eat there again.

If you're an animation fan, Shrek three tops the other two for graphic quality even if the story line isn't as good as the first.

The gang is all there along with the standard fart jokes (which I happen to love) and a great soundtrack! And with a little Heart behind her, Snow White is a bad ass.

In Mexico City, Plaza Garibaldi is the festive headquarters for hundreds of mariachi bands. Cesar Pascal and Connie Alvarez, husband and wife, wanted their new restaurant to encourage that feeling while bringing family-style Mexican cuisine to a taqueria-dominated town, and by the way to be nearby once the new San Jose City Hall opens.

The long-empty building on Santa Clara Street near 24th Street once had a front door facing the sidewalk, and despite Pascal's patio furniture, palms and torch lights, people still try to enter there. The entrance, by wheelchair-accessible ramp, is to the side.

Pascal and Alvarez belong to the family that owns Plaza Jewelers, just west of Plaza Garibaldi restaurant, and three other Plaza Jewelers stores. As the name suggests, mariachi is big at Plaza Garibaldi.

Bands come in around 7:30 on Friday and Saturday nights, and at 2:30 p.m. on Sundays. Pumping up the celebratory atmosphere, there's often a large party at the far end of the restaurant. Graduations, in this season.

Every week, Chef Hector Hernandez changes the regional specials. The Plaza Garibaldi business card names the chef as well as food and safety manager Rachel Garcia. It gives you confidence.

Many people start with a cocktail. The large cherrywood bar stocks 45 tequilas. Specialty cocktails are pictured and somewhat explained in the book-like cocktail menu, but the Michelada ($10) can only be appreciated in person.

This is a trendy drink in Mexico. Plaza Garibaldi's comes in a glass basin holding 32 ounces of the following ingredients: Clamato juice, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, lime juice and two cans of Tecate beer.

A regular-size diner next to us downed two Micheladas with his meal, and walked out under his own power. The cilantro margarita ($6.95 to $10, depending on the tequila) is also popular. Margaritas come in oversize footed glasses. In the mojito ($8), the mint shouldn't have been lying carelessly on the top.

Picky niños should be happy with the quartet of greatest hits for children ($3.95-$4.95): flour quesadilla, chicken burrito, cheeseburger and chicken tenders.

Plaza Garibaldi also has breakfast specials such as huevos rancheros. Just know that breakfast starts not at the crack of dawn but when the restaurant opens, 11 on weekdays, 10 on weekends. It ends at 2 p.m.

The appetizers are dominated by seafood. Raw fish, shrimp and the occasional octopus marinated in lime juice star in the ceviche tostadas and cocktails. The shrimp ceviche tostada ($5.50) has a crisp, thick corn tortilla floor supporting a good-size pile of shrimp topped with pico de gallo (in this case, with finely chopped cucumber in the mix of tomatoes, onions and cilantro). Thin slices of ripe avocado are splayed on top.The fish ceviche cocktail ($13.95) is party-size. One fish-shaped plate holds a pile of crisp corn tortillas, the other an expanse of chopped marinated fish with salsa and lots of limes. For two people, the tostada is a better choice.

Salsas are one of Plaza Garibaldi's strengths. Accompanying the ceviches is a tongue-tingling jalapeño-lime salsa. With empanadas, the salsa features tomatillos and avocado. These empanadas are small turnovers stuffed with shrimp (three for $4.50) and topped with a squiggle of sour cream. They look like orange Hostess pies.When asked about tortillas, choose corn. They are house-made, thick and irregular, good by themselves. (Not that the flour tortillas are bad, served hot in a basket.)

Tortilla soup is a weekend special, the traditional using-up of leftover tortillas as crisp strips. With chicken fat and chile oil, the soup borders on greasy, but there is depth of flavor in a broth with zucchini, corn, potato, tomatoes and carrots. With entrees, add $1.95, or the soup is $3.95 by itself.

An entree special to look for, Camarones Carlotta y Maximiliano ($16.95) employs potent huitlacoche, the truffle of Mexico. Seven fat prawns are sauteed with huitlacoche, a fungus that attacks corn and turns it black. Oaxaca's special white cheese melts into them. It comes with plump rice and refried pinto beans.

Another special, three Tehuacan enchiladas ($12.95) are filled with the interiors of your choice. You can also have one of each: chopped beef, chicken and cheese. The plump corn tortillas are draped in rich pumpkin seed sauce called pipian.

Less successful, pechuga Poblana ($12.95) offers thin chicken breasts drenched in green poblano sauce and melted Oaxacan cheese, which also smothered the zucchini and corn on the plate. Plaza Gariabldi features the cuisine of Nayarit, a central seaside state of Mexico, in dishes such as pescado zarandeado (shaken fish), a large whole striped bass ($8 a pound) that is marinated in lemon juice, soy sauce and chile. While cooking, it is shaken so that it will absorb the flavorful juices. Slices of orange, cucumber and tomato surround the majestic fish, resting on shredded lettuce.

Plaza Garibaldi's desserts ($5.95 each) range from flan to an extravaganza of hot churros planted in vanilla ice cream that's drizzled in a custardy liqueur.As at the original, San Jose's Plaza Garibaldi has a lot going on.

The new San Jose restaurant called Seven pitches to young adults, with thumping techno-pop music and an inventive cocktail menu. But after two meals where I was likely the oldest person in the 3,500-square-foot restaurant and lounge, I felt like going again.

Seven is edgy but not bent out of shape. More important, the food is fresh and satisfying.

It's a contemporary American menu fashioned by three local boys who hope to stamp some style into a post-industrial San Jose neighborhood. Seven anchors the ground floor of the Avalon Bay town houses, walking distance to HP Pavilion on one side and the Rose Garden on the other.

The owners are identical twins Russel and Curtis Valdez, 30, and their brother-in-law, Hugh Parker, 36. All are San Jose natives and graduates of Los Gatos High School. The twins' Bay Area kitchen experience includes A.P. Stump's, 71 St. Peter and Lark Creek restaurants.

They favor local suppliers, such as Green Leaf for produce, Bassian Farms for meat and Today's Catch for fish.

You will perhaps pinch yourself. This San Jose feels like New York.

From the outside, Seven cuts a very subtle swath of The Alameda. Frosted glass is punctuated by a few little 7's in clear glass, which, I had to be told, are supposed to look like TV sets. You peer in at the kitchen. I later also learned that Seven is for the address, 754, and because Parker likes a lucky number.

Fine, play with us. But the revolving door goes one step beyond sense. Until snow falls on The Alameda, nobody needs such a heavy-duty entrance.

Sitting in style

Once inside, though, Seven keeps you happy. Stroll through the noir-flavored bar, partitioned by curved frosted-glass panels, into what could be an post-modern company cafe. The wooden curved chairs are not built for long sits, but, surprisingly, it's quieter out in the open than in the high-backed semi-circular booths that get bar noise. Including the bar, Seven offers at least four dining venues and 108 seats inside, with 20 more coming on the patio.

Seven opened June 30. Usually we wait at least two months for new restaurants to settle in, but this one had so much buzz, so many people saying, ``Have you been to Seven?'' that I went to check it out. All systems seemed ready for judgment.

On both visits, servers were enthusiastic and knowledgeable. Which makes you forgive certain lapses, such as bringing the chicken sandwich instead of roasted chicken. It must be hard to hear clearly.

Golden Sheaf's French bread, from Watsonville, is brought around more often than most people need. Do they want you to fill up on bread?

For an opener, braised beef short ribs ($9) could not be better. Two large pieces of meat long cooked in red wine and vegetable stock emerge tender and tasty.

As a lunchtime entree, salmon Niçoise salad ($14) also hits the spot. A big filet of buttery wild king salmon sits atop green beans and fingerling potatoes, with tomatoes and mixed greens dipped in vinaigrette. Besides the big piece of fish, the other lovely surprise on this plate is the not-so hard-cooked egg, with a bright and creamy yolk.

Well-done classics

French influences also come to the fore in a classic bistro dish of oven-roasted chicken ($14). Free-range chicken emerges moist, with crispy skin, atop white beans cooked in chicken stock. Artichoke hearts and crisp bacon complete the pleasure.

A lunch special of pan-roasted halibut ($14) was too salty, but the accompanying couscous with pine nuts and a salad of butter lettuce and toy box tomatoes were very nice.

Skate wing ($21) is a bit of a personal crusade for Russel Valdez. With wing-like fins, skate can be a tough sell, but Seven does it well. The sweet, firm white fish is golden brown outside and moist inside, playing nicely with a hearty ragout of roasted salsify (the root vegetable that tastes like oyster) and shiitake, crimini and oyster mushrooms on mashed potatoes with chive oil and grain mustard.

The only losers in two outings were two under-cooked crab cakes ($14 entree size). A relish of red onions and corn kernels overwhelmed any crab flavor.

While cocktail choice overflows with drinks like ``She's Gone'' (Absolut vodka, cranberry juice, Cointreau, Bacardi 151 floater) and Kamikaze shooters, the wine list is compact and focused on the menu, though the wines are no bargain. We had the '99 Joseph Phelps Mistral ($48), a lovely Rhône-style red wine. The server said it would go well with fish, and it did.

Other beverages bring small joys, such as cranberry juice accompanied by a shot glass full of lime slices ($2).

Desserts are wisely kept simple. A fine citrus crème brulée ($6) comes with five thumb-size lemon-poppyseed madeleines. Bittersweet chocolate souffle ($6) is deliciously molten in the middle, with small accents of vanilla ice cream, hazelnut brittle and droplets of raspberry sauce.

Seven's open kitchen, designed by the same firm that did the French Laundry's kitchen, is white-tiled and French-looking. Also take a trip to the restroom, with its modern Japanese TOTO toilets and waves of smoked green glass. Very cool, but not overreaching.

Seven

754 The Alameda, at Wilson Avenue, San Jose. (408) 280-1644

*** 1/2

The Dish: Swinging hot spot with a nurturing side. Attention to detail in modern American fare, design and service. Family-run by the Valdez twins and their brother-in-law.

Price range: Lunch appetizers $7-$10, entrees $8-$16. Dinner appetizers $7-$12, entrees $18-$24. Corkage $15.

Details: Full bar.

Pluses: French techniques applied smartly to American ingredients.

Minuses: Noisy. Seats not built for comfort.

Hours: Lunch 11:30 a.m.-2:30 p.m. Mondays-Fridays. Dinner 5-10 p.m. Mondays-Saturdays. Bar menu 11:30 a.m.-midnight Mondays-Fridays, 5 p.m.-midnight Saturdays.

Restaurant reviews are conducted anonymously. The Mercury News pays for all meals.

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The thing that's missing from "Zodiac," a taut yet ultimately disappointing re-creation of the manhunt that followed the Bay Area's most infamous serial killing spree, is the same thing that has always been missing from the case: a sense of who the killer was. Not his identity - although the picture comes pretty close to picking its prime suspect out of a lineup - but by delivering some dramatically plausible theory about what it all meant to somebody other than the people trying to catch him.

It's the same problem that haunted the four men who pursued - but never caught - the psychopath in real life. The movie provides a crackling chase narrative that should please fans of the dozen or so police procedurals already on TV, but it can't deliver what it doesn't have. And that is a homicidal maniac with a twisted personality, such as Hannibal the Cannibal; or a punk with a sickening face and a mocking laugh, like the Scorpio Killer in "Dirty Harry." That was the tabloid-style version of the case that became a huge hit in 1971, when the real Zodiac killer was still sending taunting letters to the San Francisco Chronicle. That movie - with its crowd-pleasing histrionics by a clearly identifiable bad guy - casts such a shadow over this one that at one point in "Zodiac," we see Dave Toschi, the San Francisco homicide inspector played by Mark Ruffalo, walk out in the middle of a screening of "Dirty Harry," unable to watch his fictional counterpart crack the case.

When Robert Graysmith, a Chronicle cartoonist (played by Jake Gyllenhaal) who had by then attached himself to the investigation of the Zodiac killings, comes out of the theater and tells Toschi that the serial killer gets blown away in the final scene, it's hard not to feel that this is director David Fincher's desperate cry for help.

Fincher, who once showed Gwyneth Paltrow's severed head in a box to demonstrate the lurid blood lust of another serial killer in "Se7en," manages more restraint here. Faced with the inevitable irresolution of the story, Fincher and writer James Vanderbilt have divided the movie into three distinct parts - the killings, the official manhunt by the police, then the unofficial (and at times nutty) sleuthing by Graysmith. The best of these by far is the slam-bang opening half hour.

That's when the Zodiac is actively hunting, twice approaching young couples in remote locations near Vallejo and doing his grisly work. Fincher makes the moments leading up to the attacks so creepy and suspenseful that you almost wish the maniac - whose face we never see - would hurry up and get it over with.

We also meet the men who follow the beguiling trail of clues that seem, at first, to offer an illuminated path to the killer. Soon after the July 4, 1969, shooting of Darlene Ferrin and Mike Mageau, a letter arrives at the Chronicle newsroom, where crime reporter Paul Avery (Robert Downey Jr.) recognizes a great story and runs with it. Announcing his killings ("This is the Zodiac speaking ...") and providing a cipher that he says will reveal his identity (it doesn't), the Zodiac demands that his coded message appear on the front page of the next day's paper, and threatens that more innocent people will die if it doesn't.

Not wanting to rush into a big story, the Chronicle buries the Zodiac's letter on Page 4, and soon bodies are turning up all over the Bay Area. The film does an exceptional job of capturing the world of fluorescent light, stale air and grimy desks where creatures like Avery - chain-smoking and evidently at his ease with not a female reporter in sight - thrived.

And destroyed themselves. When Avery wrote a story suggesting the Zodiac was "a latent homosexual," he became a target of the killer's wrath, and other reporters started showing up for work wearing buttons that said I AM NOT AVERY. Downey, whose time on camera is memorable but too brief, gets the reporter-as-swashbuckling-figure even better than "All the President's Men" did, just as Gyllenhaal enlivens Graysmith's nerdy obsession in the movie's final act.

The film provides a timeline showing each new development in the case, but each of these is presented relative to the one before it, so the world of the movie feels hermetically sealed off from everything else.

That helps keep the focus locked on the story, but considering that events such as the Vietnam War and Watergate were happening elsewhere, it seems a little odd that a movie partially located in a newsroom - even the Chronicle's newsroom - would be oblivious to everything but the Zodiac. In fact, it was other big crime cases such as the kidnapping of Patty Hearst, and the serial killer's own apparent inactivity (for which the film offers an explanation), that reduced the Zodiac case to a footnote by the mid-'70s.

Graysmith becomes a figure very much like the deranged dad played by Richard Dreyfuss in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," unable to let go of his obsession even after it has cost him his job as an editorial cartoonist and threatened his relationship with his wife (Chloe Sevigny). "I need to do this," he tells her, long after you may have begun to wonder whether you need to do it with him.

This lounge is one of the coolest places to hang out with friends for an evening out. The DJs that play here are awesome and kicking back with drinks in the monkey cool atmosphere is cool.

If I could have continued eating, I would have sat in my chair and eaten all night. Incredible food! Very cool atmosphere and the staff are very nice and helpful.

The best steak in LA! This place is great for date night... good food, good service.

Enjoyed my experience and will come back.

Enjoyed my experience and will come back.

Fun stuff to do for younger kids.

Fun stuff to do for younger kids.

Fun stuff to do for younger kids.