Someone once said that no war film can be truly anti-war, because the act of making a cogent, compelling story about people in battle necessarily conveys logic and nobility on that battle. There is something similar at work in drug films. The more extreme films are in their portrayal of the suffering of drug addicts, the more they seem to present that suffering in a cartoonish, hyper-stylized manner. How many supposedly moralistic drug films feature wild-eyed drug dealers planning gory revenge or crazy robbery schemes? Moreover, drug films tend to offset grim content with wild editing and popular music (see, for example, Requiem For a Dream and Trainspotting). These tactics excuse the viewer from having any empathy for or practical consideration of the suffering they're watching.

Which is why the first three-quarters of Little Fish is so bracing. Cate Blanchett plays Tracy Heart, a recovered addict in Sydney who is surrounded by the remnants of her former life. She's the responsible center of a circle of friends and family on whom heroin is and has been a heavy burden. She cares for a junkie and former rugby star (Hugo Weaving) who sells his own memorabilia from his home to support his lifestyle. She also hopes to purchase and expand the video store in which she works but is repeatedly thwarted by her checkered past.

The film portrays with great clarity the sorrow of people hobbled by addiction who can't quite seize the better lives they see for themselves. That Tracy doesn't use heroin is little comfort to her; her circumstances constantly demonstrate the ways that she may lack the character to stay clean. This tension is all the more powerful for the fact that it is drawn in subtle shades, with naturalistic performances and unobtrusive direction by Rowan Woods. All of the characters have common problems and suffer from doubts familiar to the viewer. Even the film's wild-eyed drug dealer (Sam Neill) is concerned primarily with his failed marriage and his wish to retire. Weaving's performance is particularly powerful, because he plays his character in such a self-aware way. Drug films resonate with non-junkies because they depict people who obviously long for a better life but are powerless to act on that desire. The film (and Weaving in particular) cannily use drug addiction as a window into a very universal kind of longing.

All of that great drama goes right out the window, though, in the film's final act, when the guns and schemes and double-crosses come to the fore. The final scene in particular contains elements of black comedy that do great disservice to the work that's come before. When the film tries to externalize these characters' problems as "exciting" or "tense" plot developments, the film grinds to a halt, because their real predicament goes completely out of focus. This is a particular shame in the case of Little Fish, because of the harrowing dramatization of addiction that it draws simply by focusing on common people with real problems trying to live life.

A great social worker once said of the war on drugs, "The government will never find a way to punish drug users better than the way they've found to punish themselves." As demonstrated in Little Fish, neither will screenwriters hungry for gun battles and maniacs on the loose.

The central message of Be Still is a noble one. Eerily narrated by Judge Reinhold, the film is a faux-documentary on Christian contemplative prayer. The most abiding lessons of the movie are simply to be quiet, to reflect, to make a little bit of peace every day. Quiet yourself and relax, contemplate your own life and the world going on about it. This will lead to a happier, more sedate life.

In promoting this goal, Be Still has some interesting things to say. It calls into question the laborious, media-saturated American lifestyle. One prayerful mother laments that the worst part of a hectic, never-still life is that "we raise another generation of children who think that their worth is found in how much they accomplish."

But despite a parade of PhDs, authors, and pastors, the film is never very convincing that contemplative prayer must be Christian prayer. It seems emotional stillness could fall under the rubric of much of eastern thought, exercise, a reclusive spot of tea in the morning. The movie knows it is walking this fine line. The second half focuses more heavily on how great it is (and it is really great) to hear God and there are several attempts to explain the uniqueness of Christian prayer. There is a chapter entitled "The Difference Between Eastern and Christian Meditation" but no one featured seems to know anything about eastern meditation but it is generally agreed that speaking to the Lord of the Universe is awesome. Eastern meditation is dismissed as thinking about oneself or nature.

Later, an intelligent looking man with a graduate degree gives props to Aristotle for realizing contemplation could be a palliative to many of the world's ills contemplation, but then quickly dismisses the great thinker for believing contemplation of Truth was the highest form of meditation. This, the expert points out, "didn't do a lot for people." Contemplation of God's word is much more effective. We are left to guess why. When a nurse comes on screen to explain the physical benefits of contemplative prayer, her interview is edited in such a way that it's obvious she is speaking about all forms of meditation or relaxation. Finally, as different pastors muse about how great it might be to have some silence in church services, I wondered if there was anything more than dogma stopping these people from embracing Quakerism.

The people in and behind Be Still are good Christians. They want peace and stillness, love and faith. They intend prayer to be about listening to the wisdom of their Father, rather than asking God for a sweet ride. These people want to do good and help folks leave strong, quiet lives. But too much is explained through analogy, perhaps because it is the only rhetorical device the group of experts on hand is comfortable with. The one time someone takes a stab at a close reading of the psalm that gives the film its title, she rattles through many syllables and several tangents without saying anything. In general, there is a touch of irony about a movie touting the golden wonder of silence consisting almost entirely of talking heads eager to chat up the camera.

The movie is made for DVD in an organic way that uses the medium well. The main feature is not separated from the special features, they're all just thrown together as features, to be watched in any order, all very clearly a part of the same whole. The only segment that seems from a different universe is the odd "Helpful Hints with Dr. Henry Cloud," which features a helpful Christian psychologist doling out tips on scheduling time for contemplative prayer, despite distracting comic relief in the form of Ralph, his fat, bumbling handyman. For a movie that is so earnest about the need to be still and communicate with God, it's a little late for pratfalls.

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