If someone would have just put away Harrison Ford, Christian Slater, and Martin Short in a small room far from a movie studio, we would all have been better off; Hollywood appears to have been reduced to shameless money-grabbing by offering cinematic works with content insulting to all but the most dramatically-lobotomized. Indeed, staggering difficulty would inhibit the creation of an accurate "worst-of" list for this last summer, for there would be far too many worthy contenders. It's arguable that were one to simply film Ford, Slater, and Short while trapped in that room, the results would be vastly more entertaining than, say, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Hook, or What About Bob?

It is with considerable ease that this critic therefore offers below a reliable guide to truly hip and essential cinematic repertoire-building, if you failed to hie yourself to the multiplex over the summer months. Please note the criteria involved: the only films considered were domestic releases since May up to late August, and notably exclude the admirable late releases Dead Again and The Commitments, both of which will merit their own reviews within these pages in the near future.

1. Boyz N' the Hood: Hands down the best film of the season. Fledgling director John Singleton, straight out of film school, encapsulates the urban black experience in a "truth-is-uglier-than-fiction"-style debut. Singleton follows the lives of three youths on the verge of high school graduation, in a Los Angeles suburb whose state of deterioration better resembles a neighborhood in Lebanon than Southern California. Tre Styles (Cuba Gooding, Jr.), the central protagonist, lives among crack-addicted neighbors, arbitrary gang shootings, and police helicopters that don't exactly sing him to sleep at night; and the big question of all the children in the 'hood is: "How do I get out of here?" Cheap moralizing is avoided but the message is clear: take care of yourself, for there are no guarantees.

Smoothly integrating numerous race-related themes, Singleton does not ignore the complexity of the issues; he neither denies the racially-biased economic injustices, invalidates the subsequent black anger, or settles for a mere anti-white tract. He simply insists that the black community hold onto a system of values and take responsibility for itself, in order to slowly but steadily rise through the system. As the three central characters meet three different fates as a result of their individual choices, the film climaxes in a horrific shooting gallery, a reflection of the all-too-common path taken by enraged individuals. Boyz N' the Hood doesn't spare us the faces, and he paves us the way toward establishing a mature post-Do The Right Thing black cinema. Of course, the film's merits may have already been overshadowed by the cross-country movie-house shootings that accompanied its opening night, but they are easily interpreted as another desperate cry for responsible film viewing; Singleton's creation affords no subtleties in fully condemning gang violence, and cannot therefore be accused of inciting violence.

2. Thelma and Louise: It's the most controversial film of the summer, if not the year, but not for the reasons most people are providing. Horrified viewers have dubbed it a "macho woman" desperado film, featuring two enraged feminists who seek to liberate the female world with vengeful hearts and a pair of pistols. They are not half wrong: the film is undeniably allegorical, as are many road films; the male cast represent the ranges of male character, and thus the female leads must symbolize Everywomyn. But do Thelma and Louise do women justice? These ladies rebel against sexist injustices by behaving equally reprehensibly; they shoot would-be rapists, lock arrogant police officers into car trunks, and destroy the cargoes of oversexed and uncouth truck drivers. Various elements of the press have misconstrued the film to be a statement on gender roles: "are Thelma and Louise acting like men?" goes the debate. They are missing the point. The central question here is, does this film speak for the women of America? Undoubtedly the film hopes to do just that - but ultimately asserts that the only means of freedom from male oppression is death. Cheeriness!

Susan Sarandon as Louise voices one of the most profound lines in cinematic history, strangley echoing Boyz N the Hood's message: "You get what you settle for." Yet she and Geena Davis' Thelma refuse to channel this profundity into constructive action and instead resort to more detestable behavior. So if the film is so disagreeable, why is it one of the best? Thelma and Louise is ultimately validated by compellingly presenting the issues it engages, and not for a moment failing to get the viewer thinking what they would do in such a situation. Decide for yourself who are the good "guys" and who are the bad "guys." These ladies float in a limbo somewhere between justice and the law, and this ambiguity will provide hours of coffee klatsch fodder.

3. Terminator 2: Any film critic risks their artistic integrity by approving of such a reputably violent film, but from whence came this notion that we don't know how to sit back and enjoy ourselves from time to time with solid cinematic candy? Simply put, Terminator 2 is a sleek work, but must be appreciated in its appropriate (sub)genre: the techno-flashy-time-paradox-highly-destructive-action-adventure-sci-fi-flick. No, T2 is not abysmally deep, but who needs metaphysics all the time? At least we are finally dealt a movie that equals the hype that preceded it.

Post-atomic-holocaust "what if?" films are rare nowadays, as few people seriously fear nuclear war anymore, but it is good to be reminded of what human nature is yet capable with its techno-worship. For starters, Terminator 2 wins the prize for Most Terrifying Nuclear Mushroom Cloud Presentation. Arnold the Buff King of the Universe matches Susan Sarandon for an incredibly thoughtful remark that probably no one paid attention to amidst all the mayhem and destruction: "It is inherent in man's nature to destroy himself." That's the best line he'll ever have, folks, listen to him. And kudos to veiny and properly-pumped Linda Hamilton (another radical redefiner of gender roles) for every angst-ridden scene she muscles her way through. The film's ending is extraordinarily hokey, as Arnie just happened to have a reserve battery after being pureed by the even-more-formidable T-1000 model who pursues them; but again, when Hollywood is hurting for substantial narrative content, it is well compensated (or, more accurately, masked) by special effects and large-scale devastation that, in this case, have no equal. Most audiences will inevitably rave about the "liquid metal" action rather than the vaguely Hawthornian warning to not let scientific ambition obscure one's humanity.

4. Soapdish: Comedies are once again gaining artistic respect in cinematic circles, as evidenced by Whoopi Goldberg's Best Supporting Actress Oscar® for Ghost and Kevin Kline's statuette for A Fish Called Wanda. These two master performers join together with (strangely enough) Sally "Not Without My Daughter" Field for a parody of that easily-mocked form of entertainment called soap operas. And this movie is a soap opera's soap opera: Kline and Field play the stars on the daytime drama "The Sun Also Sets" (gag), but their private lives mirror all to well their small-screen roles. Mind-bending familial relations are exposed and the off-the-set politics rival the impossibly complex threads of the soap's own storyline. The plot is replete with sex changes, sex scandals, brain transplants, natural disasters, European sojourns, homicidal mutes, the works. It's a subtle and sophisticated film wrapped in the most ludicrous of packages, suitable for multiple viewings to catch all the shades of humor. And here's my vote, if it counted, for another Oscar® for Field for delivering the classic awful line of the summer: "Yes, I'm guilty….. guilty of love in the first degree!"

5. Paris is Burning: Anybody see this one? This dizzying documentary was filmed mostly in 1987 and won bags of awards at film festivals but is only now making art-theater distribution. It's basically National Geographic Goes Weird and probes the depth of New York City to uncover a highly unusual subculture: men strutting about in fantastic costumes (mostly women's), striking mannequin-esque poses before huge cheering crowds. No this is not a Calvin off-campus party - this is the institution known as a Drag Ball.

The denizens of these Balls are poor black and Latin gays, many of them tranvestites or transsexuals. Poor, nonwhite, and nonstraight, these triple outsiders all agree to having a hard time getting respect in mainstream society, and thus try to escape through larger-than-life fantasies filled with glamour similar to that propagated by MTV and Hollywood. The Drag Balls feature competitions where these men act out their dreams by dressing up in categories such as Schoolgirl, Town and Country, Executive Realness, and High Fashion Parisian, and parade before a panel of judges for trophies awarded to those who most closely mimic said archetypes. Basically, the film reveals, their "real" lives are way too tragic and the Balls provide affirmation and escape. "I would like to be a spoiled, rich white girl," says one petite Asian man, and at the Balls, gosh darnit, he is one. Director Jennie Livingston argues that this extraordinary gallery of human diversity deserves understanding and compassion from the rest of us who've always had it easier by virtue of our race or class, and her film presents a sympathetic portrait of these individuals whose poverty and victimization do not mesh with their visions of lavish beauty and affluence. And many of us might have more in common with these folks than we suspect, having often subscribed to the ethic of If You Can't Be It, Then At Least Look It.

There are certainly worse lifestyles to indulge, as one of the interviewees postulates, "if everybody went to Balls and did less drugs, it would be a fun world, wouldn't it?" Already the world of Paris Is Burning has had an enormous impact on pop culture, as anyone who has failed to avoid Madonna's latest "Vogue"-ing incarnation can agree. This culture may certainly be one to which we are not accustomed, but it exists, and Livingston has provided a window into their pain and wit. It may not hit Grand Rapids anytime soon, but keep your eyes out. You will be challenged, and isn't that the minimum standard for any film worthy of a best-of List?