Smoke

One of the things that sparked my initial interest in movies so long ago was the unique way in which stories can be told cinematically.

That's not to say movies are better or worse than books or songs or other forms of storytelling. It's simply that this medium struck a chord in me.

But in recent years, movies — in particular, mainstream Hollywood movies — have begun to shy away from narration and character development. Instead they emphasize thrills, razzle-dazzle special effects, dancing imagery. . . . In short, what is sometimes referred to as eye candy.

In such movies, stories sometimes come along for the ride, but just as often they seem almost entirely absent from the equation (see reviews of "Judge Dredd" and "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie" in this section).

There's nothing wrong with eye candy in occasional doses, but the steady diet that is rapidly becoming the rule instead of the exception is beginning to wear thin. At least with this moviegoer.

So it was a real treat to stumble upon "Smoke," which is not only composed of a series of terrific stories but in its own way seems to be about the art, or perhaps the necessity of storytelling in the lives of everyday people.

A deceptively simple film, "Smoke" at first glance appears to be little more than an observation of intersecting lives, various and sundry characters who come and go from a Brooklyn tobacco shop run by Harvey Keitel.

But after a while it becomes apparent that the film is really an exploration of nobility. Not royalty or high society, mind you — but nobility among the meek, the wounded, the lonely and lowly. And, to some degree, about rebuilding lives.

And from the first credit it's obvious that this will be an unusually literary film, as it gives equal rank to the screenwriter — first-timer Paul Auster, who is something of a cult novelist — and the director, Wayne Wang ("The Joy Luck Club"). Most movies are credited primarily to the director, so the credit would be "A Wayne Wang Film." But "Smoke" opens as "A Film By Wayne Wang and Paul Auser," an indication that the dialogue and story are as important here as where the director has placed the camera and how well he coached the actors.

Episodic and broken down into "chapters," the stories themselves are rich, textured and quite compelling.

Keitel, who is the nominal central character in this ensemble piece, faces a dilemma — and a decision — when he is approached by an old girlfriend (Stockard Channing) and told that he has a grown daughter (Ashley Judd), and that she's a pregnant crack addict.