After playing in every nook and cranny of the American cinema landscape, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon finally showed up here in the New South. Maybe those genius film distributors thought folks down here wouldn't cotton to two hours of people speaking Mandarin on the big screen.

I can't speak for Raleigh or Chapel Hill, but about 1,400 people paid $7 a head to catch one of two showings of the film in Durham on Friday night. For those of you not quite into math, that's $9,800 in one night. Most theaters are thrilled with a per-screen average of $5,000-$6,000 for an entire week. Guess those bean counters were just a wee bit wrong when it comes to what passes for culture down here.

In any case, the movie did not open to rave reviews in these here parts. Local film critics assailed the movie's scant plot and dreadful dialogue (the latter problem probably exacerbated by translation). They mentioned, almost in passing, that the movie was, indeed, an amazing treat for the eyes. But see, that wasn't enough for a rave.

Often enough, I'm in agreement with such sentiments. I prefer movies with good scripts and fine acting. I didn't like The Matrix, for example. My criticism of the movie comes more from the almost preachy philosophizing in the flick, which spilled over into interviews with the writers, directors and stars. To quote Superchunk: "I know you think you're deep alright, but you should stay in the shallow end."

Anyway, the same person choreographed the action sequences in The Matrix and Crouching Tiger. But where the former concerned itself mostly with running up walls and generally defying the laws of physics, the sequences in the latter are truly thrilling. Battles skim across rooftops, lakes and even a bamboo forest. The scenery, much of it shot in western China, is as awe-inspiring as a trip to the Grand Canyon.

The easiest cinematic comparison I can find is Star Wars, a movie loosely based on Akira Kurosawa's The Hidden Fortress and imbued with all sorts of Eastern philosophy. Plot? Stock western. The script? Occasionally amusing. But what a ride! Many serious critics complain that they simply cannot understand the mass public's fascination with the universe of the Force. I've got a little advice: Put down your pen and just go along for the ride.

I'm a music critic, and like most serious music critics, I like some seriously strange music. Stuff that casual music fans generally dismiss as "unlistenable," or, more succinctly, "crap." I happen to like a number of albums that are simply electronic noise. You know, like the fuzz that you get between stations on your radio? I'm kinda crazy about abstract sound that way. My brain feeds voraciously on music like that.

The thing is, I'm also a big pophead. You put a good hook down and back it up with some solid production, and I'll ride that pony until I get good and tired. I'm also a big fan of death metal (known these days as extreme metal or extreme hardcore, depending on the exact nature of the sound). That stuff provides some of the purest visceral thrills I've ever experienced. There is a rush involved that cannot be fully explained. You just have to plug into the sound and let your mind go.

The thing is, while death metal or power pop aren't nearly as sophisticated as most abstract music (stuff that, to be honest, has a lot more to do with classical theory than rock and roll anyway), those sounds can be just as good. There's nothing like simply bounding along with mindless music every once in a while. The same goes for movies.

Films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon are the reason the form exists. Pure eye candy. Sure, there's some plot and dialogue thrown in, but the real reason to watch the thing is to be transported to a place that never existed, except in someone's mind. To see what it might be like for the fantastic and the everyday to co-exist without a second thought. And, of course, to tag along on a thrill ride of epic proportions.

Few movies make audiences gasp with amazement and physical exhaustion. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon does that at least five times. And if that doesn't impress the critics, well, they can go soak their heads.

Jon Worley doesn't get to the movies nearly as much as he would like.