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HORNS AND HALOS (Unrated, 79 minutes)

Of the three people caught in the glare of this tragic and fascinating documentary -- President Bush, unknown sci-fi writer-turned-celebrity biographer and convicted felon J.H. Hatfield and underground publisher Sander Hicks -- Hicks's story is in a way the most compelling, or at least it garners most of filmmakers Suki Hawley and Michael Galinsky's attention. A genial literary punk now in his early thirties, the head of Soft Skull Press bravely (some might say rashly) picked up author Hatfield's infamous 1999 Bush bio, "Fortunate Son," only after the original publisher, St. Martin's Press, decided to recall the book when the author's credibility was cast in doubt by the revelation of his conviction for solicitation to commit murder years earlier. Most inflammatory among Hatfield's allegations, of course, was the unsubstantiated charge that Bush had been arrested for cocaine possession in the early 1970s, leading to speculation in some quarters that Hatfield had been muzzled by sinister, unseen forces. To the extent that any of this mess can be sorted out, "Horns and Halos" tries, mainly with a behind-the-scenes look at the down-and-dirty world of publishing. Forgoing any attempt at political exposé, Hawley and Galinsky's film chooses, rather, to follow Hicks as he wheels and deals with book distributors, lawyers and, above all, a somewhat unstable author -- all from a dingy basement office (a perk donated by Hicks's landlord, for whom the publisher toils by day as building superintendent). Hatfield himself makes on-camera appearances, too, the creepiest elements of which are his frequent allusions to his own demise (Hatfield killed himself in 2001, apparently in despair over financial, legal and media troubles). True to its name, "Horns and Halos" reveals as much negative information about Hatfield as positive. It is neither a partisan attack on the president nor straight-faced reportage, but a thoughtful and surprisingly affecting portrait of a screwed-up man who dared to mess with some powerful people, seen through the eyes of the idealistic kid who chooses to champion his ultimately losing cause. Contains some rough, adult language. At Visions Cinema/Bistro/Lounge. The filmmakers will answer questions after Friday's 7 p.m. screening.

-- Michael O'Sullivan

HOUSE OF FOOLS (R, 104 minutes)

In Andrei Konchalovsky's embarrassingly fatuous and pretentious film, the inmates of a mental hospital are forced to deal with the world outside (and their world inside) because their building is located in a strategic town on the Chechen-Russian border. When war spills into their midst, the staff abandons the place and the inmates are left to run it. Or not run it. And when Chechen soldiers take over the building, it's time for the cheesy poetics. Not unlike Philippe de Broca's 1966 "King of Hearts," this movie is about how awful war is, and how the difference between "lunatic" and "normal" can be confusing. But the cast of inmates seems to have been selected for complete self-parody. They include a highly theatrical transvestite, a skulking pyromaniac, a bearded dwarf and a young accordion-playing beauty named Janna (Julia Vysotsky), who keeps imagining Canadian singer Bryan Adams entering the building and serenading everyone. (I am not making this up.) Konchalovsky got the idea for this movie from an actual incident during the Chechen war, but there doesn't seem to be much purpose to it except a half-baked notion that the histrionics of the mentally insane (or a moviemaker's idea therein) are eminently cinematic. They aren't. Contains nudity, obscenity and some violence. In Russian and Chechen with subtitles. At Cineplex Odeon Inner Circle.

-- Desson Howe