In Theaters

3000 MILES TO GRACELAND. 125 minutes, R, directed by Demian Lichtenstein, written by Richard Recco and Lichtenstein.

Demian Lichtenstein’s hunka-hunka-burnin’ bomb, “3000 Miles to Graceland,” stars Kevin Costner as Elvis Presley, Kurt Russell as Elvis Presley, Christian Slater as Elvis Presley, David Arquette as Elvis Presley, Bokeem Woodbine as Elvis Presley, and Courteney Cox as a woman who sleeps with Elvis Presley.

That’s a whole lot of Elvis to squeeze beneath the sheets – a plot point that will, undoubtedly, titillate some. But for those who actually do see the film, let’s just say they might wish they’d rented “Blue Hawaii” instead.

In keeping with the King’s legendary excess – something that, coincidentally, also killed him in the end – “3000 Miles to Graceland” discovers the hard way that too much of anything, even Elvis (or especially Elvis, depending on whether you’re a fan), is rarely a good thing.

In this case, the excess comes in three notable forms – the sheer overacting of its cast; the unsettling sight of seeing hundreds of middle-aged men shoehorned into skin-tight, bejeweled jumpsuits (the film takes place during International Elvis Week in Las Vegas); and in some of the bloodiest, most violent shootouts audiences have seen in years.

Indeed, the moment this heist film sends its sneering band of masquerading Elvi into a casino to steal $3.2 million, thousands of rounds of ammunition are fired, sideburns, sequins and shoulders are blown off – and heaven and hell literally hit the jackpot with a few dozen souls.

If all of this sounds like a Quentin Tarantino movie, it should – the director’s influence is everywhere. But Lichtenstein, who made his mark directing music videos, never leaves a mark here. The more bizarre “Graceland” becomes – and things become quite bizarre once the many double-crossings and betrayals take root – the more it feels like an offshoot of “Reservoir Dogs” and “Pulp Fiction.”

With John Lovitz, David Kaye, Kevin Pollak and Ice T in supporting roles, “3000 Miles to Graceland” is another case of style over substance. There’s a good movie lurking within this film; Lichtenstein just wasn’t the person to tell it.

Grade: D

SWEET NOVEMBER. 110 minutes, PG-13, directed by Pat O’Connor, written by Kurt Voelker, based on a story by Paul Yurick and Voelker and the 1968 screenplay by Herman Raucher.

Pat O’Connor’s saccharine remake of the 1968 Sandy Dennis-Anthony Newley romantic comedy “Sweet November” is the sort of film that makes you wish November was the shortest month. Like five minutes short.

The film, which makes the mediocre original seem like high art in comparison, is startling for a number of reasons, not the least of which is its premise. It’s about a woman who takes a new lover every month because she’s confident that time spent in her arms will turn these men into better, richer, more sensitive and loving men.

How’s that for narcissism?

The film stars Charlize Theron as Sara Deever, the aforementioned loose-living, free-wheeling, San Franciscan hippie who meets her latest conquest, Nelson Moss, at the local DMV.

When Nelson cheats on Sara’s test, the plot contrives to throw them together. The result? In a matter of weeks, Sara’s feminine wiles do wonders in turning the arrogant, unlikable Nelson – cinema’s latest evil ad exec to hit the screen – into a better, richer, more sensitive and loving pushover.

The film, which will remind some of “Love Story” or the wretched sap fest “Autumn in New York,” follows Reeves’ excellent performance in “The Gift,” a good movie that showed, at long last, just how effective Keanu can be when given a good script and a strong director.

O’Connor doesn’t offer either. He’s more interested in how puppy urine and poodles – not to mention cloying prima donnas and neighborhood transvestites – can emasculate a man and send one unrelentingly sweet film (not to mention its audience) into the throws of a diabetic coma.

Grade: D-

On Video and DVD

THE CONTENDER. 130 minutes, R, written and directed by Rod Lurie.

Sex, lies and politics – they all boil together beautifully in Rod Lurie’s “The Contender,” a strong political drama that understands the rhetoric of Washington, knows the dirty secrets of its players and uses its excellent cast to infuse the action and quick-fire pace with the sleaze of a proposed youthful indiscretion.

Obviously taking its cues from former President Bill Clinton’s relationship with Monica Lewinsky and his ensuing impeachment, the film asks an important question – is a politician’s sex life the public’s business?

Wisely removing itself from real life, “The Contender” poses that question not around its president, Jackson Evans (Jeff Bridges), but around Laine Hanson (Joan Allen), a senator from Ohio asked by Evans to be his vice president after the former vice president dies in office.

Smart, savvy and the daughter of a governor, Laine seems to have the right stuff to become the United States’ first female vice president – respect from her colleagues, admiration from the nation, a solid marriage, a cute 6-year-old son, and a firm stand on the issues.

But when an old political foe of Evans, the right-wing congressman Shelly Runyon (Gary Oldman), learns of an orgy Laine may have participated in while in college, he decides to go after her in a brutal effort to further his career, destroy Laine’s life and, with it, the president’s legacy.

The film’s twist? As Laine is grilled under oath by Runyon before the House Judiciary Committee hearings, it becomes clear that she’s not going to discuss her private life, making the point that if she were a man, no one would care how many people she’d slept with while in college.

Marked by its outstanding performances and its intelligent script, “The Contender” is stirring entertainment that only falters at the end, when Lurie, a former film critic who should have known better, hauls in the violins to punctuate emotions that would have resonated clearly without swelling musical accompaniment.

Further, since Lurie stacks so much of his film on Laine’s right to privacy, it’s odd that he’d reveal the truth about what she did that night in college. Whether she participated in the orgy won’t be revealed here, but it’s surprising Lurie felt compelled to answer after making such a strong case for Laine’s silence.

Grade: A-

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Mondays in Style, Thursdays in the scene, Tuesdays on “NEWS CENTER at 5” and Thursdays on “NEWS CENTER at 5:30” on WLBZ-2 and WCSH-6.