In theaters

ORIGINAL SIN. 112 minutes, R, written and directed by Michael Cristofer, based on the novel “Waltz Into Darkness” by Borness Woolrich.

For fans of camp and truly bad movies, Michael Cristofer’s potboiler, “Original Sin,” is a treasure, a real find, one of those monolithic mediocrities that’s so disastrous, preposterous and wretched, its badness is a virtue, something that transcends mere rottenness to become the monumental joke of the year.

Whether the film is busy featuring Angelina Jolie naked, harried and unhappy as a conniving Havana harpy out to rip off the world, or tossing Antonio Banderas onto the floor so he can foam at the mouth after drinking rat poison, or asking its actors to speak this sort of dialogue – “I just killed a man!” “Yes, well, I just bought a hat!” – it’s impossible to take any of it seriously, so the only honest reaction is to snort with laughter.

Set in Havana, circa 1900, the film stars Jolie as Julia Russell, a hot-to-trot mail-order bride hauled to Havana to marry the wealthy Cuban coffee planter Luis Vargas (Banderas).

Or so Vargas thinks. In spite of the fact that this Julia looks nothing like the photo he has of the real Julia, Vargas is so smitten by her beauty, he decides to overlook the glaring inconsistencies and marry her anyway.

Big mistake.

Before Vargas can cry “liar” and “tramp,” Julia has revealed herself to be both. She’s a woman who gleefully rakes men over the coffee grounds so she can fatten her bank account. The best thing about the movie is that all of this takes place within the first 30 minutes, leaving director Cristofer enough time to focus on what really matters to him – Jolie’s lips.

If anything, “Original Sin” proves that her lips have become an industry – just when you’re certain you’ve had enough of them, there they are again, filling up the screen like the man-eating plant in “The Little Shop of Horrors.”

Watching them open time and again to devour one of Jolie’s fingers, which she sucks on and nearly swallows in her heroic effort to please the “Emmanuel” crowd, is one of the more curious moments in recent cinematic memory. Indeed, here we have an Academy Award-winning actress willing to sandbag her talent and plunge herself into self-parody while fueling what’s little more than a tawdry scrap of soft-core porn. If the film weren’t so funny, that might give some people reason to pause.

Grade: F+

On video and DVD

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 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 Elvises into a casino to steal $3.2 million, thousands of rounds are fired, sideburns and sequins are shot off – and heaven and hell literally hit the jackpot with a few dozen souls.

If all of this sounds like a Tarantino movie, it should – the director’s influence is everywhere. But Lichtenstein, who made his mark directing music videos, isn’t able to leave his own mark in this, his first film. The more bizarre “Graceland” becomes – and things become very bizarre once the many double-crossings and betrayals take root – the more it feels like the spawn of “Reservoir Dogs” or “Pulp Fiction.”

Grade: D

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. He can be reached at BDNFilm1@aol.com.

THE VIDEO CORNER

Renting a video? NEWS film critic Christopher Smith can help. Below are his grades of recent releases in video stores.

Chocolat ? A-

The Mexican ? C-

The Brothers ? B

Head Over Heels ? D

The Trumpet

of the Swan ? C+

Pollock ? A-

Sweet November ? D-

Valentine ? F

The Gift ? B+

3000 Miles to

Graceland ? D

Family Man ? D-

Saving Silverman ? F

Down to Earth ? D

Monkeybone ? D

Thirteen Days ? A-

Unbreakable ? C+

The Wedding

Planner ? D+

You Can Count on Me ? A

Proof of Life ? C-

Save the

Last Dance ? C-

State and Main ? B

O Brother,

Where Art Thou ? A-

Cast Away ? A-

Crouching Tiger,

Hidden Dragon ? A+

The House Of Mirth ? B

Shadow of the

Vampire ? B+

Traffic ? A

Antitrust ? D

Before Night Falls ? A

Best in Show ? A

Requiem for a Dream ? A

Vertical Limit ? B-

Pay it Forward ? C

Duets ? D