In theaters

CONSTANTINE, directed by Francis Lawrence, written by Kevin Brodbin and Frank Cappello, 125 minutes, rated R.

The big problem with a Keanu Reeves movie is that it’s a Keanu Reeves movie. With the exception of the actor’s droning monotone, a mainstay in his films, you never know what to expect. The one constant in his career is its inconsistency.

Going into his movies, you wonder whether this will be good Keanu or bad Keanu. Will it be Keanu wrapped around the occult, Keanu toting a loaded gun, Keanu saving the girl, or Keanu waxing cute?

In the new horror movie “Constantine,” it’s all of the above, which will likely sound like a circus act from hell to some and a box office hit to others. It’s a bit of both.

As directed by Francis Lawrence from a script by Kevin Brodbin and Frank Cappello based on the popular “Hellblazer” comic books, “Constantine” should have been called “Neo and the Netherworld” given the way Reeves plays Constantine like Neo from the “Matrix” movies.

Here, in the Byzantine “Constantine,” Reeves’ character is a brooding, chain-smoking wreck whose days are numbered thanks to a nasty bout of lung cancer. Worse for the coughing Constantine is that after a failed suicide attempt, he knows exactly where he’s going when he dies – straight to hell.

Not that anything there will surprise him, mind you. Constantine has the unenviable ability to slide in and out of this life and the afterlife. With heaven off limits to him, that means he has seen plenty of the Gollum-like souls burning just below him.

Not a pretty sight, but at least Constantine isn’t adding to the problem. His job is to patrol Los Angeles, striking a balance between good and evil by performing exorcisms on those poor sods who need it while also ridding the world of those demons who manage to slip through.

He takes his job seriously, particularly when he gets wrapped up with Angela (Rachel Weisz), an L.A. detective whose twin sister recently threw herself out of a hospital window in an apparent suicide. No, it wasn’t her bill that made her take her life – it was something darker and more grotesque, if you can believe that. Besides, as far as Angela is concerned, there’s no way her sister killed herself. She was a staunch Catholic and never would have taken her own life lest she end up writhing in hell.

So what gives here? Damned if I know. As straightforward as all of this sounds, the reality is that “Constantine” is a convoluted mess, with many scenes not making a lick of sense, no matter how many times you examine them in the murky light. Elements are to be admired, particularly the excellent special effects sequences that dramatize hell, which looks as if it’s repeatedly being hit with napalm and an A-bomb, and Tilda Swinton and Djimon Hounsou are fine in cameos.

But story and characters are key to any movie and here, director Lawrence has lost sight of both. “Constantine” isn’t a movie, per se; it’s a stunt with eye-catching effects, the type that works well to lure in audiences, who, after seeing this beauty, will be the real lost souls.

Grade: C-

On video and DVD

MR. 3000, directed by Charles Stone III, written by Eric Champnella, Keith Mitchell and Howard Gould, 104 minutes, rated PG-13.

“Mr. 3000” is a minor league film about major league baseball.

In it, Bernie Mac is Stan Ross, an arrogant, self-worshipping first baseman for the Milwaukee Brewers whose enormous talent is only matched by his enormous ego. Cold and unlikable, his swagger so exaggerated, it’s surprising he doesn’t break a hip when he takes to the field, Ross is on the verge of becoming one of the sport’s greatest players when he hits his 3,000th hit amid a pennant race.

Happy with his achievement but no team player, Ross promptly quits, thus leaving the Brewers in a lurch and fans in a fume. Not that he cares. As far as Ross is concerned, he’s the stuff of legend, so golden that he’s a shoo-in for baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Flash-forward nine years. Now the owner of a cheesy strip mall featuring a bevy of Mr. 3000 stores, Ross is faced with some mixed news. He is indeed being considered for inclusion in the Hall of Fame, but an accounting error has proved that Mr. 3000 actually hit only 2,997 times in his career. Now, out of shape and out of practice at age 47, he’ll need to sign again with the Brewers and earn three more hits if he’s to ensure his placement in baseball history.

As directed by Charles Stone III from a script by Eric Champnella, Keith Mitchell and Howard Gould, “Mr. 3000” has its moments, but it falls short of the sharp satire it could have been in the right hands and it’s not as funny as Mac’s popular television show on Fox, “The Bernie Mac Show.” The problem isn’t Mac, a fearless, gifted comic, but how the story gradually softens his edge and his spontaneity. Occasionally, those qualities do surface, such as when Ross yanks a ball out of a child’s hand, which is wonderfully cruel, or when he spars with his former flame, ESPN sportscaster Mo Simmons (Angela Bassett), who doesn’t trust him. But unfortunately, they don’t come often enough.

Grade: C+

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Mondays and Fridays in Style, and are archived at RottenTomatoes.com. He may be reached at BDNFilm1@aol.com.