A runaway hit in its native France, Eric Lartigau's I Do is the kind of Gallic confection that Hollywood studios used to remake at the drop of a chapeau. However, the transatlantic trade has slowed of late and it's possible to watch this slick, if highly predictable, romp without that nagging dread at the back of the mind as to who would be cast in a Stateside version.

Ever since his domineering mother and his five sisters chased off his true love at the age of 21, fortysomething perfumier Alain Chabat has been content to acquiesce in their nagging in return for getting his laundry done. But the family's G7 committee has now decided that the time has come for him to find a wife or fend for himself.

Unwilling to sacrifice his bachelor existence, Chabat persuades colleague's sister Charlotte Gainsbourg to pose as his fiancée and then jilt him at the altar so he can feign heartbreak and the subject of marriage can be dropped forever. Needing money to complete the adoption of a Brazilian baby, Gainsbourg agrees and drives a hard bargain.

Much to Chabat's horror, however, Gainsbourg is popular with his womenfolk and when mother Bernadette Lafont has a stroke as the nuptials are cancelled, he has to offer Gainsbourg even more money to continue the deception - only this time, she has to be as boorish as possible to compel everyone into loathing her.

Chabat and Gainsbourg are splendidly mismatched and the pieces slot into place with such pleasing ease throughout this genial rom-com that even the more spurious contrivances can be accepted without too much of a grimace. The same can't quite be said for Goran Dukic's Wristcutters: A Love Story. But this ingeniously conceived and cleverly designed afterlife fantasy succeeds in capturing the imagination, as suicide Patrick Fugit goes in search of his recently deceased girlfriend, only to hook up with accidental overdose victim, Shannyn Sossamon. The denouement may be clumsily unsatisfactory, but the banter between the leads is often disarmingly charming.

Conversely, barely a word is spoken in Royston Tam's 4:30, a fascinating two-hander that chronicles the unconventional relationship between 11-year-old Singaporean Xiao Li-yuan and Kim Young-jun, the Korean 'uncle' who is babysitting him while his mother is away. Centred on repetitive acts, such as Xiao's disruption of the tai-chi group he passes each morning on his way to school and his rifling through the drunken Kim's belongings, this is a deceptively minimalist piece, in which Xiao's curiosity about Kim's nocturnal activities contrasts with his boredom with his own daily routine. Occasionally recalling the work of Tsai Ming-liang and some of Wong Kar-wai's earliest outings, this is a melancholic treatise on isolation and our failure to connect with those closest to us in our relentless pursuit of distraction.

Michael Angarano plays another misfit in Michael Schroeder's Man in the Chair, a gutsily nostalgic comedy whose heart is in the right place. However, an air of calculation pervades every scene, as Angarano's teen movie buff rescues Citizen Kane gaffer Christopher Plummer from the Motion Picture Retirement Home to work on his film school audition piece.

Schroeder packs the action with subplots, involving Angarano's troubled home life, Plummer's obsession with an animal shelter and his strained relationships with washed-up screenwriter M.Emmet Walsh and wife-stealing producer, Robert Wagner. As in Cocoon, the emphasis is on sentiment, feel-good and reclaiming the elderly from the scrapheap. But the performances are nowhere near as subtle, with Plummer particularly relishing every opportunity to showboat, whether embarking on another of his periodic benders or heckling Charlton Heston at a screening of A Touch of Evil.

Few would agree that the kids get to spend their vacation in quite such a fulfilling way in Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady's chilling documentary, Jesus Camp. Following 12-year-old Levi, ten-year-old Tory and nine year-old Rachel as they enrol in an evangelical retreat run by Becky Fisher, this is an unflinching exposé of the rabid fundamentalism peddled by the US's Christian Right, in which Fisher, radio host Mike Papantonio and preacher Ted Haggard (who reportedly has weekly sessions with George W.Bush) glory in the fact that they are willing to indoctrinate kids in order to amass an army capable of seizing the country for Christ.

Yet Fisher was reportedly pleased with the profile and while some may blench at the sequences in which the youngsters speak in tongues and weep openly with zealous ecstasy, they would barely raise a flicker among adherents of the Charismatic Renewal. However, even they may be slightly unnerved by Haggard's smug assertion that his disciples could deliver the Republicans an election anywhere and any time.