Recently novelist William Leith wrote a short piece explaining what drugs will do to a film. Movies on heroin become tragedies in which a romantic hero fails to achieve the euphoria in life that he feels when high and ends up a soulless wretch unable to see beauty in life outside his fix -see Trainspotting and Requiem for a Dream. More obviously, cocaine movies are about power and ambition. Think Scarface and Goodfellas, specifically the last part. And finally, films involving marijuana set the scene for comedies in which two young dudes have an adventure, get a little out of their depth but end up better friends for their experience. Dude, Where’s My Car? is a solid example, so is the Harold and Kumar films. Pineapple Express is textbook yet with all the predictability that might come with being a unwavering genre flick, this is still a very enjoyable and inventive film.

Seth Rogen plays Dale, a process server who spends his days dressing up in disguises and serving people with subpoenas. There’s little else in Dale’s life apart from his high school girlfriend. James Franco is Saul, his dealer but they aren’t friends… yet. When Dale’s job takes him to the home of local drug kingpin Ted, he witnesses Ted and a bent cop murder someone. He discards his spliff and drives away but is seen by Ted. Dale goes to Saul’s place and soon concludes that Ted, the local source of the ‘Pineapple Express’ strain of marijuana that was in his spliff, will be able to trace it back to Saul and then Dale and so the pair go on the run -and that’s the beauty of paranoia in stoner films, it ain’t paranoia if they’re really out to get you.

At the heart of any stoner film is friendship and as Pineapple Express continues there’s some explicit male bonding. Many of the jokes come as the characters earnestly express their feelings to each other, and the script even brings the two murderous hit men into this emotional openness as they pepper their lethal pursuit with yet more comedic affection. But though these things verge on the effeminate, the hilarious car chase and over-the-top shoot outs balance out things as a healthy dose of machismo.

If Pineapple Express does veer from the generic conventions of the stoner movie, it’s in bringing a third man to the love-in. Here Danny McBride plays Red, Saul’s dealer, whose self-serving betrayals of Saul and Dale are hilariously punished as the film goes on. McBride’s redneck delivery and irrelevant asides turn this Judas character into a likable scene stealer -”I used to use this gun when I was a prostitute” says Red while holding a dinky little pistol. As ever Seth Rogen is a teddy-bear of a human being and is effortlessly endearing. Unlike his co-stars, James Franco is not recognised for comedy, he’s best known as Green Goblin II in the Spider-man films. But here he exhibits exceptional comic timing and builds a strong rapport with Seth Rogan, without which the film could only be failure.

Pineapple Express isn’t a sophisticated movie and won’t be to some people’s liking. It’s crude, immature, and downright stupid in parts, but it is always pretty funny. This film feels like it was made by friends who were solely motivated by having a good time and trying to make each other laugh. This conviviality is priceless in bringing its audience into the joke, and considering that this is a $20 million budget film fresh from Hollywood’s reigning king of comedy Judd Apatow, it’s all the more impressive that its corporate background hasn’t corrupted the bonhomie of this big kids’ adventure.

Despite its yoof title, its period setting, its street slang and drugs, despite its New York hip-hop soundtrack and graffiti fonts, this is a very straight-laced, accessible tale. And a familiar one too – it shares several elements with American Beauty.

Welcome to New York City, summer 1994. Eighteen year old Luke Shapiro is a lonely pot dealer. One of Luke’s customers is Dr. Squires, a psychiatrist who pays for his dope with “treatment”. Dr. Squires is a mischievous spirit but stuck in a loveless marriage. Soon, this unlikely duo bond and attempt to indulge in the recklessness of youth that Squires longs to recapture and Luke seems incapable of enjoying. And so, you see, this is a carpe diem, make hay while the sun shines, live for the moment, look on the bright side, coming of age, kind of a movie. The problem is, it’s not convincing enough. Whatever beauty there is in life, it isn’t much shown here. And after two non-stop hours of everyday anxiety and chronic despair, The Wackness is more likely to leave you feeling bleak and exhausted instead of having you revel in that great existential consolation that life is what we make it.

But what is special about this film, is that Ben Kingsley expertly transforms himself yet again. There is not a trace of the dignity and determination of Gandhi and, thankfully, there’s no sign of that menacing, double-hard nutcase from Sexy Beast. Here Kingsley is benign and shaggy-faced, skilfully veering from pathetic immaturity to endearingly energetic old rogue to give a wholly enjoyable performance. If this film can be saved at all, it’ll be by Ben Kingsley’s efforts. His young co-star Josh Peck, best known for a Nickelodeon kids’ show called Drake and Josh, holds his own but playing a down-in-the-dumps teenager is clearly not much fun for anyone. Olivia Thirlby plays Stephanie, Dr. Squires step daughter and Luke’s love interest. Stephanie is self-assured and fun-loving in a way that Luke and Squires can only aspire to be and yet her character plays this antithesis without ever becoming an antagonist, which is purely down to Thirlby’s skilful performance.

Why is The Wackness a period piece? Its 1994 setting adds little to the story. In fact, its horrendously gratuitous shot of the World Trade Centre is laughably pretentious. Meanwhile, the inclusion of cassette mix tapes, old video games, pump-up trainers and Forrest Gump movie posters are neither old enough for nostalgia nor different enough to invite meaningful parallels between then and now. Much is made by the characters of the new mayor’s aggressive regeneration. Rudy Giuliani’s now infamous “Broken Windows” approach – which enacted zero-tolerance policing for petty crimes like vandalism, fare dodging and graffiti in the hope that it would stop crime escalating – worked to drastically lower crime-rates. By invoking Giuliani’s crusade the film could simply be setting the scene. It could also be lamenting that the sterilisation of the city is ruining the potential for high jinks. But while the characters gripe about this ruthless and soulless crackdown, Luke spends every day of the whole summer walking around the streets dealing marijuana in daylight, in the open, with no interference from the authorities. All in all, the period setting isn’t thought out.

In the end, Stephanie sums it up “I’m all about the dopeness and you’re all about the wackness”. Translated, this means: “I maintain an optimistic world view while you, sir, needlessly fixate on the negative aspects of your experiences.” Luke and Dr. Squires end up happy for having had the adventure if not for the position they’re left in -but that’s the point, that they’ve learned to count their blessings. And as Mott the Hoople’s anthemic “All The Young Dudes” soundtracks an affectionate slow-motion shot of Luke, The Wackness finally sheds its streetwise affectations and gives into the sentimentality that it was always about.

Married Life sets itself up as a quaint little period piece with a stylish animated credit intro showing the chintzy, domestic bliss of prosperous post-war America.  What’s most remarkable about this is that it isn’t some sort of twee counterpoint to a subsequent tale of debauchery like, say, TV’s Desperate Housewives and its use of faux-fairytale narration to be smug about its black comedy.  No, Married Life goes to dark places but remains refreshingly understated about it, and with this sincerity it bestows upon the characters a fidelity to the era, although not to each other.

Set in 1949, the story centres on Harry, a buttoned-up business man in his fifties who’s determined to leave his wife for Kay, a beautiful young blonde, but who’s also desperate not to hurt Pat, his loving and devoted wife. Meanwhile, when Harry introduces Kay to Richard, his lifelong friend, bachelor and master bounder, Richard decides he must have Kay for himself.

This film has a fantastic cast.  Chris Cooper is a great character actor, reinventing himself in every film.  Utterly convincing as the staid Harry, who could imagine that the homicidal homosexual Colonel Fitts in American Beauty, the heroic unioniser in little-known masterpiece Matewan, and the toothless orchid poacher in Adaptation were all played by this same man?  Pierce Brosnan handles the cad Richard with skill, giving him pathos in spite of his dubious behaviour and salacious attitude.  Patricia Clarkson, another low-key but accomplished actor (The Untouchables, The Green Mile, The Station Agent, etc.) plays wife Pat as confident and liberated without ever seeming at odds with its late ’40s setting.  And Rachel McAdams has less to do here than the others but is graceful and humbly serves as foil to Harry and Richard’s affections.

The characters themselves are written well and use their stereotype beginnings to give Married Life its playful tone.   When the respectable, responsible Harry decides to leave his wife for the starlet-like Kay, he isn’t shown as a love-struck, old fool in a mid-life crisis.  He actually has a reasonable motivation.  Kay may be all red lipstick and bottle-blonde hair but despite the sexy promise of her appearance, she’s actually a kind-hearted war widow with genuine feelings for Harry and certainly not the femme fatale she appears to be.  Even the promiscuity that defines Richard soon falters as he comes to fall in love with Kay.  And Pat remains a devoted wife despite the revelation that she’s having an affair.

Married Life is hard to categorize.  It’s certainly not the type of film seen very much in the cinemas today.  It could be called a comedy of manners but it’s not scornful enough and holds its characters in too high esteem. Perhaps the key to the film’s earnest tone is the fact it was adapted from a novel from that time.   Five Roundabouts to Heaven by John Bingham was published in 1953 and must automatically supply the movie with its authentic style.  And as a pulp mystery, the novel must also be responsible for the tension-building movie clichés that are so readily employed here without irony, like a broken telephone or being stopped by the cops while speeding home.  Married Life also wanders into film noir territory with passionate desires being achieved by sinister, immoral methods, but the lightness of touch and gentle comedy never succombs to the foreboding and menace that comes with that genre.

Perhaps the best way to figure out this movie is to follow its example and concentrate on the basics.  Married Life has a small cast, is character-driven and entirely content to tell its story without the burden of subtext.  As for any insight or embedded philosophy on marriage, it has none.  On the peripheries, it asks what a marriage should be after the children have grown up and have their own brood, but it certainly doesn’t try to answer it.