'Cloverfield' through the lens

Directed by Matt Reeves

Rated PG-13

(Three Stars)

For those with an appetite for cinema verite, the film "Cloverfield" can be described in a single phrase: "too much Christmas." This is a film that takes the joys of shaky-cam to the edge of vertigo and then a few steps beyond. Yet, for the young who still possess a reasonably resilient inner ear, "Cloverfield" does have its pleasures.

Jason (Mike Vogel) has picked up his brother Rob's (Michael Stahl-David) camera to film his girlfriend, Lily (Jessica Lucas), and in the process slowly starts recording over one of Rob's most precious keepsakes, the video of a day he spent with his girlfriend, Beth (Odette Yustman).

"Cloverfield," in fact, starts out as a story about this video camera. What we see - and all we will see throughout the entire film - is what this camera shows us.

Lily is organizing a farewell party in anticipation of Rob's transfer to Japan and decides that if Jason wants to play with the camera, she'll put him to some use. She has him record testimonials from Rob's friends at the party. Jason soon grows tired of the whole idea and pawns the chore onto his buddy and all-around social irritant, Hud (T.J. Miller).

Once Hud gets his hands on the video camera, "Cloverfield" reveals one of its essential charms. Hud's bumbling, excitable narrative injects a little personality into a cast that, with the possible exception of Lizzy Caplan, feels like it is on loan from "The O.C.". He noses his way into every conversation at the party, fleshing out the backstory of this handsome group of New York twenty-somethings. When the room begins to shake and a nearby building goes up in a puff of flame, Hud and his trusty video-camera spring into action.

Documenting the panicked exit to the street, Hud proves to be the perfect cameraman for this apocalyptic fantasy: a creature devoid of poise. Hud and his camera tag team us with jerky, fragmented images of devastation punctuated by breathless shouts.

Director Matt Reeves knows he has a good thing going with Hud and his camera. His characters have no idea what is happening to their world and he wants us to share in their confusion. Reeves amps up the tension by giving us a menace that we can't quite see or piece together. Hud obliges with shots that capture the action in a blur or a step too late, then, unexpectedly, rewards us with an image that rivets our attention. Just when the chaos is getting a little woosy, Reeves sends the head on the Statue of Liberty bouncing down the street, scattering civilians like bowling pins.

Our hapless band of partiers sets out on an aborted effort to leave Manhattan and then reverses course when Rob gets a call from Beth that she's trapped in her apartment.

"Cloverfield" doesn't have much to offer us in the way of innovative plot twists. New York City has faced a cinematic apocalypse too many times already to give Reeves much new ground to cover. Instead, Reeves focuses on the way he delivers his clich