The story is told from the point of view of Tarek Fahd (Moritz Bleibtreu), a former journalist reduced to driving a taxi. We see him reading a newspaper while waiting for the light to change and noticing an ad: "Test participants needed / 4000 DM for 14 days / Experiment in mock prison."

Tarek is intrigued-not only by the size of the fee, but also by the opportunity it may give him to write a story that will get him back in the good graces of his former editor. The next day, he visits the University Psychological Institute to learn more and listens to an introductory lecture by Dr. Jutta Grimm (Andrea Sawatzki), the scientific consultant for the project. As she explains the role-playing premises of the experiment, she notes that prisoners and guards will be chosen at random, but only after a preliminary battery of mental and physical tests. She concludes by noting that each "prisoner" will be required to surrender his privacy and his rights as a citizen during the period of the experiment. Needless to say, none of the volunteers is deterred by these conditions.

Tarek convinces his ex-editor to commission a story on the project, and he then arranges to have a secret camera ingeniously installed in a pair of eyeglasses to take the photos needed for the "scoop." Later that day, Tarek drives his cab through an intersection and crashes into the car of a young woman named Dora (Maren Eggert), who is more dazed than injured by the accident, although her car is totaled. Dora tells Tarek that she was just returning from her father's funeral. Tarek takes her to his apartment to recover; when he's about to leave her alone on his couch for some much-needed rest, she provocatively asks him to stay, and the inevitable occurs with remarkable speed and facility.

Up to this point, one is made aware that the filmmakers are disposing of the preliminaries without much effort to achieve even a semblance of verisimilitude. It's as if they can't wait to dump Dora and her inscrutable expressions so they can get to the nitty-gritty and concentrate instead on the guard/convict make-believe. But it will eventually transpire that there is much more to Dora than one would expect from what seems, at first, to be nothing more than a one-night stand.

Before the experiment begins, the project's overseer, Professor Klaus Thon (Edgar Selge), addresses the volunteers and offers everyone an opportunity to walk out-an offer that everyone predictably refuses, if for no other reason than the shaming power of group dynamics. Dr. Thon's histrionically dedicated manner stamps him as one of moviedom's monstrous men of science, with the hellish hubris to go where no man has gone before, regardless of the collateral damage done to the lives of lesser beings.

At first, the prisoners treat their predicament as a lark and start taunting their jailers-who, in turn, are increasingly uncomfortable and resentful at the lack of respect they're receiving. The prisoners' humiliation begins when they're ordered to strip naked and then put on dress-like plain garments with no underwear. Then they're herded three to a cell into a makeshift barracks and ordered not to talk after lights out. The initially carefree mood of the prisoners is quickly squelched as they come to realize that the unequal power dynamic has transformed a bunch of guys who were just kidding around before the experiment into two antagonistic groups, the oppressors and the oppressed.

Tarek starts out with the sense of superiority that even a "prisoner" can feel when he's acting in accordance with a secret, private agenda of his own. Tarek boldly assumes the role of troublemaker when he intervenes in a disciplinary matter and rescues a lactose-intolerant fellow prisoner from having to consume a small bottle of milk by drinking it himself. At first, Tarek is punished by being ordered to do 20 push-ups. When he continues to be insolent, however, his cellmates and then the entire prisoner contingent are punished alongside him. Before Tarek can begin modifying his dangerous, irresponsible behavior, he is taken into a private room away from the cameras of the supervising psychological team and brutally humiliated.

Around this point, Dr. Grimm warns Dr. Thon that the experiment threatens to get out of control, but he assures her that they're starting to get the results that will revolutionize their field of study. For her doubts about the project, Dr. Grimm earns the enmity of the guards, and she is nearly raped when they take control of the compound during the absence of Dr. Thon, who is away giving a lecture on his spectacular findings.

Meanwhile, Tarek is subjected, figuratively and literally, to his darkest ordeal when he is locked in a black box that was originally intended to serve as an instrument of coercion simply by being shown without being used. It is during Tarek's time in the black box that Dora's concerned image is superimposed, a form of emotional telepathy that gives the entire spectacle an other-worldly dimension.

The movie's allegory is quite clear, even without the ghoulish prodding of the last century's history: Power not only corrupts, it also brutalizes the powerless. There is a little Hitler in all of us if we are not held back by any moral or social restraints, though there are always some individuals who are more imaginatively ruthless in gaining and exploiting power then the normal run of humanity. And so it is here with the crypto-fascists who take charge of the herd, until they are thwarted by the holy goodness of Dora and Tarek. But it is in the camera details rather than the grand design that Das Experiment excels.

French Action Farce

Gérard Krawczyk's Wasabi , from a screenplay by Luc Besson, is not the kind of French movie that shows up at film festivals or even local art houses. For one thing, it is percussively and acrobatically pugnacious rather than truly and malignantly violent. It is thus closer in spirit to the Hong Kong school of martial arts than to the fleshy sybarites of the Sorbonne. On a moviegoing-idiot level, Wasabi plays like a not entirely unfunny action flick with a feel-good escapist spirit that is far from unwelcome in these unpleasant times. Its only commercial handicap is that it's a French movie with English subtitles, shot mostly in Japan and featuring ethnically stereotyped lawmen and Yakuza outlaws.

Hubert (Jean Reno) is an explosive French detective with a short fuse, who is regarded by his superiors as a French Dirty Harry who needs to get a life after mooning for 19 years over the wife who left him without a word. When Hubert hits someone-as he often does in the course of his duties-that person bounces into the next room more like a circus performer than an ordinary stunt man in a vintage Clint Eastwood policier . So we know we're watching that French subgenre, the action farce-something between the broader forms of current blaxploitation and Asian chop-chop suey.

After roughing up a gang of simpering female impersonators with blond wigs robbing a bank, Hubert is informed via a long-distance call from Tokyo that his Japanese wife has just died and has named him as her only heir. After a sexless farewell dinner with his female acquaintance, Sofia (the beauteous but wasted Carole Bouquet in this oo-la-la -free French film), Hubert is off to Tokyo, where he slugs an overly inquisitive airport policeman out of force of habit. Hubert is thrown in jail, but then bailed out by Momo (Michael Muller), an old French secret-service buddy from the days when they were both stationed in Tokyo, bedeviling the Russkies during the Cold War.

Momo immediately starts to serve as the fat, cheerfully admiring Sancho Panza to Hubert's dolefully countenanced Don Quixote. When Hubert finally meets the Japanese lawyer who summoned him to Tokyo for the reading of his late wife's will, he is presented a small box in which he finds his old love letters and a mysterious key. He has also been bequeathed the care of a 19-year-old girl named Yumi (Ryoko Hirosue), who has no idea that Hubert is her father. Yumi has just been released from jail for hitting a policeman. This is a sign, the lawyer tells Hubert, that Yumi is truly a chip off the old block.

When ostentatiously mysterious men in black begin tailing Hubert and Yumi, the very paternal father begins knocking off the villains one by one in a series of choreographed fight scenes in order to keep his daughter from realizing that she's in danger. And no wonder: Yumi is completely unaware that she has inherited $20 million of Yakuza money from her mother, a patriotic undercover agent who had been working against the Yakuza before her death.

The funny thing is, I didn't mind all this contrived nonsense a bit. Mr. Reno exudes the kind of grizzled gravitas that is too easy to underrate in an enterprise so dangerously close to drifting into mere facetiousness. And Ms. Hirosue's Yumi is a bundle of mini-skirted energy, with a curiously uninhibited talent that is the farthest thing from what we think of as Japanese decorum. Mr. Besson, the writer, producer and probably the main auteur of Wasabi , is better known over here than its director, Mr. Krawczyk. Perhaps more than any other French filmmaker, Mr. Besson has never resigned himself to being "merely" French, and has thus tried in vain to beat Hollywood at its own game. It can't be done, Luc-and anyway, it isn't worth doing in the first place.

Moving Shanghai Ghetto

Shanghai Ghetto , produced and directed by Dana Janklowicz-Mann and Amir Mann, and narrated by Martin Landau, provides a very moving and revelatory footnote to the Holocaust, without making any extravagant claims for the size and practicality of a sanctuary that saved thousands from a disaster that eventually claimed the lives of millions.

This strange story begins in the late 1930's, when all the supposedly civilized countries of the Western world refused entry to the millions of Jews seeking to escape the ovens of Nazi Germany. The film goes on to suggest that this institutional rejection of German Jewry by the "enlightened" countries of Europe and the Americas meant that no one outside Germany would much mind if Hitler disposed of his Jewish "problem" in his own way.

Then, suddenly, by one of the anomalies of history, a beacon of hope appeared a continent and a world away-in, of all places, Japanese-controlled Shanghai, to which one could book passage from an Italian port without needing a visa in that chaotic period before Japan entered the war on the German side. The film comes to life in interviews with survivors and historians, rare letters, stock photos and footage shot in modern Shanghai, where most of the Jewish ghetto remains unchanged. For many comparatively upscale refugees, this was their first contact with the heart-rending poverty and exemplary kindness of the Chinese people. It is to cry. See it if you have a soul.

City takes deep breath today and tries to figure out how to handle the anniversary of the terrorist attacks: Think bagpipes, drums, candle light ceremonies, molto Giuliani, moments of silence (scripted and not), fraught therapy sessions, too much merlot in Tribeca restaurants, and feeling weird and queasy about doing anything except huddling on the sofa watching offensively soundtracked TV montages until your eyes turn red and bleary. By the way, speaking of Tribeca, has anyone else noticed how residents of the ritzy neighborhood seem to be seizing a disproportionate amount of Sept. 11 pity, considering how few of them actually worked at the World Trade Center?

[Many museums are open and free today, but then you run the risk of running into that new, offensive breed: the "9/11 tourist."]

Thursday 12 th

Street-fair alert: The Feast of San Gennaro , one of the many things that went haywire last year, returns to Little Italy with high-school marching bands and saucy cheerleaders , lots of Atkins-diet-blowing fried dough and the inevitable Sopranos tie-in: a performance from Dominic Chianese , who plays Uncle Junior (hey, if you can't get Dr. Melfi!). Beware merchants hawking tacky 9/11 merch benefiting dubious charities.

[Blessing of the Stands, 6 p.m., Mulberry Street, between Canal and East Houston, 11:30 a.m.]

Ring around the rosies!

Nobody's ready to rejoin the official "social whirl" tonight -except a bunch of rich people with III's after their names who will swathe themselves in pink chiffon for a rose-themed dinner-dance up in the Bronx. What your $500-and-up ticket benefits: the Peggy Rockefeller Rose Garden , which has more than 250 cultivated varieties. It sure must smell sweet up there! Meanwhile, all the way back downtown, an exhibit opens of obscure Warhol, Warhol's Forgotten Female and Flowers . Are these Andy's outtakes? "Sort of, but sort of not ," said gallery owner Kristine Woodward. "Because they happen to be unbelievable. We have daisies-Warhol's not really known for daisies, he's known for poppies-we have the Tacoma flower, we have the Kiku flower. Everybody is so fixated on the Campell's soup, that kind of work, but we wanted to introduce a whole new level of Warhol." What it will cost us: $5,000 to $25,000-"and that's reasonable!"

[Rose Garden Dinner Dance, Peggy Rockefeller Rose Garden at the New York Botanical Garden, Bronx River Parkway at Fordham Road, cocktails 6 p.m., dinner and dancing to follow, 718-817-8775; Warhol's Forgotten Female and Flowers , Woodward Gallery, 476 Broome Street, fifth floor, 11 a.m., 966-3411.]

Friday 13th

Friday the 13th?! Spooky ! Who's brave enough to release a movie today? Who but those reliable Germans! Blow $10 on Das Experiment , about a psychological-research project with recruits divided into "prisoners" who have to obey the rules and the "guards" keeping order-this is what passes for reality television in Germany. Actor Moritz Bleibtreu ( Run Lola Run ) stars as a journalist who goes undercover to impress his editor. (We just bring ours Frappucinos …. ) In aforementioned Tribeca, HBO -which seems a little high on its horse lately-begins another festival, with piles and piles of documentaries. Tonight you can "mingle" with filmmaker Alexandra Pelosi , who traveled around with George Bush on thecampaign trail for her little movie, Journeys with George . Or put on a

derbyand grab your best fella for the William Wyler festival at the Film Forum

( Roman Holiday , The Little Foxes ,

The Best Years of Our Lives , etc.).

[ Das Experiment , 777-FILM, HBO's Frame by Frame Documentary Showcase, Screening Room, 54 Varick Street, 11 a.m., Ms. Pelosi's film screens at 7 p.m.,

512-7201; William Wyler retrospective, 209 West Houston Street, 727-8110.]

Saturday 14th

Media romances! Barrette-sportin' Times food reporter Amanda Hesser weds frisky New Yorker writer Tad Friend , whom she dubbed "Mr. Latte," chez the Latte family in Wainscott today (pelt them with rice) …. Also, The Observer 's trippy new publishing columnist-we call him "Blue Eyes" -gets hitched in a Pound Ridge farmhouse! We're not invited to either wedding, naturally , so we're stuck with West Chelsea's retorts to the San Gennaro Festival: a) a street fair thrown by the Kitchen, an avant-garde arts center that we often mistake for a cooking school, with M.C. Fairy Tink (roll up your muscle shirts, boys!), and b) the Silent Project, a complicated-sounding "live performance event" inspired by that common and annoying experience of riding the F train crammed next to blaring headphones- D.J.'s (no Ronson sisters), subsonic speakers, infrared emitters …. Co-producer Kevin McHugh promised lots of good vibrations. "We'll be pumping frequencies below the level that your ear can detect," he said. "Your skin and your organs will all vibrate. " Oh, boy.

[Kitchen street fair, 19th Street between 10th and 11th avenues, 2 p.m., 255-5793, ext. 10; Silent Project, 540 West 21st Street, noon, 252-5193.]

Clip-clop, clip-clop …. Harvard-Yale charity Polo Cup today! We think it goes something like this: Drink, hop on a private train to Greenwich, then a bus to some farm , drink , listen to some a cappella group in bow ties, drink , line up at the trough for a buffet lunch, drink , watch banker guys on horses, drink , stomp the divots at halftime (whatever that means), cheer for gutsy Gore in-law and horsy babe Ashley Schiff -one of the few women who do this silly sport- drink …

[Polo Express leaves Grand Central at 12:07 p.m., supposedly you have to be a Harvard or Yale alum but we bet they'll take your money, 646-435-5145.]

Sunday 15th

Will Kathleen Turner nude up? Fifty thousand spectators are expected at Broadway on Broadway , a big razzle-dazzle spectacular today with Molly Ringwald , Ms. Turner and other blowsy stars doing their "numbers," plus reviews from the season's new musicals, which apparently include a musical version of Urban Cowboy ?! Giddy-yup, girlfriend! P.S.: Where's Debra Winger when you need her?

[Times Square, entire environs will be affected, 11:30 a.m.]

Monday 16th

Yom Kippur?! … But we're still getting over the Rosh Hashana fight! No eating, drinking, anointing with lotions or "marital relations" today for Manhattan's observant Jews, which means someone 's going to be very crank -y …. Unfortunately, the only other thing really happening in town today is a "free literary bash" in the financial district. Some guy from Paper magazine will do spoken-word ( shudder) , the aforementioned Dominic Chianese (see Feast of San Gennaro, above) will perform a theater piece based on The Autobiography of Klaus Kinski ; and this guy Jason Flores-Williams , a former P.R. man, will read from his novel, The Last Stand of Mr. America . "The main character, Sam, is a P.R. professional who's at odds with what he's doing; he sees it for how plastic and superficial it is, but he doesn't have the courage to take a more meaningful route," said Mr. Flores-Williams, who's been supporting himself waiting tables at the China Grill. "It's about a person's attempt to individuate themselves in American society in a meaningful way. I'll also be reading from my new novel, The Inside of Despair ." (Big sigh.) "It's about the struggle of the American artist, in a nutshell, and what he faces. And futility. And effort . I had intense struggle trying to get published. Mr. America was rejected 40 times." Those cretins!

[Downtown Bar, 211 Pearl Street, 8:30 p.m., 646-414-2801.]

Tuesday 17th

Two Annas battle it out: Newsweek columnist and generally perfect lady Anna Quindlen celebrates her new Oprah magnet of a novel, Blessings , with Random House executive editor and senior vice president Kate Medina and the rest of the gang! The plot: A teenage couple abandons a baby in a box at an estate called Blessings, with symbolism we're not quite sure we catch. Bonus terrifying excerpt from page 36: "Sometimes the baby seemed to have gas, and she would lift her knees to her chest, groan and fart and groan again, then scream, then drop off for twenty minutes, then wake with a start in his arms and scream some more." We're guessing this will be one of those parties with guys in beards bringing tykes in little Snugglies and secretly scamming on the young, lithe females while their wives feed the babies in the bathroom.Meanwhile, downtown, Vogue editor Anna (Thumper) Wintour vice-chairs the tyke-free New Yorkers for Children benefit. Her chairs: ruffly designer Oscar de la Renta , Fairchild Publications glam man Patrick McCarthy and macrobiotic Anglophiliac Gwyneth Paltrow.

[Anna Quindlen party, someone's big fancy Park Avenue pad at the corner of 89th Street, 6 p.m., by invitation only, 940-7771; New Yorkers for Children benefit, Regent Wall Street, 55 Wall Street, 7 p.m., 921-9070.]

Wednesday 18th

Sex behind glass: Here's one museum we won't be taking our great-aunt Agatha to! The much-ballyhooed Museum of Sex, which explores the cultural history of the practice-and whose earnestness won't stop it from attracting a lot of creepy men in raincoats-opens tonight with a big party and after-party with many sticky Salon , Nerve and Time Out staffers. Try to find Camille Paglia; she was on the museum's board of advisers at one point, but mysteriously disappeared around 2000. If you can't-or don't care to-crash "MoSex," how about a nice play about love? Meet former oceanographer and Newsweek science writer Vernon Church, who's written Connections , about his bad experiences with the Internet personals. "I went on a date with one woman who did nothing but talk about how much money she made and how she doubled her salary every year for the last five years," said the rather picky Mr. Church. "I had a rule, which was that if a woman offered to split the check with me, I always offered to pay the whole check -I'm a bit of a traditionalist. But I felt that if they didn't even offer, it was rude. So this woman, who talked about buying a $5,000 lamp with her feng shui consultant-when the check came, she didn't even blink … not even a twitch ." Welcome to New York, Vern! And get ready for some real theater, because Fashion Week is comin' down the runway!

[Museum of Sex opening party, 233 Fifth

Avenue at 27th Street, 9 p.m., after-party to follow, Lotus, 409 West 14th Street, by invitation only, 465-7279; Connections , Theater for the New City, 155 First Avenue, 8 p.m., 206-1515.]