The venerable documentarian Frederick Wiseman (Titicut Follies, High School) takes his cameras inside the equally venerable Paris Opera Ballet. There, without comment, he captures the activities both mundane and extraordinary that comprise this ballet school and performance troupe.

Naturally, we see many dancers -- in rehearsal, and eventually in fully realized performances. And just as a finely executed dance is made up of immeasurable small movements working in harmony, so too is the Opera Ballet. Thus, Wiseman shows us janitors, cafeteria cooks, seamstresses, stagehands and even a beekeeper. We are as privy to the front office, where the ballet's artistic director plots out a three-year schedule, as we are to the water-filled catacombs that run beneath the magnificent old building. (The Opera Ballet is an institution, in all senses of the term.)

In one scene, a tour for major benefactors is discussed. They have given $25,000 -- could they maybe see a piano rehearsal? Ironically, for the much-cheaper price of a movie ticket, viewers will see many piano rehearsals, all shot with extraordinary intimacy. To the untrained eye, these scenes are filled with gorgeous dance, even as choreographers grumble from the sidelines about misplaced arms or movements lacking the correct nuance. (One dancer is counseled to deliver "caresses that could be blows.")

Dance fans should find the two-and-a-half-hour film a rare treat, as the troupe is depicted preparing for several ballets -- some traditional (including the ever-popular Nutcracker), and others more contemporary and avant-garde. But even the casual observer will leave La Danse enlightened about the tremendous marshalling of institutional resources, rigorous physicality and artistic vision that are the unseen steely core of those ethereal bodies we see moving "effortlessly" across the stage. In French, with subtitles. Starts Fri., Feb. 5. Harris (Al Hoff) [3 out of 4 stars]

It's nominally a riff on Abel Ferrara's 1992 Bad Lieutenant, which Herzog says he has never seen, and is so dreadfully made that a viewer is left wondering if the whole thing is some post-postmodern joke. In any case, you'll likely be laughing, and maybe you're supposed to.

Port of Call stars Nicolas Cage, set here on Super-Sonic Bad Acting. Again, Cage is fully capable of inadvertent bad acting, so are his grimaces, barks and howling laughs here a wink – or is this a delicious new low for fans of his very worst roles?

Cage plays a New Orleans cop who sustains an injury rescuing a "shit turd" criminal during Hurricane Katrina. Six months later, the city is still a wreck, and the newly minted lieutenant is a raging crack-and-opiates fiend. The story -- a pastiche of every bad-cop move you've ever seen -- follows him as he half-assedly investigates a multiple murder. But mostly, he very colorfully self-destructs. In the mix are an avenging bookie (Brad Dourif), a prostitute girlfriend (Eva Mendes) and a gangster (rapper-turned-actor Xzibit). Oh, and hey, look -- it's Val Kilmer! Singing iguanas! And alligator-cam!

 If Herzog meant this as a piss-take on crappy American cop movies, a metaphor for our culture's collapse or whatever -- then I'm not sure that he hit the target correctly, or that this expensive, over-the-top exercise is even necessary. I was entertained, but simply by its exaggerated awfulness. If you're a fan of "bad movies" -- be they intentional or accidental -- there's laughs aplenty. Starts Fri., Jan. 29. Squirrel Hill (AH) [1.5 out of 4 stars]

My knowledge of Norwegian black metal is pretty basic, stemming from a couple articles read nearly two decades ago when one musician murdered another. If I've already lost you, then this documentary is going to be tough sledding, despite its intriguing promise to reveal the truth about the cultish music scene. 

Working mostly with contemporary interviews with Norwegian black-metal musicians, the filmmakers -- Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell -- very slowly build to the scene's defining events, a violent period in the early 1990s which included church arsons and the deaths of some key figures. 

With so little context, it's hard for a non-fan, however generally interested, to follow who is talking about whom, and about what. The film appeared to be establishing two competing narratives and ideologies espoused by back-in-the-day scenesters Varg Vikernes, now an imprisoned pontificator, and Fenriz, a still-working musician who bums around Oslo a lot (when not taking moody walks in snowy woods). But frankly, that is just my best guess. Around the edges of the low-budget film was a lot of fascinating material left unexplored, or poorly contextualized. (Filmmaker Harmony Korine is apparently a fan of black metal -- and that means what, exactly?) 

Docs about fringe cultures are among my favorites, but I didn't glean much new information here. I certainly wasn't surprised to learn that the Norwegian media cheaply sensationalized bands that sport upside-down crosses as "Satanists." But I also didn't leave the film with any clearer idea of what black metal was; how it differs from "regular" metal; whether theatrical celebrations of violence destroyed the scene; what, if any, black metal's impact has been; and why its followers wear corpse paint (still!).

Fans will likely be happy hearing from some of their heroes, and glomming the teeny bit of archival footage. And for good or bad, depending on your tastes, there's very little black metal music actually played. In English, and Norwegian, with subtitles. Fri., Jan. 29, through Tue., Feb. 2. Melwood (AH) [2 out of 4 stars]