'coffee And Kung Fu' As Film Could Make For A Dream Role

It's official: Bridget Jones has met her match, and his name is Jackie Chan. Sure, you've read 101 different variations on her theme ever since that plucky little British chippie showed up on this side of the pond, worrying about how to get her (love) life in order (mostly written by authors dying to have Rene/Reese/Kate play their alter ego), but Karen Brichoux's Coffee and Kung Fu (NAL/Putnam) kicks its way into a different league. Brichoux gives us Nicci Bradford, in her twentysomething doldrums, uneasy about her boyfriend and far from happy at her graphic design job. Instead of mooning around with a couple of eccentric girlfriends over margaritas, Nicci watches old Jackie Chan flicks, which is where she gets most of her philosophy about life, mostly involving, of course, the importance of family and honor. The setting (Boston ad firm, instead of the usual New York magazine/publishing gig) gives a fresh spin and the character of Nicci, who's got spunk to spare and more than a little tomboy to her, would be a dream assignment for most any actress looking to make a splash. ... More matters of the lovelorn heart arrive in the dandy-ish package of one B.K. Troop, the narrator-philosopher of Allison Burnett's Christopher: A Tale of Seduction (Broadway). B.K. doesn't do much of anything, as befits someone of his intellectual swagger, superior airs and sublime laziness, but finds his life of exquisite, bookish ennui enlivened by the arrival in his building of one Chris Ireland. A lonely, lovely writer with debilitating relationships with two harpies (psychotic mother and selfish girlfriend), Chris seems easy prey for B.K.'s hungry libido. This twist here is that as Chris's life falls further and further apart, B.K., as his self-appointed new best friend, finds himself falling so deeply in love with the guy that he can't quite take advantage of Chris' wounded state and seduce him, already. There's plenty of humor to be found in B.K.'s poseur (and rafts of smirky one-liners just asking for a campy, slightly-over-the-hill actor to voice them) and a genuinely touching and unexpected love story. File it somewhere between "Gods and Monsters" and "Flawless." ... Tim Burton, where are you? Gentlemen of Space (Free Press), by Ira Sher, could seem at first blush to be a gentle fantasy about dreams of outer space. It's a 1976 that never quite happened, as a Florida schoolteacher, Jerry Finch, wins a contest that enables him to become the first civilian astronaut to go to the moon. Once there, the mission goes awry after Jerry disappears, forcing the crew to return without him. Back on Earth, the astronauts remain in their spacesuits, camped out around Jerry's family's house, silently awaiting his return. Things get even darker as family secrets are unearthed and Jerry's young son starts getting phone calls from his father. A perfect opportunity to mine nostalgia for both the 1970s and the heroism of the space program, all used as the backdrop for this haunting, dreamlike tale, waiting for a director with just the right skewed, but still humane, vision. ... Pearls of Kuwait (Harcourt), wherein a pair of jarheads, Cody and Tommy, based in Kuwait for the start of Gulf War I, go diving for pearls in the Persian Gulf and end up accidentally rescuing a curvaceous, naked, teenage Kuwaiti princess who was trying to drown herself. Cody and Tommy become the toast of Kuwaiti royalty, but Tommy has fallen hard for the princess and nothing, not even war, can distract him. Conflict erupts, the princess gets kidnapped, and the boys set off on their rescue mission. It's all laddish fun, told by Cody in his lovably nonplused, California stoner dialect, suggesting a brilliant melange of "The Man Who Would Be King," "Kelly's Heroes" and "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." A sly piece of work that bypasses some of the cliched machinations of "Three Kings" but would give a director enough sweeping battle scenes and exotic scenery, as witnessed by this Bill and Ted-like pair, to make comic opera of it all.

Chris Barsanti is a contributing editor to Kirkus Reviews.