B

Lisa Cholodenko won kudos for her first film, “High Art,” back in 1998, but that film had a shrillness that some of us found off-putting. The fault is corrected in this second outing, which bears a certain thematic resemblance to the earlier picture but makes its points with much less effort. Though it’s about a straight-laced couple seduced by more alluring possibilities (just as “Art” concerned a naive young woman attracted by a hedonistic life-style) and though it occasionally comes across as a bit studied in its attempt to balance humor and seriousness, for the most part “Laurel Canyon” has a loose, unforced quality that’s very appealing. It’s much more approachable than “Art” was, and ultimately more touching.

The couple in question are Sam (Christian Bale) and Alex (Kate Beckinsale); he’s a young Harvard Med School grad about to do an internship at an L.A. psychiatric institute while she completes her dissertation on an arcane area of genomics. The duo arrive at the California home of Sam’s estranged mother Jane (Frances McDormand), a free-spirited, ex-hippie record producer, which she’s offered to them while she’s away. Unfortunately, the disc she’s been putting together with a band headed by smoothly charismatic Brit Ian (Alessandro Nivola)–who also happens to be her current lover–isn’t finished, and so, much to Sam’s dismay, they’re all thrown together for an indefinite time. Before long Alex, like the protagonist of “Art,” is drawn to the freedom that Jane represents and the sensuality that Ian effortlessly exudes, while Sam finds himself reluctantly attracted to the gorgeous Sara (Natascha McElhone), a hospital colleague who ends up driving him to and from work. Though it hardly takes a rocket scientist to detect where the dynamic is heading, the screenplay takes a few unexpected detours and winds up with a conclusion that’s satisfyingly ambiguous.

Still, “Laurel Canyon” might have turned out stiff and obvious were it not for Cholodenko’s skill and the freshness brought to the material by a first-rate cast. The writer-director manages to add humor to the story’s serious underpinnings, but she does so gently, without taking things into the realm of camp; and her touch is sufficiently light that even the “explosive” melodramatic moments stay within bounds. (She does occasionally miscalculate, though: more could certainly be made of an intriguing subplot involving Wyatt, a patient of Sam’s played by Ricky Gonzalez, whose mother finds it impossible to empathize with her son despite the doctor’s encouragement that she try. The plot thread is obviously designed as an ironic counterpoint to the Sam-Jane relationship, but the linkage is never given time to register effectively.) McDormand clearly relishes the opportunity to put customary goody-goody characters like Marge Gunderson behind her and walk on the wild side for a change, reveling in a “liberated” persona she’s rarely had the opportunity to assume of late. She’ll probably get the most attention from audiences–it’s a flashy turn, and she does it well–but Bale is even more impressive in a part that calls for considerable nuance within a limited range. He puts his blandly handsome persona to good use as the son embarrassed by his mother’s failure to grow up. In demanding parts like this one and Patrick Bateman in “American Psycho,” he proves that when given the opportunity he’s as masterful as any young actor working today: a scene herein a parking garage, in which he struggles to resist Sara’s charms while desperately wanting to give in, is beautifully done. (All the more reason to regret it when he shows up in junk like “Reign of Fire” or “Equilibrium,” doing cardboard macho stuff.) Neither Beckinsale nor Nivola, though good, is quite at their level. She gets the sense of self-control right but doesn’t abandon it with complete conviction, while he tends to glide a mite too easily over the surface of the cooly arrogant Ian. McElhone is a bit lost in this company; she looks great and is certainly a seductive alternative for Sam, but doesn’t quite seem attuned to the spirit of things.

Though this is clearly a modestly budgeted production, the locations are lovely, and they’re beautifully caught by cinematographer Wally Pfister, who’s particularly adept in giving the house where much of the action is set real personality. Craig Werden’s score effectively supports things, and Folk Implosion contributes some songs that make Ian’s band sound plausible.

Cholodenko’s “Canyon” may not be the deepest film around, but the sharp writing, an able cast and sensitive direction make it an engaging one.