8 My philosophy-student son and I were discussing modernism, post-modernism, and whatever comes now. Apparently the art and philosophy world haven't yet identified "now" as any specific period, though post-modernism definitely seems passé.

"I'm not ready to say this is the post-post-modern period," Kevin said.

"Well if modernism was the age of faith in science and post-modernism the age of skepticism occasioned by Hitler's exhibition of where faith in science was bound to lead, and the atomic bomb showed how even 'our side' would work that out, what characterizes this time?" I said something like that. Actually, Kevin brought up the atomic bomb.

Not much, we agreed.

The sexual revolution is still relatively new in the United States, but was already history in France, so that doesn't give a clue. Mass abortion is the one totally new worldwide phenomenon that has arisen since post-modernism, and if we were to look at that in philosophic terms, it would be seen as a further decline of skepticism toward cynicism, the abortion of humanity-and humanism—itself.

After sleeping on it, I wondered if HIV-AIDS fits in there somewhere. And what of high technology? These do define our time, but as what?

Denise Calls Up is an attempt at a film statement on high technology and its cultural impact. And although AIDS is never mentioned, it is the first layer of paint put down on the canvas.

It's not a self-consciously philosophical movie; Seinfeld fans should love it, in fact, as its cast of characters could well be the Seinfeld cast relating to each other entirely by cellular phones and faxes, while glued to their computers where they are inundated by work they have no hope of catching up on. "Of course, in one sense that's good," says Tim Daly's character, Frank, reflecting on the fact that it's been five years since he's had a relationship with a woman. Even the baby born in this movie ("Aphrodite," ironically) got her start through a sperm bank, though the parents do get acquainted by phone and the whole gang is on-hand for the delivery, via conference call.

At least half the characters have never met in person, though two of them get fixed up for blind dates by two or three others, and end up dating, and eventually even carrying on a sexual relationship-over their cell phones. One character, distracted by her phone conversation, gets killed in an automobile accident, her receiver indelibly smashed into her brain; another plays this back on her answering machine. The victim's friends all promise to meet at the funeral, but none of them actually end up there. "Death isn't for everyone," Frank laments.

I was having a cheesesteak in a grill that grew silent to watch Friends when it came on one night last fall; that audience should give this 80-minute wonder box office legs. It's that rare entertainment that can be taken as light as a bon bon or discussed for hours. On a double bill with Nobody Loves Me, reviewed here about two months ago, it should keep those cell phones humming all night.

Further information is available at the Sony Pictures Classics Internet site, http://www.spe.sony.com/Pictures/SonyClassics.