Gabriel Mann

"Don't Come Knocking" opens with a bandit mask view of blue sky and fluffy white clouds where the eyes should be. A reverse shot reveals it to be a panoramic vista of rocks near Moab, Utah, with Sam Shepard on horseback high-tailing it from somewhere or another. We quickly learn he's a washed-up movie star named Howard Spence who has gone AWOL from the set of a western in which he is starring. A 60-year-old drug- and alcohol-abusing playboy, Howard heads for home in Elko, Nev.

SERIES Celebrity Ghost Stories: In the season finale, Morgan Fairchild seems to be abused by a spirit, Lili Taylor hears noises and Vinvent Curatola communicates with his dead father (7 p.m. Biography). Ghost Intervention: In the premiere of this new series, mediums help a family whose son was attacked by a shadowy figure in the basement of a Massachusetts home (9 p.m. TLC). Saturday Night Live: Taylor Lautner hosts with musical guest Bon Jovi.

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" may be advice film producers would be wise to ignore. After sinking a reported $40 million into a Paul Schrader-directed prequel to the 1973 horror hit "The Exorcist," Morgan Creek Chief Executive James Robinson shelved that version and brought in director Renny Harlin -- known as much for his duds ("Cutthroat Island," "Mindhunters") as his hits ("Die Hard 2," "Cliffhanger") -- to reshoot it at considerable expense.

ABC's"Revenge"has generated critical and fan support thanks to a healthy mix of soap opera camp and cold, calculated treachery. But there's another ingredient that bowls us over: the serious partying these people do. Party coverage is a staple here at the Ministry, and we're impressed with the social calendar this Hamptons-set potboiler maintains. Need some proof?  Since its January return, the show has zeroed in on Emily VanCamp's lead character Emily Thorne and her taking down of the powerful Grayson family -- led by icy matriarch Victoria (Madeleine Stowe)

If you need proof that the old rules of man bling are dead, look no further than the recent dinner GQ magazine held in Beverly Hills for designer Scott Sternberg. Host Jason Schwartzman sported a silver beetle lapel pin with a spot of turquoise that perfectly complemented the shade of his Band of Outsiders suit. A few tables over, a fellow let his French cuffs flap free while his beefy neck supported a chunky sterling silver Chrome Hearts cross.

When you think about it--and thinking about it is probably the last thing you should do--"Josie and the Pussycats" is a third-generation cartoon. First came the Archie comic book debut in 1963, then the animated series a decade later, and now this amiably cartoonish cinematic slumber party. Talk about a distinguished family tree.

It's Monday night at 9, and singer-songwriter Jay Nash is running around the La Brea Avenue lounge Room 5 like a madman, spreading time between the mixing board at the back of the room, the cluttered stage at the front and well-wishing patrons throughout. The problem is, he's got to push his way through that audience -- packed to leaning-room-only capacity -- to get to the stage, try a mike, then back to the back to make sure levels are OK. By the time he's got it done, he's already wiped out.

I don't know about art, but people are definitely high in Lisa Cholodenko's arrestingly ambitious "High Art," a movie populated by characters who keep themselves so stoned on heroin they seem to be in a perpetual state of slow-motion. It's a world, as the heroine Syd (Radha Mitchell) will learn, that you enter at your own risk. One line sucked into the nasal passage can turn your brain into drying cement. It's like being in one of those dreams where you try to run but your legs won't move.

If in fact it were true that modern life doesn't provide the obstacles that make for decent barriers to romance, then finding love would be as glitch-free as a smooth slide into bitterness. But the disappearance of traditional obstacles has only led to a rise in creative barricading. We have DIY love problems now, and Nigel Cole's "A Lot Like Love," written by Colin Patrick Lynch, has the decency to acknowledge them and deem them sufficient.