* Don't bother **Rent it ***Matinee material **** Worth seeing *****Exceptional

Some people pray. Some people meditate. Other people drink excessively, take drugs and have lots and lots of wild, unbridled sex.

Broadly speaking, there are two ways of staying in touch with the universe, connecting to our collective consciousness, if you will: in a healthy manner and in an unhealthy manner.

Matters of personal taste and opinion aside, there can be little doubt that, in Black Snake Moan, Rae (Christina Ricci) has opted for the latter. Or, perhaps more accurately, has had it thrust upon her from an early age.

"Cough drops or condoms," her mother inquires casually, as Rae enters the local convenience store, flaunting the shortest of short-shorts and a more-than-midriff baring cut-off shirt.

Confident though she may appear on the surface, flipping the bird to a mammoth tractor as it tries to pass her on a backwoods road, Rae is far from self-possessed. This much is clear from the first of her "spells" that we witness mere moments after her boyfriend Ronnie (Justin Timberlake) leaves for combat. A crescendo-ing buzz and a few rapid flashbacks overtake her, sending her groaning to her knees. Milliseconds later we find her climaxing in a hotel bathroom, face pressed up against the mirror before flopping, not quite exhausted, onto the bed.

With a predisposition for getting messed up on drugs and alcohol, it's perhaps unsurprising that Rae winds up left for dead on the side of the road, face beaten and bloodied. That's where Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson) finds her. A troubled but God-fearing farmer and blues musician, Lazarus takes Rae in, determined to heal her physically and spiritually.

Now, if you've seen the chain-laden posters for Black Snake Moan, then it suffices to say that Lazarus's methods are far from conventional. Speaking of unconventional, writer and director Craig Brewer has developed quite a knack for unearthing — and disrobing — raw humanity in the most unlikely of places.

In 2005's Hustle and Flow, Brewer showed that life could be hard, even for a pimp. Without denying his characters' flaws, he made a convincing case that everybody deserves to have a dream and an opportunity to find redemption.

For Black Snake Moan, Brewer trades in the tar pits of an urban jungle to focus on a white-trash ghetto in the deep South, while still retaining many of Hustle and Flow's thematic and stylistic elements. Once again, music proves to be the ultimate savior, this time in the form of the blues. After his wife leaves him for a younger man, Lazarus (in the process of rising from the dead, biblical scholars may note) turns not to his church, but his guitar.

Removing his wedding band, Lazarus slips on a guitar slide.

"Black snake is evil, black snake is all I see. Black snake is evil, black snake is all I see."

From the opening interview with musician Son House to the minor key dominant soundtrack, it's clear that the blues lie at the heart of Black Snake Moan; it's the driving, throbbing, insatiable force that torments Rae, Ronnie and Lazarus and, yet, also offers them the possibility of hope, freedom and redemption.

Upon awakening from her drug and violence induced coma, Rae discovers that she's been chained up in Laz's home, half-naked and forced to do his bidding, which primarily entails not having sex.

To some, Black Snake Moan will likely come across as high-concept smut. However, the themes and characters are treated with respect by both Brewer and the actors — with a good dose of well-placed tongue-in-cheek humor. Ricci and Jackson are excellent, as expected. The biggest surprise is pretty-boy Timberlake, who seems not at all out of place among the white trash. He sinks into his anxiety-ridden role with ease, eschewing all signs of boy band confidence.

Although its roots are bleach-blonde and tacky, Black Snake Moan ultimately provides a positive, uplifting message. Whether or not you can see past Ricci's bared skin ... every square inch of warm, smooth inviting flesh ... you'll find something worth holding onto in Black Snake Moan.

— Christian Nelson