Charlie's Angels recalls another recent tongue-in-cheek epic about a band of adventurous vamps in candy-colored spandex, Spice World. Both movies are clever enough to pre-empt criticism by admitting up front that they're crass, superfluous exercises. Both also see no contradiction in saluting "girl power" while hawking look-but-don't-touch sexploitation.

Charlie's Angels lacquers over its multiple layers of irony -- here's a cynical grope at nostalgia aimed at an audience too young to remember the original TV show, an update of a proto-Baywatch jigglefest that was also a feminist precursor to Xena and Buffy, and a hyperviolent adventure of gun-eschewing role models -- to play as a smooth, gleaming action cartoon. Really, it should be called Charlie's Angels: The Next Generation, with the same unseen boss (still John Forsythe, still using that old speaker phone) supervising a new trio of high-tech-savvy, Matrix-fu-practicing Jane Bonds (Cameron Diaz, Lucy Liu, and producer Drew Barrymore) and a new guy playing that eunuch Bosley (Bill Murray, riffing so hard on his own irrelevance that he too transcends irony). The rookie director, an advertising and MTV vet (of course) who calls himself McG, scores every key moment with a memory-jogging tune from a decade or two ago, turning the movie into a commercial for itself. Now that's entertainment.