Perpetually wide-eyed and mega-snarly bedraggled, Christina Ricci prowls through Black Snake Moan looking like something the cat dragged in. If you're anything like me, you'll be very grateful to the cat. (Whoza good kitty? Boo zha zha zha . . . ) In the third feature by Hustle & Flow writer-director Craig Brewer, Ricci plays Rae, a young, trashed-out nymphomaniac-with an emphasis on "maniac." Which is to say that she seems compelled to give herself sexually to just about every man she encounters, which leads to some pretty dicey situations, particularly if there's a football team in her vicinity.

Rae's dilemma (which is dramatized by Ricci in a truly electric performance) is the sort of thing some people tend to take rib-nudgingly lightly; Black Snake Moan takes it kind of seriously, and kind of not — much in the same way that Hustle & Flow took the idea of a scuzzy pimp trying to make it as a rapper. Brewer has a great affection for his characters, a good feel for the Tennessee slums and backwoods where he sets his stories, and so on. But he's also got a B-moviemaker's impertinence and love of button-pushing. So how's this for a button-pusher: The deeply troubled Rae's road to salvation is paved by a onetime bluesman named Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson), who, upon discovering a near-beaten-to-death Rae close to his farm, brings her home and tends her wounds. It doesn't take him long after that to see what a psychic waste dump has seeped into her soul, and he takes it upon himself to set her straight — by chaining her to his radiator. Now, these days, chaining a woman to a radiator — even if it's for her own good! — is all kinds of unacceptable. And Brewer's self-imposed mission is not just to make you accept it but to make you like it. So Ricci smolders in her captivity; comic relief is milked from Lazarus enlisting his church's minister (John Cothran) in converting Rae; a young man's visit to the farm while Lazarus is out running errands turns into the most memorable day of his life; and so on. Brewer lays down the outrageousness in a good-natured rather than tittery fashion, as he does have some serious stuff on his mind. Both Rae and Lazarus — not to mention Ronnie (Justin Timberlake), Rae's Army-bound boyfriend, who doesn't make it past boot camp and comes looking for Rae while she's undergoing her, uh, rehabilitation — are deeply damaged individuals, and Brewer wants us to understand their damage, mostly from an intimate perspective of personal dysfunction but also from a social perspective. A black man chaining up a white woman in the Deep South sure is a multifaceted metaphor, know what I mean?

Then there's the music. Two of the movie's most striking set pieces involve Lazarus taking out his old electric guitar, plugging it into his pleasingly noisy amp, and prophesying via the blues. These are riveting scenes, which the movie's sweet denouement puts into peculiar perspective. The blues here plays the role of an elemental force that can summon our deepest fears and rankest desires, but also call up our better angels. A lovely idea, though I don't recall Willie Dixon's "Wang Dang Doodle" involving, say, a wedding ceremony. Whether Brewer is overreaching is something worth arguing over after seeing this provocative picture.