"In my world nothing gets thrown away," muses actress Cori Dials as she removes such significant items as a doll and a poster advertising the silent classic "Metropolis" from an old trunk at the start of "Cigarette Girl," the first feature film in almost a decade from Mike McCarthy, Memphis' most tireless, distinctive and committed filmmaker.

The line -- like much of the dialogue and most of the visual flourishes in the film -- is signature McCarthy; it has personal significance for the writer-director as well as for the character onscreen.

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McCarthy, 46, has been making independent feature films here for 15 years, and he throws nothing away: "Cigarette Girl," like his previous features, is loaded -- coded, even -- with sometimes obscure references to "A Clockwork Orange," David Bowie, superheroes, Fritz Lang and other youthful obsessions the writer-director never abandoned. Yet "Cigarette Girl" also is McCarthy's most accessible and accomplished film.

For the first time, McCarthy's imagination hasn't far outpaced the reality of his production dollars (although the low budget does hamper some scenes). The fantasy premise is the backdrop rather than the engine that drives the story, and the characters aren't just iconic but dimensional, even if they are identified by such comic book-style aliases as "Johnny Valet" (a Clyde Barrow wannabe, played by James Buchanan), "Hat Check" (a moll, played by Lary Love Dolley) and "Ace" (an ex-junkie, mob-affiliated nightclub operator, played -- superbly -- by dark-garbed, long-haired J. Lazarus Hawk, who here bears a striking resemblance to John Carradine in John Ford's masterpiece, "Stagecoach").

As the title character, the statuesque Dials is a McCarthy "starlet" with acting ability as well as screen presence. With her swimmer's shoulders, Betty Page haircut and ruby lips, she's a comic-book heroine come to life, especially in her Cigarette Girl costume (lacy crinoline miniskirt, corset, fishnet stockings and stiletto heels). The superhero connection is acknowledged when the Cigarette Girl warns: "Don't let your memories become an origin story."

Set in the year 2035, when cigarettes sell for $63.49 a pack and the "minority habit" of tobacco is restricted to the ghettoized "smoking sections" of cities, "Cigarette Girl" covers a handful of eventful days in the hard life of its title glamor girl, whose nicotine withdrawal symptoms (embodied in the ghostly presence of a sadistic Marlboro Man referred to only as "Cowboy") metastasize into violent, gun-toting action. (In other words, she replaces coffin nails with bullets, and slow death with murder.)

The Cigarette Girl also is under pressure because her beloved grandmother (longtime local acting stalwart Helen Bowman) is dying; what's more, Cigarette Girl's dangerous employers at the Vice Club don't appreciate the fact that the she's selling smokes on the street for the bargain price of $50 a pack.

The film's frequent "Metropolis" references find a parallel in the characters of the Cigarette Girl and Maria, the woman replaced by a robot in Fritz Lang's 1927 masterpiece. Like Maria, the Cigarette Girl ("I went about my business, like a robot," she says in an early scene) must assert her humanity to be free; "I won't be a slave," says the Girl, struggling to free herself from the mob and her smoking addiction. A parallel character seeking independence is "Runaway," played by multi-pierced 19-year-old McCarthy discovery Ivy McLemore, who parlayed this experience into a role in the MTV horror series, "Savage County."

Ivy is introduced in the movie's most beautifully photographed scenes, when the screen is light instead of dark. Much of the film's design seems chalky white and pinkish red, the color palette of candy cigarettes; credit director of photography (and editor) Stephen "Wheat" Buckley, who gives the movie a polish and beauty that belies the quick shooting schedule and tiny budget. Also giving the film the feel of a multimillion- dollar studio production is the alternately electronic and orchestral score composed by Memphis Symphony Orchestra cellist Jonathan Kirkscey.

Because the film mostly is set in the crumbling inner-city, effects creator H.G. Ray is able to evoke a futuristic setting with minimal but effective touches ("You Are Now Leaving the Smoking Section" is a typical billboard). The lo-fi sci-fi feel places "Cigarette Girl" in the tradition of such countercultural and artsy future films of decades past as "Five" (1951), "Glen and Randa" (1971), Jean-Luc Godard's "Alphaville" (1965) and Truffaut's "Fahrenheit 451" (1966).

"Cigarette Girl" loses some momentum during its concluding act, in part because descent into gunplay is such a familiar story resolution and in part because the low budget becomes more obvious as the action moves into the underpopulated nightclub.

Memorable supporting performers include Donald Meyers as a Dr. Harbou (named for the writer of "Metropolis"), D'Army Bailey as an ill-fated convenience store owner and Emmy Collins as a hairy hoodlum.

-- John Beifuss, 529-2394