The premise riffs on a classic Hitchcock/De Palma setup: the morally compromised peeper who stumbles onto something too queasy even for him. The director, Pal Sletaune, has fun confronting Roy with situations that pique our prurient curiosity--which Roy as often as not acts on for us. (The movie can be taken as a good joke on its audience, since our stand-in is a socially inept geek who wolfs spaghetti out of a can.) More entertaining than the familiar suspense plotting, though, is the movie's portrait of underground Oslo, which teems with karaoke nuts, sloshed barflies, and itchy hooligans. And Roy's motley coworkers are a hoot: Their daft irritability suggests that Scandinavia has its own equivalent of going postal. Junk Mail shows through next Thursday at the Watkins Belcourt; it's a welcome delivery indeed.