Something necessary, yet unfortunate, happens about an hour into the movie “Bubble.” A plot is introduced. Up until that point, Soderbergh’s intensive examination of the American mundane is a masterpiece. The plot, a crime plot, is good enough and, since the movie isn’t one of those wordless art installations like Gus Van Sant has been pumping out recently, it does bring a purpose to the exercise. But it is the exercise elements of this film that make it appealing — non actors, zhlubs from Ohio working two jobs, eating fast food, driving cars, living, if I may paraphrase Socrates, the unexamined life. The houses are their houses, the infants are their infants. It is, perhaps, a little too real. Oddly enough, the Soderbergh film this is most similar to in tone is his short-lived DC powerbroker series on HBO, “K Street.” Which is evidence enough right there how Soderbergh is without question one of the most fascinating, versitile talents that ever worked in cinema.