Man on the Moon. Milos Forman wastes a fair amount of his time on minor but bizarre figures (see The People versus Larry Flynt). Fortunately, Andy Kaufman was an inoffensive comic with a streak of ingenuity, as opposed to a pornographer who later wrapped the First Amendment around his gynecological forays. So, the ride is a little more pleasant and accomplished, and there is no false, big issue at stake, as was the case in Flynt.

Jim Carrey’s turn is very good, and the supporting work of Danny Devito (as Kaufman’s agent) and Paul Giamatti (as Kaufman’s sidekick Bob Zmuda) helps to round out the character. Forman, however, goes to the well once to often in casting Courtney Love as the love interest. She worked as a porn mogul’s gal in The People versus Larry Flynt, but here, she’s lost.

Unfaithful. Diane Lane received some buzz as a best actress nominee for her portrait of a lustful suburban housewife in Adrian Lyne’s film. She is excellent, but the film is unconvincing, for several reasons. First, before Lane begins her tryst with the French hunk book seller who sweeps her off her feet, we are given a glimpse of her home life. It seems pretty nice. Not that we need to have a bad home life to presage her immersion into a lustful, dangerous affair, but some indication of wanderlust or dissatisfaction is called for. Second, her paramour is attractive but no great shakes. With a home life that seems healthy (both sexually and otherwise), it might help to give us an irresistible draw – say, a Jude Law in The Talented Mr. Ripley. Instead, we get a bland French model straight out of a GAP commercial. Third, Lane is so incredibly stupid that you lose all sympathy for her plight and just feel bad for her husband (Richard Gere), who may be so distressed because his wife is cheating on him AND she’s so bad at it.

An amusing, sweet story about a young NYC writer (Sandra Bullock) who is forced into rehab in Tennessee after her alcoholism accompanies her on a car ride. The film is essentially about her stint there, and while predictable, it is moderately affecting and consistently funny. Bullock is also a surprise. While her range is not exactly expansive, she plays a damaged daughter of an alcoholic mother (who eventually died and abandoned Bullock and her sister as children) with some skill. Better, her part is loaded with wry rejoinders, her strength. A lot of good supporting turns, including Viggo Mortenson as a baseball pitcher working on a coke addiction; Steve Buscemi as Bullock’s counselor; Dominic West as her charming boozehound lover; and various other characters. This is not heavy lifting, and it is very AfterSchool Special, but it is well done.

Before I saw Castaway, I was assured that if I had to spend time on an island with a major male film star, Tom Hanks would probably be a good choice.  He seems affable, neat and even-keeled.   I was not disappointed.  His Fed-Ex plane goes down in the South Pacific, he is stranded on an island, and he combats the elements and his various misfortunes while making attempts to escape to civilization.  The time spent with Hanks is well worth it.

The problem with Castaway, however, is that director Robert Zemeckis tucks a love affair between Hanks and Helen Hunt (Washington, D.C.’s City Paper correctly observed that Helen Hunt was again cast as Helen Hunt) pre-stranding that is mundane and equivocal; post-stranding, it is confused and drawn out.  While Hanks is on the island, out of necessity, he strikes up a relationship with a volleyball.  Unintentionally, this relationship towers in depth and complexity in comparison to the one depicted between Hanks and Hunt.  So, when Hanks gets back to civilization, the meat of loose ends and forged relationships and a changed world are not there to greet him, or us. Rather, the only thing we get to see him confront is the bland Hunt, and her on-again-off-again Tennessee drawl.

Side note:  Tom Hanks is given the worst maladies in movies.  In Philadelphia, it’s AIDS.  In Castaway, he has to give himself what appears to be a root canal.  In The Green Mile, he has a urinary tract infection that has him peeing what appear to be razors.  What the hell?

Further confirmation that sometimes, when Spike Lee does not write a movie indoctrinating viewers as to the racial dogma of a wealthy courtside-sitting Knicks fan, he can forego the lecture and make solid entertainment .  See also Clockers and Inside Man. 

Edward Norton is spending his last day and night in Manhattan before serving a 7 year stretch for drug distribution.  He deals with the certainty of his impending brutalization and agonizes over the choices he made, all while saying his goodbyes to friends and family, reliable New York City archetypes to a one.  His father, Brian Cox, is a former fireman (the film is a post- 9-11 story and it is reliant on that catastrophe) and now proprietor of an Irish tavern; his girlfriend, Rosario Dawson, a luscious Puerto Rican who had never been to Puerto Rico until Norton took her; his best friends are Barry Pepper (a tough, cynical, New York Post reading conservative trader) and Philip Seymour Hoffman (a tentative, caring, Jewish public school teacher who lives a meager, sheltered life and has a hidden trust fund).  Anna Paquin is Hoffman’s vixen of student, all freedom and possibility, just on the edge of pregnancy and disease and the first steps to getting used up. Norton’s employers are Russian mobsters.

Norton’s choices are delicate and a man on the brink is a tough character to deliver.  He does not sweat or ooze like so many would-be Brandos, but runs the emotional gamut (anger, recrimination, fear, acceptance) with authenticity.  The story holds you, and Lee’s lyrical skills give the picture a haunting vibe. Solid watch.