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Like some of the food made with the substances produced by the corporation at the heart of this story, this movie is pleasant but leaves a sour aftertaste. It is inspired by the real-life story of one of the most massive cases of corporate corruption and crime in US history. Archer-Daniels-Midland (ADM) paid the then-record antitrust fine of $100 million and its top executives went to jail because of a global conspiracy to fix prices and production in violation of antitrust laws. None of this would have been uncovered without the cooperation of a top executive named Mark Whitacre. This film's decision to present the story as farce and to focus on Whitacre and his flakier qualities is entertaining but unsatisfying.

Matt Damon plays Whitacre with an extra 30 pounds and a toupee that looks like a bird's nest. He is a PhD but he is less an absent-minded professor type than a free-association, mind-like-a-pinball machine type, and we are privy to his thoughts as they go off in an almost random assortment of directions, often missing the point of what is going on around him as he muses about various questions and reassures himself. When the FBI is brought in to investigate an extortion attempt he reported, Whitacre tells the agent ("Star Trek's: Enterprise's" Scott Bakula) that he knows about something much bigger. This leads to an undercover operation spanning years and continents as Whitacre wears a wire to tape more than 200 conversations. He was one of the highest-ranking corporate officials ever to work as an informant. He was also embezzling millions of dollars and having a breakdown, possibly as a result of the stress of leading a double life.

Director Steven Soderburgh also gave us a moving drama about the feisty heroine Erin Brockovich, whose failings were quirky and endearing. Now he brings us a story about another real-life whistleblower presented as farce, with a bright, sit-com-y score by Marvin Hamlisch and the pacing and fonts of a 70's comedy, familiar faces from television (including Tom and Dick Smothers), and seems to do everything possible to keep us from caring about the squirrelly main character. Whitacre, an accomplished man with a PhD (and now has several post-graduated degrees) who was a rising star at the company, comes across as clumsy, clueless, and narcissistic. We hear his random thoughts about an incongruous variety of topics. They come across as the musings of a doofus but they also show us his scientific curiosity and analytic distance. And we see how both contribute to his success and his downfall.

The film touches on the incongruity of his being sentenced to a jail term more than twice that of the executives responsible for crimes many times the order of magnitude in size and impact, but the reaction it seems to expect from us is a "what do you expect" rather than any sense of outrage. Once again, those who steal a small amount from hundreds of millions of people receive nominal consequences while those who steal a substantial sum from one place take the fall. Economists estimated that the cost to American citizens of one price-fixing case involving electrical equipment in 1961 was greater than all of the robberies of that year. The cost of the ADM price-fixing, based on the explicit view that "the customers are the enemy," is incalculable. This film perpetuates the lack of understanding about these crimes in favor of cheap shots at the life-shattering impact of the investigation and the enabling, even exploitive behavior of the law enforcement officials who used him and then left him to deal with the consequences. Worst of all, it leaves us with a feeling of smug superiority when it should be illuminating the kind of thinking from both corporate and government officials that led us to the current financial collapse.

My second DVD pick of the week for Valentine's Day is the other new Audrey Hepburn release, "Funny Face," a gorgeous musical set in Paris with Fred Astaire and songs by Gershwin. The title tune, and "How Long Has This Been Going On" and "S'Wonderful" have become standards, and the non-Gershwin numbers like "Think Pink" and "Bonjour Paris" are lively and well-staged.

It's the story of a shy bookstore clerk with an interest in French philosophy who gets invited to Paris as a model and agrees to go only because it will give her a chance to meet the philosopher she most admires. She thinks that fashion is silly and superficial. But the photographer (Astaire, playing a character based on Richard Avedon) shows her the passion, dedication, professionalism, and artistry required and the philosopher shows her that he does not always practice what he preaches. The film is a delight. Be sure to watch for a rare screen appearance by Kay Thompson, the author of the "Eloise" books, as the magazine editor, and some real-life supermodels spoofing themselves.

Funny Face

Kevin Costner the producer severely underestimates the ability of Kevin Costner the actor to win over the audience in this tepid satire of electoral politics. Through a technical and mechanical glitch, Costner's character, an affable loser named Bud, finds himself about to cast the single vote that will determine the outcome of a Presidential election. The incumbent Republican (Kelsey Grammer) and the challenging Democrat (Dennis Hopper) and all of their flacks descend on Bud's small New Mexico town, followed of course, by international media outlets shoving cameras and microphones at anyone they can find, all of which creates opportunities for some tweaks at American complacency and avarice, which are not too bad and some syrupy personal growth moments, which are not too good.

This idea could make a good low-budget independent film but as an expensive studio release it can't afford to offend anyone. The result is too generic and too safe, and too easy. There are mild enjoyments along the way but ultimately Bud -- and his movie -- fail to have the redeeming qualities necessary to provide a satisfactory conclusion.

It is fun to see the politicians squirm and their handlers scheme as the candidates grab onto any inkling of Bud's views and then jettison any position they've ever taken in order to get his vote. The problem -- for the candidates and for the movie -- is that Bud does not really care about anything. Not only did he not know it was election day; he didn't know know who was running. He says the only thing he cares about is his daughter Molly (Madeline Carroll) but the only focus of his energy and attention is his beer buzz. Movies often are able to make heroes out of lovably irresponsible characters, but this shambling slacker is worse than irresponsible. He is so downright neglectful that he seems not just immature but selfish. The movie can't make its mind up about whether these characters are smart or foolish, honest or corrupt. In trying to have it both ways, it undercuts any force or momentum.

Carroll is a charming screen presence, but Molly is a construct, not a character. It's cute when she says her ambition is to be the Chairman of the Fed but it's Hollywood cute. And the lovely Paula Patton is stuck with a yawn-inducing role as an ambitious television journalist who resolves her ethical crisis in a way that is unlikely to strike viewers as an exemplar of integrity. Like the rest of this movie, that choice is a bubble or two off prime, a disconnect between the reaction the movie expects and the reaction the audience will have.

The Coen brothers may have achieved mainstream success with their Best Picture Oscar for No Country for Old Men, but so much for adapting prestigious literary novels that engage the essential American archetypes; they are back with another twisty, genre-tweaking movie filled with their trademark combination of deadpan delivery by characters who are venal, dumb, or both, plus some shockingly grisly violence.

In past films, the Coens have played on the fine line between being derivative and being clever in adapting genre conventions to shaggy-dog-style discursive plot lines and with the way an understated tone can give an ironic twist to an under-written wisecrack. This movie skates along that fine line but benefits tremendously from two character actors who are usually limited to leading man roles because they happen to be People Magazine Sexiest Men of the Year.

George Clooney plays Harry, a twitchy, slightly anxious, persistently polyamorous U.S. Marshall from the Treasury Department. When he mentions twice that he has never discharged his weapon, we know that gun is going to have to go off before the end of the film. Brad Pitt plays Chad, a dim but energetic personal trainer who is enthusiastic about hydrating, always has his earphones in, doesn't like wearing a suit, and thinks he's hit the big time when a computer disk with some spy-ish looking numbers is found in the ladies' locker room of the health club. Chad finds out that the data belongs to Osborne Cox (John Malcovich, furiously hostile as only John Malcovich can be) and thinks he might be able to get a "reward" for returning it. When Cox doesn't cooperate, Chad and his colleague Linda (Frances McDormand), who desperately needs money so she can get liposuction, decide to find another buyer. But they are so clueless about international affairs that the only country they can think of to sell it to is Russia. They drive over to the Russian embassy and ask the first person they meet there if he wants to pay them for it, promising (without any basis in reality) that there is more where it came from.

Meanwhile, several of these characters run into each other when they are -- let's just say looking for love in all the wrong places. And out at Langley, a senior CIA officer briefed on the situation (J.K. Simmons of "Juno") orders that the FBI be kept out, a body in question be "burned," and that he get an update "when it all makes sense." That will be a long wait.

The real fun here is seeing the wickedly comic deftness of Clooney and Pitt, liberated from the burden of glamor and clearly enjoying themselves tremendously. Tilda Swinton is nicely steely as Cox's doctor wife, Richard Jenkins is endearingly timid as the lovelorn manager of the health club, and McDormand delivers as the relentlessly positive believer in the infinite possibilities of self-improvement. There are some lightly touched themes of delusion, "negativity," and looking for love in all the wrong places that might be a glimpse of a larger statement about world affairs. But we can't be expected to unpack all of that for at least a decade. In the meantime, those who are looking for a return to the confounding archness and stylized dryness from the minds of the Coens will enjoy this latest peek into their view of the world.

Somewhere inside this Adam Sandler slacker silliness there is a fierce and provocative little satire trying to get out. Sandler is so busy with his usual shtick that at times it seems that even he hardly notices the subversive political humor bubbling up around him.

Sandler plays Zohan, a top Israeli assassin, who can slaughter terrorists with one hand while he scoops hummus with the other. He is commando as rock star, universally admired and adored by all women. But Zohan dreams of peace and hairdressing. He decides to fake his own death and move to the United States where he can spend his days making hair shiny and silky. Soon he has transformed himself with an 80's haircut and has a job sweeping up hair in a beauty salon on the Palestinian side of the street in a middle Eastern neighborhood of New York and is happily having sex with all of the elderly patrons and his landlady (all-purpose ethnic hot mama Lainie Kazan).

Comedians most often rely on ineptitude at work or with women to get laughs, but Sandler's characters are often very successful in both. That leaves only gross-outs and silliness for humor, and that is what Sandler gives us, over and over. Lots of jokes about sex with old ladies (who are all thrilled with his prowess), bare tushes (male and female), the consternation of his landlady's nerdy son over his mother's unabashed sexual encounters, the ability to withstand pain, made-up euphemisms for sex, random pop star cameos, and of course one of Sandler's theme moves -- a sharp implement being thrust into the body of someone who feels no pain. We've seen most of this before.

But the movie also has moments of surreal humor, some remarkably adept and surprisingly understated political satire, and better roles than usual for Sandler's frequent co-stars John Turturro and Rob Schneider. Its (almost) even-handed jibes at just about everyone are refreshing. Of course the real bad guy is a white American, but the movie's notion that this is a place where people may hate and do crazy things but they can all agree on the importance of shiny hair, good Chinese food, and the other things that really matter in life is sweetly hopeful. All the crotch-rubbing and hummus humor feels tired and shrill when we see would-be terrorists put on hold from the bomb-building line, cheerfully reassured by the recorded voice that "we will resume service as soon as negotiations break down" or a bunch of enemies interrupting a confrontation to speculate on the, uh, appeal of Hillary Clinton.

The outrageous stereotyping and stereotype tweaking of characters on the basis of race, culture, religion, and nationality may be softened or even sanitized by the content that falls into the "normally offensive" category, the stereotyping and stereotype tweaking of old ladies (sexually voracious or addled, often both), the constant vulgarity, Sandler's annoying idea of an accent. Or it may be that it is just a distraction that lets the political satire sneak in under the radar. But this glimpse of something a little more ambitious, a little more substantive adds a level of freshness and interest that is a welcome change from Sandler's increasingly stale snigger-fests.

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