“The Descendants” is about a man waking up in the middle of his life.  That’s ironic, because it features a woman in a coma who will never wake up.

George Clooney plays a  lawyer in Hawaii. He’s a descendant of some of the first Haolis to immigrate to the island, and, as such, has fabulous wealth.  But he’s been living his life on autopilot, simply doing the next logical thing, for years. His marriage is falling apart, and he feels no real connection to his two daughters, the older of which is in boarding school on another island.

The movie opens with Clooney’s wife in a coma, the result of a boating accident.  He is struggling to find the next logical thing to do, waffling between either staying disconnected or trying to remember how to connect.  When the doctors tell him it’s time to unplug his wife, he gathers his children to him and begins the awkward, painful process of visiting myriad friends and family and encouraging them to say goodbye to her before she’s gone. He learns some painful things about her along the way.  The film is really about the way he deals with what he learns, and the surprising ways his decisions depart from simply doing what’s expected of him and venture into areas of growth, healing, and reconciliation.

This is George Clooney’s best work yet.  He’s always had trouble escaping the slick, sexy stereotype; usually, in dramas like “Michael Clayton” and “Up in the Air,” he’s used it to his advantage.   Here, he manages to come across as a bit vacant, a little lost a little unsure what to do or how to act.  In fact, Clooney’s growth as an actor matches this character perfectly: here’s a guy who usually has it all together and projects a powerful image of success, but right now he’s in uncharted territory, trying to figure things out without much of a script.

Director Alexander Payne has crafted a series of thoughtful, awkwardly funny, beautifully composed films about men leaving their “normal” life behind to discover something deeper, truer, but also more unpredictable and, in a way, dangerous.  “The Descendants” bears a lot in common with “About Schmidt,” though it’s not as interested in going for laughs (there are laughs scattered throughout “The Descendants,”  but they come at awkward moments, and you’re almost embarrassed to laugh.)  And, like “Sideways,” this film is about how yearning for the better, deeper, truer things in life opens up incredible potential for misery, but also for happiness.

A lot of intensely painful things happen in “The Descendants,” and that’s going to keep many people away from it (my wife will never watch it.)  But in the end, it’s a hopeful movie, not because good things happen to people (whether they deserve them or not,) but because our protagonist has grown through the pain.  He’s rediscovered both the joy and pain of being alive, of being in relationship with other people, and of not knowing what to do next.  It’s a powerful film, and one of the best  of the year.

I remember enjoying the twistiness and gadgetry of the first one “Mission:Impossible” movie,  and then thinking the second was too caught up in being “stylish” (all I really remember is slow motion doves flying up in front of a car chase) to be much fun.  The third was just a bad movie (but with a  good villain) that came at a time with the ill will directed towards Tom Cruise was perhaps at its peak.  The franchise looked dead at that point, killed by Cruise’s couch jumping and bad direction.

Cruise has made some attempts to rehabilitate his reputation, mostly by not jumping on couches and wearing a fat suit in “Tropic Thunder.”  Director Brad Bird does the same thing for the Mission: Impossible brand, bringing in Simon Pegg and a wonderfully irreverent script for “Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol.”  Even that title seems like a sly joke – a colon and then a dash?

Simon Pegg shows, as he did in “Star Trek,”  that he can bring comic relief to action films without being distracting or spoiling the action.  That’s really a balancing act, and I think he should get more credit than he does.  The travesty of “Paul” aside, he might be the best comic actor working today.  I’ll watch him instead Seth Rogen or Jonah Hill any day.

Brad Bird is really in control of this movie.  Without his name attached (I have so much respect for him because of “Iron Giant” and “The Incredibles”) I probably wouldn’t have bothered with this film.  But I love the direction he takes M:I, accentuating its essential silliness without losing the thrill of its action.

The plot is so twisty and ridiculous it’s almost impossible to follow, let alone remember after leaving the movie theater.  Let’s see…Simon Pegg and Paula Patton break Cruise out of jail, and they’re working on an operation at the Kremlin, when the place blows up and they get blamed, so they have to stage a car crash and go on the lam to stop a criminal mastermind who wants to blow the world up in order to start the evolutionary process over again (or something) and just might have the nuclear codes to do it.  Really, does it matter?  It’s convoluted and action-packed and there was at least one sequence where it seemed to me like the sudden twist made the whole operation pointless, but they went ahead with it anyway.

More important that what happens is the way it happens; everything this M:I team tries to do goes wrong.  Everything.  The famous mask-making machine sputters and dies halfway through a mask.  The gadget-gloves that allow Tom Cruise to go all Spiderman on the tallest building in the world…don’t work.  The sexy seductress freezes up in front of her target and barely manages to get him to the bedroom.  If these guys were any more bumbling, Rowan Atkinson should be playing Ethan Hunt instead of Tom Cruise.  We teeter right on the edge of comedy and parody, and yet still Brad Bird still manages to make a thrilling action film.

From director Tomas Alfredson, whose “Let the Right One In” is probably the best vampire movie made in decades, comes another film heavy in mood and atmosphere.  ”Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” is based on a classic John LeCarre novel about British top intelligence operatives.  Few authors wrote Cold War spy thrillers as well as LeCarre, and the genius is in the details.  These are guys who pay furious attention to those details, and betray nothing in their actions or expressions.  You don’t want to play poker with these guys. Unfortunately, this film’s devotion to “real” spy work (or what I assume is more real that the James Bond) type also makes it a difficult film to digest.   It’s almost all fiber, no sugar.

The year is 1973, and there’s a mole (a double agent) in the highest circle of British intelligence.  Gary Oldman plays Smiley, a former operative who was fired after an operation gone wrong (through no fault of his own — more of a housecleaning.) He is brought in covertly to discover who the mole might be.  The candidates are an all-star list of actors, including Toby Jones, Ciaran Hinds, and Colin Firth.  Also involved along the way are a Russian cultural attaché, who might be a double agent, an officer gone MIA (Tom Hardy) who might have been turned by the Russians or might be trying, under deep cover, to bring in someone who knows the mole’s identity.   The case turns on the slightest detail — honestly, it’s a snippet of a conversation that gets played over and over, but I’m still not sure where it originated.  And of course, capturing the mole before he can disappear is almost as difficult as learning his identity was.

Everything that happens here is slow (some might say dull, and not be wrong) but also taut and often tense. The central sequence – one can hardly call it action — hinges on a subordinate’s ability to sneak a log book out of a warehouse full of them. It’s tense for sure, but still…you want  a bit more in a spy thriller.  Many are going to call this a “thinking man’s thriller,” and that’s a slam on those who will find it boring, insinuating that they’re unwilling to think.  But I consider myself a thinking man, I tend to like “thinking man’s” movies, and I still have to say — this one was sometimes dull. It is clear to me why I could never get through a John LeCarre book. Everything happens in such a muted way. If you don’t pay close attention, you’re likely to get lost and never found again. Nothing is obvious, and the film rarely goes back and explains something the characters understand but the audience may not have grasped yet.

I expect there is a high degree here of plausibility here, and that’s why it’s so slow – such a devotion to the way real spy work is done, behind blank faces, and with a high degree of attention played to the smallest detail.  It reminded me of “The Good Shepherd,” a movie from a few years ago that was about the birth of the CIA.   “Tinker Tailor” is undoubtedly superior,b ut both are super muted spy chronicles, with a focus on the toil this kind of life spent in secrecy and distrust takes on the spies and their handlers.

This film has gotten great reviews, and is certain to make a strong showing at the awards shows this spring.  It’s well-made, and there’s a great deal to admire about it.  But there’s sometimes a difference between admiring a film and enjoying it, just as there’s a difference between thinking about a film and watching one.  My suspicion is that this might be a film about which critics rave, but leaves audiences feeling a bit cold and underwhelmed.

This movie, with the impossible-to-remember-title, is certainly one of the best of 2011.   It’s the story of a young woman who escapes from a backwoods cult after suffering serious psychological and emotional abuse.  She was never imprisoned by the cult, except perhaps in her mind.  She takes refuge with her yuppie sister and her husband at their vacation home, and they have plenty of issues of their own, ranging from stored up resentment against her for simply disappearing years before, to a nearly cultish devotion to style, status, and success.  The parallels “Martha” draws between backwoods, brainwashed radicals and the more mainstream, widely accepted cult of success are penetrating and illuminating.

Elizabeth Olsen plays the titular protagonist.  I was shocked to discover that she’s the little sister of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen; she’s certainly embarked on a different career path.  She looks more like a young Maggie Gyllenhaal than a young teen idol.  She might turn out to be the one in the family with actual talent; her performance here is nuanced, restrained, and never false for a moment.  Opposite her (at times, not often enough) as the cult leader  is John Hawkes, who is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors.  His unconventional looks complement a deep gravity and screen presence that can’t be denied; here is a man who is capable of brainwashing and manipulating the multitudes.  I suppose, to an extent, what makes him an effective cult leader is also what makes him a fascinating actor. His mere presence is captivating.

Director Sean Durkin handles his duties like he’s in charge of a horror film, which is sometimes effective, and sometimes confusing.  The soundtrack maintains that same low, ominous hum that works so effectively in the “Paranormal Activity” films to suffuse everyday scenes with a sense of dread.  But, as with many films lately, I found myself wishing for more classical camerawork.  Shots are too often filled with ears, boobs, and chins.  What’s wrong with framing a face?  Especially in a movie where all the action is happening behind that face.

Also like a lot of recent movies, “Martha Marcy May Marlene” ends suddenly, and with no resolution.  The last thirty minutes drag a bit, after a tense beginning, and then it just stops. I don’t know why.  This is a fantastic film, certainly one of the best of the year.  I only wish it had gone on a little longer, and brought itself to a more satisfying conclusion.

“The Adventures of Tintin” is a rollicking action/adventure story that never sits still, hearkening back to an age of comic book serials, when the writer had maybe ten panels to pick up where the story left off, take us on an adventure, and then end on a cliffhanger to make you buy the next issue.   So much happens so fast in this film that I’m not quite sure I kept up. Our hero, Tintin, is a newspaper reporter of indeterminate age (late teens?  early twenties?) on the track of the greatest story of all time.  A quick glance at the framed headlines on his walls show that he’s always on the track of such a story; it’s a glamorous life, that of us journalists, and few can keep up.   Do your best.

Tintin buy a model ship at a flea market that contains a secret message.  Actually there are three model ships with secret messages, and a gran villain (Daniel Craig) has the other one.  A great deal of the action happens in pursuit of the third ship; it belongs to a sheik and is encased in bulletproof glass.  One of the many pleasures of “Tintin” is the return of classically exotic adventure locales; in quick order we are aboard a giant steamer, then adrift at sea, then wandering through the desert, then ambushing a Middle Eastern palace.   Few action movies enjoy their locations as much as this one.

The cast of characters around Tintin salt the swashbuckle with generous dashes of humor.   Snowy seems like the real hero most of the time – where would Tintin be without his smart and incredibly resourceful dog?  Simon Pegg & Nick Frost bumble along as police inspectors Thomson and Thompson, and, of course, there’s drunken, melodramatic Captain Haddock. It might be troubling for some parents that Haddock, Tintin’s other sidekick, is only useful when he’s drunk, which is most of the time.  At one point, his sudden soberness is a real problem that must immediately be “fixed” for the story to go forward.  I don’t remember him being drunk quite this often in the comics, which I started reading around the age of 12, and then got my little brother addicted to when he was about 12.   (He thinks “Adventures of Tintin” is the best movie of the year.  He might be right.)

At first glance, “Submarine” looks like a film in the school of Noah Baumbach and (especially) Wes Anderson, but looks can be deceiving.  Because while director Richard Ayoade uses the same tools as Anderson et al – precocious prep school kid, overly stylized/formalized sets & costumes, etc. – he’s using them for different purposes.  The wonder of Anderson’s films is how such unbelievable characters can actually become real over the course of the film; they reveal hearts, they grow warm even while remaining stiff, and they feel like people we know after two hours with them.  Odd people for sure, but we love them because of their oddities.

That’s not what Ayaode’s up to.  The characters in “Submarine” remain frustratingly opaque, never revealing their true intentions or motivations, rarely emerging from the shells they have built to keep the world out.  And this isn’t bad writing; it appears to be the very purpose of the film.  Protagonist Craig Roberts lives in a world of inscrutable people; he can’t figure out what anyone wants or needs, least of all himself.  In contrast to that is the horrifying ability these people – again, including himself – have to cause each other harm and injury.  In “Submarine,” everyone runs around in terribly ineffective suits of armor.

Roberts has a crush on Yasmin Paige, that blossoms into a relationship – his first girlfriend.  Except that she’s only going through the motions (even the most intimate motions) and doesn’t seem all that into him.  Or is she?   She’s hard to read.  Everyone is.  Meanwhile, his mother’s old flame(Paddy Considine) has moved in next door, and he can’t understand why his father isn’t more upset about the growing warmth – and maybe more – between his mom and this other guy.  Or is he upset?  He’s also hard to read.

“Submarine” is about people who have locked their emotions so deeply away that even when they go to look for them, they’re not sure where to look.  There’s a great scene where Roberts breaks into Considine’s house, intending to do something really terrible and outrageous to his father’s competitor — but can’t think of what to do.  And then when he does thing of something, can barely bring himself to do it physically.  He’s trying so hard to act out of control, but it’s foreign territory for him.   Control has been his bulwark; schemes and plans determine how he acts.  It’s not that he’s unemotional – he’s a raging sea on the inside – it’s that he doesn’t have any idea how to simply let his emotions determine his actions.

This is Richard Ayoade’s first film, and one hopes for many more similar to it.  He’s earned the right to be mentioned alongside Wes Anderson, who I consider one of the best, most interesting filmmakers working.   Yet his film has its own distinct tang – Anderson’s characters warm up and we love them; Ayoade’s stay cold and we love them just the same.  It’s quite a feat for a first time director.  And this is quite a film.

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Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

There seems to be a quest for a certain kind of lost movie magic in the theaters this year.  I first noticed it in “Super 8,” a pretty good movie that might have been better if it wasn’t trying to hard to be “E.T.”  (Really, it made me just want to watch “E.T.” again, and when I did, I marveled at how effortlessly that film achieved what “Super 8″ was straining so hard for.) And now, I get the same feeling from Martin Scorsese’s “Hugo.”  This is a film that really wants to capture that sense of childlike wonder, of magic and miracles.  It wants it so bad, it practically sweats with effort.  And as a famous fashion designer told us in the ’80s, you should never let them see you sweat.

Asa Butterfield (who looks like a young Elijah Wood) is an orphan living in a train station in Paris.  I’m not quite positive of the timeframe, but I would guess it’s the ’30s.   (Just those three elements alone – an orphan, a train station in the ’30s, and Paris – are so loaded with trope and cinematic cliché that they ought to give any film an overload of sentimentality and “movie magic.”  It’s like Scorsese is saying, in the first ten minutes, that he’s not going to hold back – at all.  This movie is meant to warm your heart, to make you cry, to make you hug your neighbor and send Christmas cards to your worst enemies, and, by golly, he’s going to pull out all the stops to make that happen.)

Back to the plot.  When he suddenly died in fire, the orphan’s father had working to repair a mysterious mechanical man he found in the attic of a museum.  His son carries on the work, but in order to do so, he must steal parts from the toy maker whose shop is in the train station.  One day the toy maker (Ben Kingsley) catches him and confiscates his notebook, which is full of diagrams and notes on the repair work.  The toy maker has an annoying granddaughter (Chloe Grace Moretz, who seems to know she’s the current “hot child actress” – she ruins almost every scene she’s in with her smugness and smirks) who is keen for adventure, so agrees to help the orphan recover his notebook and repair the mechanical man.  I don’t want to give too much away, so let me just say that in doing so, they discover that Kingsley has a secret past and is in desperate need of the kind of emotional/spiritual redemption orphans who live in trains stations are so talented at bringing about.

“Hugo” is a visual marvel.  One senses that Scorsese grasps the possibilities of 3D cinema better than anybody except James Cameron — or that he decided, in light of his remarkable career, that he wasn’t going to do a 3D movie unless he was sure he could do it right.  ”Hugo” goes on my (extremely) short list of movies that are actually worth the extra price of admission and hassle with the glasses to watch in 3D.   The breathtaking visuals are probably where “Hugo” comes closest to the feeling of magic it strives for.   And, really, the tone of this piece is awfully critical, but “Hugo” is a pretty good, very enjoyable movie.  It’s just not the grand magical spectacle it sets out to be.  It feels overstuffed,  jammed with characters falling in love, finding redemption, remembering to hope, and being captured by the magic of nostalgia.  There’s just too much going on here.  And sometimes less really is more.

There’s a lot of buzz about how this story is a parable for Scorsese’s own growing up, his own story of being a sickly child who couldn’t go out and play with the other kids, so found refuge in movies.  But I wish he would’ve just told his own story instead of cramming his love for movies and their magic into a sentimental “orphan’s quest for connection” story.  The stuff about the movies – especially the Harold Lloyd and Trip to the Moon bit – are some of the best sequences in the film.  They also feel like the most effortless.  Around them are a crowd of scenes that, like “Super 8,” feel like they’re trying so hard to be magical they can barely breathe.

[Rating; 2.5/5]

I must confess, I’m a little bit confused about what kind of movie “Ides of March” wants to be.

It might be because I’ve been watching a lot of “West Wing” lately, and the basic setup of the TV series and “Ides of March” are the same.  They’re not about politicians; they’re about the politicians support staff.   George Clooney is in the early stages of a run for President.   Ryan Gosling is Clooney’s assistant campaign manager; he’s front and center.  Philip Seymour Hoffman’s his boss, and Paul Giamatti is the CM for the other side.  Marisa Tomei (proving, after all these years, that she actually CAN act) is an aggressively inquisitive reporter, and Rachel Evan Wood is a hot young intern with connections.

And so it feels like a feature-length episoe of “West Wing,” which, frankly, isn’t that bad an idea for a movie.  There’s plenty of behind-the-boss drama to tap in that vein; movies like “The Manchurian Candidate” and, um, “The Candidate” have gone there but really have barely scratched the surface; a dozen more movies could be made along the same lines (as long as they don’t have “Candidate” in the title.)

But the thing about these films (and West Wing) is that they are suffused with hope and the optimism of democracy from beginning to end — even when they’re about brainwashed candidates with Lady MacBeth mothers.  The good guys win in the end, because that’s the way democracy works, in spite of all appearances to the contrary.  ”Ides of March” is, on the other hand, awfully glum and cynical.   The candidate’s a douchebag.  The people who believe in him end up dead, or sucked into a terrible, back-stabbing system.   As the Presidential primary’s just gearing up, is this really the message that George Clooney — who not only starred but directed and produced – is wanting to send to the masses?   That our beloved political system is broken beyond repair, and driven by ruthless, calculating men who keep out of sight and pull the strings?

Actually, I think “Ides of March” might be trying to be something else entirely, something the “West Wing” comparisons, though inevitable, don’t help it to be.  It’s possible that “Ides of March” might be trying to be a morality tale following the same arc as “The Godfather.”  Ryan Gosling is a version of Michael Corleone, a young man attached to power but determined to not let it corrupt him.  (“That’s my family, Kay, that’s not me.”)   He knows about the dirty tricks that go down in politics, but he’s determined not to engage in them; he also really thinks his guy could change the world for ordinary people in powerful and positive ways. But then things start to happen, lives and careers get put on the line, and he finds himself making choices he never imagined possible.  By the end, he is just as ruthless and calculating as the people he despises.

I say it’s possible to see “Ides of March” that way, because I don’t think it really works that well.  ”Godfather” this ain’t; the pieces are there, but they don’t add up all that convincingly.   Really, it’s much easier to see this as a glum, gloomy, and cynical look at the way our political system works.  Like a candidate who can’t get traction outside of his home state, “Ides of March” might have ambitions to be more than what it appears to be, but can’t quite find the right rhythm, footing, or support.

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Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

I saw the trailer for “50/50″ and thought, “Really? A comedy about cancer? ”   I mean, isn’t that the standard way to say something not funny at all, to say it’s “as funny as cancer?”   Is it even possible to make cancer funny?  And are the makers of this film brave/stupid enough to try?

Well, not really.  Turns out that trailer was pretty deceptive; “50/50″ isn’t half as funny as it makes it look.  That’s not altogether a bad thing.  (Actually, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing at all.)  Instead of a goofy stoner comedy — the kind of thing you’d expect Seth Rogen and Joseph Gordon Leavitt–this film is heartfelt, warm, and emotional.  Yeah, it’s a tearjerker.  You’ll be crying before you finish it.  You will.

So just enter the theater with that expectation.  Sometimes a good cry is exactly what you need, and, aside from certain moments in certain Pixar films, a good cry at the movies has been hard to come by lately.

Joseph Gordon-Leavitt is a young, somewhat anal-retentive NPR documentarian who contracts a weird kind of cancer in his back that will probably kill him.   Seth Rogen is his best friend, which stretches believability a bit; he’s sloppy and goofy and mostly interested in getting laid.  He also works at NPR, mysteriously.   This is all based on a true story penned by Will Reiser, and from what I hear, Rogen and Reiser are close, so Rogen’s actually playing himself in the film.  Which is wierd, because I generally feel like Rogen is almost always playing himself in his films; if in real life he is actually something other than a slacker/stoner who alternates between talking too much and hiding how smart he actually is lest his slacker/stoner friends thinks he’s a nerd, I’ll be terribly shocked.  I might have a heart attack.  I guess as long as he’s not actually that guy he playes in “Observe in Report,” it’s all okay.

Gordon-Leavitt also has a terrible girlfriend, played by Bryce Dallas Howard, who is pretty to look at but can’t act much, and a therapist/love interest in Anna Kendrick, who isn’t all that pretty to look at (no matter how low-cut her dresses) but can invest a frown/grimace with worlds of emotion.  Angelica Huston is his worried/over-protective mom; all of these supporting people struggle to figure out how to support their cancer-ridden friend, who struggles to accept their support.

It’s all pretty heartfelt, and director Jonathan Levine does a more than decent job of balancing the moments of humor with the pathos and sentimentality.  It all builds to a real tearjerker of a scene, and I’m not going to tell you whether it ends well or sadly.   You’ll have to see for yourself.

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[Rating: 3/5]

It’s hard to say what “Moneyball” is about, really. It’s easy to say it’s about baseball, and Billy Beane, and the 2002 Oakland Athletics, but that’s not getting at it.  It’s tempting to say — and I’ve seen people say– that it’s about trusting new-fangled statistical analysis over old-fashioned scouts’ conventional wisdom and instincts, but that’s really missing the point.  A movie about replacing people with computers ought to be cold and heartless.  In that movie, Billy Beane is like the guy who invented SkyNet in the “Terminator” franchise; he may not know what’s he doing, but he’s bringing about the apocalypse with his ignorance. Instead, at the heart of “Moneyball” is a man with guts, intelligence and instincts.  He’s good at what he does, but he’s tired of hitting the glass ceiling of small market baseball teams.  He can develop talented ballplayers, but the minute they have a choice, they jump ship for the big markets and the big money.  So he turns to unconventional sources in an attempt to look at the game from a different angle.

After losing the ALCS in five games to the big-budget Yankees, and then losing 3 of his best players in the offseason to big-budget teams, Billy Beane (played by Brad Pitt, who is in almost every frame of this film) decides it’s time to do something different.  He’s tired of developing young talent into stars and then watching them bolt for the bigger markets and bigger contracts as soon as they get good.  He’s tired of replacing stars with prospects.  So he looks to Jonah Hill.  (OK, this is odd and irrelevant, but I’ve got to get it off my chest.  Jonah Hill plays a character named Peter Brand in the film.  But it’s clearly, obviously based on Paul DePodesta.  Why did they change the name?  Beane’s name is the same, as is Art Howe’s, Johnny Damon’s, Scott Hatteberg’s, David Justice’s and many others.  Some of those guys — namely Howe and Damon — come off looking less than great.  DePodesta looks like a nerdy genius who can do no wrong.  So why is he called Peter Brand?)

Hill and Pitt develop a system of rating players based primarily on their ability to get on base.  This generates a list of underrated, easily affordable players, and they proceed to go get those players, much to the costernation of their owner, fans, and especially managers (the aforementioned Howe, played stoically by Philip Seymour Hoffman) who is completely baffled and angered by this new strategy and refuses to play the new guys.  But a rough start to the season turns itself around via a 20 game winning streak – unheard of in baseball, or any sport, really – and an unexpected return to the playoffs.

This is a very warm, human film; it’s about one man’s instincts and daring versus a big, entrenched system of conventional wisdom and established scouting ideas.  In a way, it has a lot in common with “The Social Network;” they’re both about intrepid, controversial innovators, albeit in very different fields.  Aaron Sorkin wrote both movies; maybe they feel alike because of his hand, or maybe he’s just drawn to this type of project.

But “Moneyball” is frustratingly uneven. Snappy, entertaining sequences bearing Sorkin’s trademark gift for dialogue are broken up by slow, sodden bits about Beane’s past failures, doubts, and personal life (the girl who plays his daughter is cute enough, but she doesn’t belong in this movie.) And then it picks back up again, then slows to a skid.  Really, it plays a bit like a 162 game baseball season, full of streaks and slumps.  Ted Williams famously said that the trick to good hitting was to keep the valleys from becoming canyons, and “Moneyball” mostly manages that.  But Ted Williams it ain’t.