Tom Hanks should have stopped making movies a decade ago. The latest effort, Polar Express, is obviously a grave error because the book was perfect as it was. The movie will no doubt embitter those who appreciate Chris Van Allsburg. The Terminal, a further oeuvre by the indefatigable Spielberg, looks to be an emblematic part of this dull roster. What, exactly, does he think he's doing there? Beguiling the audience? I can't think of another actor, of his generation or any other, who has done so much to wring pure mediocrity from such a burgeoning career. With Bosom Buddies and Big, a window started to open for Tom Hanks; it closed with Forest Gump, which ought have been the opportunity that Pulp Fiction was for John Travolta. It was meant to classify him as an actor. It did. But there was nothing there.

Hugh Grant and Colin Firth are starting to look and act alike. Directors will soon no longer face the dilemma of having to choose one over the other since it won't matter. "Who will we get to play the quirky British guy? Colin or Hugh?" "Oh—whoever's free. Which one is which, anyway?"