This is such a good story, and such a gifted cast and crew, that watching the film go off the rails is a real tragedy. It was always going to be difficult, because reading a novel lets us supply the imagery that will be problematic on screen. Namely, Hopkins and Miller as the whitest black men we've ever seen! But their performances are good enough to even make this work. What isn't good enough is Meyers' screenplay, which flattens the story's delicate satire of political correctness gone mad. Everything is so obvious it hurts; the central issues are both overstated and muddled.

And while Kidman is always good, she's simply wrong for this role--far too glamorous to be a blue-collar worker, and far too trashy to be someone from a privileged background. The character needs someone with a weary worldliness who looks older than her years. But Benton seems intent on filming Kidman like a sexy porn star, complete with impeccable makeup, carefully mussed-up hair and soft-focus nudity. It's so misjudged that it brings the film screeching to a halt. It also doesn't help that Kidman and Hopkins only have father-daughter chemistry (Hopkins and Sinise have more spark!). And despite expert production quality, the film is awkwardly structured, cutting back and forth between the 1940s and today at seemingly random points. Basically it's a well-made but uninvolving mess that only works in Hopkins' eyes (his blush of attraction for Kidman is wonderful) and in his sharply played scenes with Sinise. Otherwise it's an ironic examination of racism reduced to a lifeless potboiler.