Milos Forman's "biopic" on the late Andy Kaufman is little more than an anthology of Greatest Bits: the Mighty Mouse lip-sync on Saturday Night Live, the Vegas lounge singer "Tony Clifton," the Intergender Wrestling Champ, etc. (And hence the complete absence of the entertainer's big-screen career: Heartbeeps, In God We Trust.) Jim Carrey does his utmost -- to say nothing of his makeup man's utmost -- to look and sound like the genuine article. But although he can link his eyebrows, he cannot chip away his jutting brow and chin. Where Kaufman would appear open and ingenuous, Carrey always looks a little devious and devilish. It's the difference between a rib-tickler and a pain in the neck. And it's a big difference when the sole and repetitive point of the movie is simply that people never knew how to take him. (There are countless audience reaction shots to illustrate the point.) His chief collaborator and cheerleader, Bob Zmuda, blankly impersonated on screen by Paul Giamatti, is credited as Co-Executive Producer, and we might have expected, from that, a bit more insight into, a bit more fleshing-out of, the private person. What we get instead is more mythologizing. Danny DeVito, Courtney Love. (1999) — Duncan Shepherd