Starman is not a good movie. And let me be clear from the onset: it’s not that the film doesn’t work simply because John Carpenter decided to make a love story, nor is it because he decided to make a blood/horror free science-fiction film. And it certainly isn’t because of Jeff Bridges. No, the acting is light years better than Carpenter’s previous film, Christine, but it’s just, well, banal. The whole thing chugs along its familiar “road movie” path towards its inevitable ending that feels like nothing more than another studio trying to make its own E.T. (hey, at least it’s better than Mac and Me). I admire Bridges' performance and Carpenter’s desire to make a non-genre film (although I’m sure he’d be the first to admit that even though he got into the business to be a studio filmmaker in Hollywood, he really just made Starman for the money), but Starman ultimately is as forgettable as Christine: a movie with a handful of elements that get the viewer through the experience unscathed but will evaporate from one's mind by day’s end. In fact, the experience I had watching Carpenter's two films post-The Thing reminded me of a popular Truffaut quote: “I demand that a film express either the joy of making cinema or the agony of making cinema. I am not at all interested in anything in between.” Boy, are Christine and Starman two films smack-dab "in between."