"You're right. Staring at my own palm is more interesting than this movie."

In space, no one can hear you yawn.

Solaris is a slow, ponderous, uninvolving movie. It's five pounds of story in a ten-pound bag. It's . . . Well, I think I made my point. (As a disclaimer, I felt the same way about 2001: A Space Odyssey, so if you liked that movie you may enjoy this one as well.)

The movie is about Chris Kelvin, a widowed psychologist who is called in to investigate mysterious goings on at a space station that's studying something called Solaris. When he gets there, he finds that most of the crew is dead. The two survivors are shell-shocked and paranoid and, aside from a few cryptic comments, not particularly helpful. That night, Chris wakes up to find his dead wife alive and well and smiling at him from across the room. Where did she come from? Is it really his wife? And what is Solaris?

These questions and more may or may not be answered during the course of the movie, but they'll be interspersed with so many repetitive flashbacks, belabored themes and lingering shots of the slowly spinning space station that I expect you'll find it hard to care. Writer-director Steven Soderbergh seems to think he's telling a much deeper and more complex story than he really is and so he keeps telling it over and over again.

The news isn't all bad. The performances, starting with George Clooney's tormented psychologist, are across the board excellent. Clooney brings a low-key, restrained approach to the role that works perfectly for a character whose struggle is all internal. I also liked Jeremy Davies as Snow, the twitchier of the station's two inhabitants, who talks a lot but says little, and Viola Davis as Gordon, a wary scientist. Natascha McElhone, with her wide eyes and Mona Lisa smile, is nicely mysterious and fragile as Chris' wife Rheya.

Solaris has some interesting ideas on the nature of relationships, but they've been crafted into a solemn, cold, humorless film that takes itself much too seriously. Even worse, it all feels very done-before. The story seems like a Twilight Zone retread and Soderbergh recycles his own styles and techniques until they become predictable. Like in The Limey, he plays with the theme of memory, which he symbolizes by many, many shots of Rheya looking meaningfully into the camera. His non-linear style, which worked so well in Out of Sight, amounts to very little here. Solaris is like one of the balloon characters in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade: interesting to look at, but ultimately full of nothing but air.

Gorilla Pants rating: 1 out of 4 bananas