If you're like me, you've spent hours trying to figure out Charlize Theron's movie career, but only if by "figure out her career," you mean "attempting to see through her blouse by sheer force of will." Because, let's be honest, very few actors have managed a succession of films quite as depressing as a hers, and only the bravest soul could make it through a Theron filmfest (or, as I like to call it, a Theronathon) unscathed. If her character isn't being sexually harassed by mine workers, she's being driven crazy by Satan. If she's not having her asthmatic child ransomed by a psychopath, she's being forced to act opposite Keanu Reeves. Hasn't this woman ever heard of light comedy? Someone get her agent some antidepressants, quick.

It wasn't always this grim. Her career started promisingly, costarring with the least depressing costar possible, a giant, hairy monkey. For a good part of the film, Char is just happily frolicking in African fields with said monkey, named Joe "Mighty" Young (essentially the younger, less popular brother of "Homecoming" King Kong's ), until some bozo convinces her that California's the place they oughta be. Next thing you know, Joe's on a wild rampage because his assistant brought him Evian instead of Perrier, and the California National Guard's brandishing tranquilizer guns. (Coincidentally, same thing happened to Brando once.)

Still, unlike Kong (and most of Charlize's films that followed for that matter), Joe's story ends on a happy note. After JOE, Ms. Theron would never again star with a giant, hairy monkey, unless you count Keanu, which you shouldn't, because he waxes. All her films would involve her character either being possessed or oppressed, although, for some reason, rarely both at the same time.

Lately, much to the joy of the Academy, she's concentrated on making "important" movies these days, ones with less makeup and more socially uplifting messages like, "Don't sexually harass your coworkers, even if they're hot," and "Stay away from psychotic, homicidal prostitutes." Quite a change from back in the 1990s, when the only message you could reasonably discern from a Charlize flick like THE ASTRONAUT'S WIFE was "Don't have your psycho, ex-astronaut husband's babies." And, not that I'm one to tell the film's producers how to do their jobs, but just how relevant is that to your audience's lives? An informal poll of my coworkers revealed that I should pack up my desk and security will escort me out. But does Hollywood, in their ivory towers, want to hear that? No! They just want to go on warning us about the dangers of sex with NASA employees.

Even if I were in any sort of danger of evil astronaut impregnation, which I'm fairly sure I'm not, I'm not sure I needed 110 minutes of the movie to figure that out, especially since the first 98 of those minutes are spent watching Charlize's character overreact to tedious, everyday things. Sometimes her husband can't sleep! He listens to an old radio! He has a ridiculous Southern accent! Cue the suspense music! (No, seriously. Cue it. And then leave it on for two hours, regardless of any actual suspense on the screen. Congratulations, you are now capable of directing a major Hollywood motion picture!)

Of course, in the final ten minutes, we learn that maybe she wasn't so paranoid after all. Turns out, her hubby is kinda-sorta possessed by an evil invader from outer space, which explains a lot of his suspicious behavior (although not the accent). Still, does Charlize even take a moment to consider the upside of her pregnancy? For instance: Our future alien overlords will probably kill and eat their own mother last. That's something to look forward to, right? Because, honestly, if these guys are able to hit an specific astronaut with a mind-altering signal from 3.6 billion light years away, is there really any chance of a happy ending here?

Not if there's no monkey costars we don't...

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