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So, the two men develop an cunning plan to switch places, allowing Vincent to get into Gattaca and live out his dream while Jerome sits at home drinking his sorrows away. All they have to do is collect an endless sample of urine, blood, skin, hair and saliva specimens, record Jerome's heart beat each morning, commit themselves to utter secrecy and carry out a grueling, clockwork series of daily rituals designed to pull the whole thing off long enough for Vincent to get himself into space. There's simply no way anything could go wrong - unless of course, Vincent were to...I don't know...fall in love with Uma Thurman or something. And you know how Uma Thurman is, always ruining things with her...prettiness...and stuff.

Yes, at Gattaca Vincent discovers a kindred spirit in Irene, a fellow astronaut who finds herself relegated to flying scrub missions because she's only "mostly" perfect. But in contrast with Jerome, Irene takes being 99% fantastic like a champ, bravely wandering the halls of Gattaca a sullen, withdrawn, tall and pretty temptress. She and Vincent start dating, and it seems like everything's coming up roses. But when an unforeseen event threatens to unravel Vincent's plans, he suddenly must choose between chasing his dream or following his heart, even as his past returns to haunt him in unexpected ways.

From Columbia Pictures...the inspiring, not entirely true story of one man who refused to let fate rule his destiny...

Sorry. Got carried away. I know that on paper, Gattaca sounds a little pedestrian and even - depending on how well read you are - slightly derivative. But there's far more depth to this film than I can reveal without spoiling the story and while at times the narrative ice sheet gets thin, nobody ever actually falls though. Gattaca is in my opinion a terrific film - part neo-noir thriller and part sci-fi masterpiece, with just enough Melrose Place thrown in to keep almost anyone riveted for an hour and a half. What's perhaps more important is that it handles a very real subject with such surprising grace, you'll hardly notice the handful of moments when it flirts with self parody.

If nothing else, Gattaca certainly can at least teach us two things. One, be glad you live in the world you do, instead of one where you have to be smarter than Steve Jobs and prettier than Ryan Seacrest just to stock shelves at Best Buy. And two, if you ever win a silver medal in the Olympics, living with the soul crushing shame is a whole lot less humiliating than spending the first six hours of every day peeing into plastic bags and scraping off the first four payers of your skin just so Ethan Hawke can walk around pretending he's better than you.

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