Sleep eludes the hero of "Insomnia" for reasons of latitude and turpitude. The story takes place in small-town Alaska during summer, when the midnight sun makes shut-eye hard to come by for Will Dormer (Al Pacino), a Los Angeles detective who has arrived, somewhat improbably, to help solve a local murder. But Will's deeper problem is moral decay. He can't get his z's because of his own conduct in investigating the case; he comes to feel as culpable, in his way, as the killer he's trying to find. In one sense Mr. Pacino is an odd casting choice; the gaunt-faced star already looks sleep-deprived on arrival. But he does bring star power to the role, while Robin Williams plays the villain with an intensity that's all the scarier for being subdued. The film was directed by Christopher Nolan, who did the remarkable "Memento." This one is nowhere near as original -- it's a flawed remake of a fine first feature from Norway -- but "Insomnia" still stands on its own as a thriller with brains and scenic beauty.

I must confess that I was partial to the production from the start for bringing Mr. Nolan into Hollywood's mainstream, even as the director of a remake; the studios desperately need filmmakers of his skill, intelligence and commitment. And I was fascinated by the darkly intricate symbiosis that develops between Dormer, the compromised cop (whose surname suggests sleep in Italian or French), and his quarry, Walter Finch, a twisted novelist who's morally blind to his perversions. The good cast includes Hilary Swank as a perceptive local cop, Martin Donovan as Dormer's partner and Maura Tierney as a hotel manager who, improbably once again, becomes Dormer's confessor.

Yet "Insomnia" also sheds light on what's wrong with the studio system. Take a look at the 1997 Norwegian film of the same name, which is readily available on a splendid Criterion DVD, and you'll find a low-budget psychological thriller, starring Stellan Skarsgard, that's lean, laconic and entirely convincing. Next, look at the credits for the remake -- four producers and five executive producers, not to mention countless studio executives -- to get a sense of how many conflicting opinions Mr. Nolan and his first-time screenwriter, Hillary Seitz, must have had to contend with.

Then see the mixed results of all that input in the new film: an elaborate back story about Dormer's checkered past that clutters the present; a silly exaggeration of the detective's acumen to justify his being played by a star (Dormer is so good that Ms. Swank's rookie cop reveres him); and a melodramatic climax whose main virtue lies in giving the hero a good line. Not all of the changes are for the worse. The back story does confer an intriguing ambiguity on Dormer's motives, which I can't discuss without spoiling several surprises. But less truly can be more, even if the concept is anathema to the studios with their overloaded star vehicles.

'Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron'

At one point in "Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron," a magnificent animated feature from DreamWorks, the stallion leaps across a gaping chasm in a display of power, grace and courage that left me gaping with amazement and gasping with joy. The people who made this film have rediscovered the emotion in pure motion. And they've made two remarkable leaps of their own -- back to hand-drawn animation, although with elaborate computer assists, and away from talking-creature cuteness. The animals here are mercifully mute. (The humans don't say much either.) Yes, we glean the stallion's thoughts -- he's actually a wild mustang living a century or so before those last descendants in "The Misfits" -- from a notably spare first-person narration given voice by Matt Damon. But "Spirit" evokes, through its poetic spirit, the mysterious power of silent film.

One sequence after another (I'll get to the plot in a moment) bursts with graphic energy: a lyrical opening that follows an eagle's flight through red-rock canyons to a prairie full of wild horses running free (that's the plot, running free); elemental combat between the stallion and a cavalry colonel who vows to tame him; Spirit plunging into perilous white-water rapids; a vast forest fire; a locomotive's calamitous fall down a mountainside as Spirit gallops frantically to get out of its way (horse pursued by iron horse).

There's more to the plot, of course, in a movie that celebrates wild mustangs as the spirit of the Old West. ("Spirit" is, among other things, an exciting Western.) There's an alliance between the stallion and a young Lakota brave named Little Creek. There's equine love between Spirit and Little Creek's paint mare, Rain. And, at the core of the drama, there's a conflict between unspoiled nature and encroaching humankind, as represented mainly by the U.S. Cavalry. (My only reservation concerns the portrayal of those troops, whose arrival was ritually cheered by earlier generations of moviegoers. Here, runaway revisionists have cast the cavalry as veritable Cossacks.) But the essence of this film isn't conventional narrative, or who did what to whom and what happened next. It's classic animation wedded to modern technology -- painted pictures that move in magical splendor.

'Space Station 3D'

For another soul-filling experience at the movies, find one of the many IMAX theaters ( around the country where "Space Station 3D" is currently playing. I've been an IMAX apostle ever since my first giant-screen encounter, and the medium's debut, at Expo '67 in Montreal. When these films are good, there's nothing like them -- images so big that the proscenium frame disappears, images so vivid that you're taken out of yourself and into the action. IMAX films, like any other, can be lackluster apart from their size -- too many mundane travelogues pumped up to fit the format -- but "Space Station 3D" lacks neither luster nor grandeur. I heard kids and adults alike going "Omigod! Omigod!" all around me, and the only reason I didn't join in the chorus was that I had to concentrate on taking notes.

I also saw my theater-mates, goggle-eyed as I was behind 3-D goggles, reaching out to touch objects afloat in the zero gravity of the International Space Station -- a small Maglite, bits of debris, an orange, a razor, multicolored M&M's, pieces of popcorn (aboard the station, not in the theater). One of the wonders of this medium is its ability to switch between exquisite intimacy and ineffable vastness. In its intimate mode, "Space Station," which is narrated by Tom Cruise, puts you almost nose to nose with the astronauts in their cramped quarters; thus the touchless palpability of all those objects within virtual reach.

But oh, the power of the IMAX cameras when they venture into the cosmic void, where up and down give way to endless outness and our planet is a place apart. One of the astronauts in "Space Station" starts feeling homesick for Earth before she leaves it. That's something even we can begin to grasp during this truly transporting film, but it's a sickness I'd gladly risk if I had the chance. Chances are against most of us having it, of course. On the line that has already formed for rides into space, fares are so high that only the super rich can afford a seat. After "Space Station 3D," though, I'll be watching with special interest.


DVD TIP: If ever a movie needed to be re-viewed and studied carefully, it's "Memento," which played in theaters two years ago. To play it in Columbia TriStar's snazzy two-disc set, however, you can't just hit the Play button. Like the memory-challenged hero, Leonard Shelby (Guy Pearce), you must consult a memo, find the correct key word, select it and then press Enter. It's all very playful and inventive, as befits this singular thriller, though sometimes quite maddening. To access the many features of the second disc, you must work your way through a sequence of tasks and mindbenders designed by Mr. Nolan. I finally managed to do it, but I can't remember how.

Write to Joe Morgenstern at joe