A young, attractive Southern lawyer trying to beat the system. A stunningly beautiful victim turned love interest. A brash villain with dozens of paranoia-fueling spies. Sound familiar? It is the John Grisham recipe for success. Over the past decade, Grisham has shamelessly repackaged and regurgitated the formulaic legal thriller eight times under slightly different veils.

Studio executives smile as America continues to be indulged in its Grisham frenzy--it makes for profitable publishing, they think, so why shouldn't it make for blockbuster movies? With the exception of The Chamber, all of the Grisham adaptations have dominated the box office with over $100 million.

But the irony of the situation is devastatingly clear. Grisham is to the world of books what "big studio" pictures have generally come to be in the world of movies: a manipulative, diluted heap of cliches. The even greater tragedy is that the Grisham-studio team has swept up many a prominent director in its platitudes. Sydney Pollack (Out of Africa, The Firm), Alan Pakula (Sophie's Choice, The Pelican Brief), and Joel Schumacher (Falling Down, A Time to Kill) have fallen prey to the Grisham spell

And all have yet to recover. Each director has tried and failed to make a film that transcends the blunted, lifeless prose. Is it time that we deemed the task an impossible one?

This time it is once acclaimed director Francis Ford Coppola who has been swept up in the heavy-handed moralistic mess that is John Grisham's The Rainmaker. And he's inexplicably proud of it too. He puts the author's name in front of the title as if to warn us before the movie even begins: "This is a Grisham movie! Watch Coppola go mainstream!" Indeed, he keeps his promise: for Godfather fans, John Grisham's The Rainmaker is painful to watch.

Coppola's screenplay changes little of the book's simplistic plot. Matt Damon, following in the footsteps of Matthew McConaughey, is Rudy Baylor, a recent law-school grad with a soft spot for people in need. With the help of his diminutive mentor (Danny DeVito), Rudy evolves into an ethics-driven Superman--a lawyer with a heart, out to save the world from evil. First, there is his bold attack on a gargantuan insurance company that has a method of denying claims until policyholders give up. Rudy is astounded by the corruption of such a company that refuses to pay for the medical treatment of a young man dying of leukemia. But one heroic task is certainly not enough for a Grisham leading man. In the process of his assault on the insurance company, Rudy falls in love with a battered wife (Claire Danes) who must be freed from the clutches of her brutally abusive husband.

The total absence of conflict or plausibility in the story is a concern that Coppola doesn't seem worried by. Indeed, he has done something unforgivable with Rainmaker. He has made John Grisham--the king of popcorn thrillers--lethally boring. There is no shameless entertainment here, no chance to be swept up in random plot twists or instant thrills. Instead, what we get is two hours of disjointed storytelling--without a touch of drama.

There are a few redeeming qualities for Coppola's effort. Because of the absence of an engaging plot, the actors are forced to carry the entire burden. Danny DeVito, for the first time in ages, gives a remarkably understated performance as Rudy's counselor. His subtle enthusiasm and energy makes his character the most likeable in the film. In fact, whenever he is absent from the screen (far too often), the other performances (and the film) begin to sag. Claire Danes gives a strong performance as a battered wife, transcending the underwritten role by adding shades of complexity to her strong-willed character.

Danny Glover, Virginia Madsen and Mickey Rourke are solid in their supporting roles. Matt Damon, however, isn't given much of a chance to show off his acting. Unlike McConaughey in A Time to Kill, Damon has to deal with a character void of nuance, subtlety and originality. His personality is best summed up in his much-repeated mantra, "I want to expose these people." Damon, struggling under the burden of such hackneyed lines, is given little chance to show sensitivity or idiosyncrasy. Over the course of the film, Rudy becomes less the hero and more of a stock supporting character.

There are also occasional flashes of brilliance that hint at Coppola's past genius. What the movie lacks in drama, it often makes up for in comedy. Coppola can't help but accentuate what is absurd about these characters even as he tries to inject them with true emotions. At times, it almost becomes clear what Rainmaker could be--a genre-busting comedy that plays off cliches.

And yet, the actors seem so convinced of their respective situations, despite the film's ridiculously skewed reality, that this potential is violently destroyed. For instance, Jon Voight's villainous Southern lawyer (a mainstay in Grisham films) offers ravings so ludicrous and lathered in excess that the courtroom scenes descend into camp. But instead of feeding off Voight's over-acting, Damon is forced into moralistic grandstanding, creating a contradiction of tones that not only confuses, but frustrates.

Moreover, the subplots are entirely incompatible. While the courtroom drama is an exercise in laughable platitudes, Rudy's quest to save the abused Danes is imbued with vicious reality. Scenes where Danes' husband confronts her with a baseball bat completely betray the light-hearted mood--and, in fact, underscore the inadequacy of the main storyline. Indeed, when the movie drops this subplot abruptly in order to focus on the legal battle, the film grinds to a screeching halt.

Coppola's venture into the mainstream is a difficult one to watch, mainly because we know what he can be capable of. There is none of the storytelling grace that was a trademark of his earlier pictures. With Jack and now John Grisham's The Rainmaker, there is the tragic possibility that Coppola is in a disconcerting decline. Indeed, there is a sad moment in Rainmaker when Rudy is introduced to the sleazy lawyer Bruiser (Mickey Rourke). Bruiser's office is appropriately gloomy and uninviting--there is a tank of menacing sharks stationed behind his desk. We smile at the touch and appreciate the subtlety. Coppola, however, feels it necessary to explain his "genius." In the middle of the conversation, Bruiser interrupts to ask Rudy "Did you see my sharks? Get it, lawyers, sharks? Get it?" Yes, we all get it, Mr. Coppola.

The failure (if one must pinpoint a single cause) is in the attempt to imbue contemporary stereotypes with a sense of drama. Coppola has attempted to transform a John Grisham thriller into a series of quirky character studies. There is no doubt that the author will watch this new adaptation and smile radiantly as the events unfold incoherently on screen. As long as directors keep trying to top each other in an effort to make a semi-competent film, he'll keep writing his crowd-pleasing prose and run all the way to the bank.