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PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN As Gust Avrakotos, the surliest spy in the CIA

Francois Duhamel

The fact that the film takes place 20 years ago should make it go down a bit smoother with today's war-weary audience. ''I think these sorts of things need distance,'' Roberts says. ''You can't really make a movie about what's going on right now. You can't watch the war on the news at 6 p.m. and then go out and see a controlled version of that same war at a 7:20 show. It's confusing and disrespectful.'' Nichols puts it slightly differently. ''Our movie isn't about 9/11 or the war in Iraq,'' he says. ''Those things are beneath the surface. They're unstated. Unspoken. But everybody knows they're there.''

Something else is unstated and unspoken beneath the surface of Charlie Wilson's War — the place Hanks and Roberts occupy in the new anarchy of Hollywood.

Perhaps more than any other actors who rose up in the 1990s, these two defined what it meant to be on top during that decade. They both broke through around the same time and ascended on separate but parallel trajectories to levels of success undreamt of even in Beverly Hills. In addition to receiving multiple Oscar nominations — and three wins — during that period, Hanks started commanding $20 million a picture (reportedly earning tens of millions more in profit point deals on films like Forrest Gump), while Roberts finished the '90s as the first female to crash the $20 million barrier (for Erin Brockovich, for which she also earned her Oscar). For a time, their names above a title were believed to all but guarantee a hit — and, for a time, they sort of did. Add them together and Hanks' and Roberts' grosses in the U.S. alone total $5.5 billion, roughly the amount Charlie Wilson spent kicking the Russians out of Afghanistan.

NEXT PAGE: ''I am no guarantee that a movie is going to be a success,'' Hanks states flatly. ''I am no guarantee that a movie is going to touch the national zeitgeist.''

	Inside ''Charlie Wilson's War'' continued pages 1 2 3 4 5
page 4	PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN As Gust Avrakotos, the surliest spy in the CIA Francois Duhamel The fact that the film takes place 20 years ago should make it go down a bit smoother with today's war-weary audience. ''I think these sorts of things need distance,'' Roberts says. ''You can't really make a movie about what's going on right now. You can't watch the war on the news at 6 p.m. and then go out and see a controlled version of that same war at a 7:20 show. It's confusing and disrespectful.'' Nichols puts it slightly differently. ''Our movie isn't about 9/11 or the war in Iraq,'' he says. ''Those things are beneath the surface. They're unstated. Unspoken. But everybody knows they're there.'' Something else is unstated and unspoken beneath the surface of Charlie Wilson's War — the place Hanks and Roberts occupy in the new anarchy of Hollywood. Perhaps more than any other actors who rose up in the 1990s, these two defined what it meant to be on top during that decade. They both broke through around the same time and ascended on separate but parallel trajectories to levels of success undreamt of even in Beverly Hills. In addition to receiving multiple Oscar nominations — and three wins — during that period, Hanks started commanding $20 million a picture (reportedly earning tens of millions more in profit point deals on films like Forrest Gump), while Roberts finished the '90s as the first female to crash the $20 million barrier (for Erin Brockovich, for which she also earned her Oscar). For a time, their names above a title were believed to all but guarantee a hit — and, for a time, they sort of did. Add them together and Hanks' and Roberts' grosses in the U.S. alone total $5.5 billion, roughly the amount Charlie Wilson spent kicking the Russians out of Afghanistan. NEXT PAGE: ''I am no guarantee that a movie is going to be a success,'' Hanks states flatly. ''I am no guarantee that a movie is going to touch the national zeitgeist.''