"He lives in a world of his own." "But what's wrong with him?" Rain Man posits two brothers, Raymond and Charlie Babbitt, each in his own way childlike, each obtuse. Raymond (Dustin Hoffman) is an adult autistic savant, Charlie (Tom Cruise) a hustler who can't see beyond his own limited interests. The plot has Raymond, who is incurable, curing Charlie, who only seems to be, by letting him love him a little. In Hollywood films, someone has to be cured, and it is the rare film that presents its story from the disabled person's point of view. But Hoffman's studied, indeed compulsive performance frustrates Rain Man's insistence on making Charlie the focal character. The result is that we don't need or share Charlie's explosions of frustration-"This guy's a fucking freak!"-just as we don't really need Raymond to be a savant, capable of extraordinary mathematical feats. The theatrical construction of reality allows us to enter Raymond's universe, and that is both the satisfying and the unrealistic aspect of Rain Man, the way that it succeeds in drawing public attention to the largely misunderstood syndrome of autism and the way that it fails to do so. Moreover, Hoffman's portrayal of Raymond as a condensation of American cultural quirks, ingrown habits and exaggerated product loyalties ("Of course, it's three minutes to Wopner") may comment more on consumerism than autism. Finally, it is a schtick to rival the clever, idiosyncratic patter of the protagonists of other Barry Levinson films: Diner, Tin Men and Good Morning, Vietnam. If Levinson allows Hoffman to deflect our concern away from Cruise's emotional journey, perhaps it is because he is drawn to those characters who "live in a world of their own," and like it like that.