I've always been kind of meh on Brad Pitt, with one exception: his Floyd in True Romance. The few minutes he graced the screen in a stoner torpor made me wish the whole film revolved around him (nice try Pineapple Express, but no cigar). In Burn After Reading he does it again as the weightless meathead Chad. The movie was slight but fun, almost as if the Coens were hired by HBO to make a pilot for a new spy thriller and decided to screw with them. As usual, the Coens have found brilliant uses for their players, from an angry John Malkovich doing aerobics to George Clooney lugging around a Liberator sex cushion. But watching Pitt drink a Jamba Juice is worth the price of admission.