Starman is a successful film on a number of fronts. The first of these is that the placid, somehow pure Starman serves as a lightning rod for every kind of human emotion, frailty and virtue. Merely by being alive he has stirred the humans around him, intensifying their own existence. While other science fiction films that explore human nature seek to instill a certain level of shame in the audience, Starman wants viewers to see themselves through the visitor's eyes, eyes which, even after enduring persecution, still look with interest, hope and compassion.

Yet this is not a sickly sweet film, nor is it a gothic romance with a science fictional backdrop. The story is told in a straightforward manner, allowing viewers to experience the full interplay of emotions that Jenny feels, sometimes in succession, sometimes all at once. Her growth toward rediscovering her own life, and the visitor's deepening understanding of humans through his growing involvement with Jenny, begin to upstage the more stock aspects of their plight: the pursuit, the deadline. Even their very real and spontaneous romance has more than one level: on the one hand, it's a physical connection between a numbed widow and a noncorporeal alien; on another it's a demonstration of what a wholly alien visitor is able to find in common emotionally with the intelligent savages of Earth.

The film is admirably directed by John Carpenter, who carefully circumscribes the "wow" moments--in particular the early metamorphosis and the late starship landing--so that they don't get in the way of the story. For her part, Karen Allen portrays Jenny's crucial emotional expressions in a fashion that seems wholly natural. And the carefully nuanced alien--with just the right mixture of human qualities and otherness--would in lesser hands have been overplayed, but Jeff Bridges superbly navigates the dangerous role, creating an indelible image of an otherworldly visitor who discovers what it is to be human.