Jack Nicolson plays the down-in-the-dumps insurance actuary of the title, who slopes off into retirement with the weary resignation of a person worn down by a lifetime of compromises.

The spontaneous decision to sponsor a Tanzanian orphan named Ndugu, after seeing a TV advertisement, provides the unlikely catalyst for Schmidt to break out of his torpor, venting his inner angst and frustration in long letters to his new-found "son". He rails against his nagging wife ("Who is this old woman living in my house?"), the "nincompoop" that his precious daughter is about to marry and the "young punk" who has filled his work shoes.

Then his wife dies suddenly. Such is the way of this black comedy - just when Schmidt seems to be finding himself he is dragged even deeper into inner turmoil.

There is little relief elsewhere. Writer/director Alexander Payne's screenplay, adapted from Louis Begley's novel, paints a dreary mid-Western America of bland landscapes and gaudy interiors, populated by kooky, irritatingly small-minded folk. The script is peppered with bitter comic observations but such an unattractive lead would be difficult to spend over two hours with were it not Jack Nicholson's admirably restrained performance.

Hair combed over his scalp, he waddles through the film arms stiffly thrust at his side wearing a curiously bland expression. The old Jack charisma does peep through the cracks - the diatribes and musings as he writes to Ndugu give Nicolson an excuse to cut loose albeit only in voice-over - and he succeeds in gripping your attention with the smallest of gestures - a twitch here, a fidget there. That the ambivalent conclusion is surprisingly moving is a credit to Nicolson's performance more than anything.