That's not for lack of trying. Howitt gives us a believably good-looking and only vaguely socially awkward hero in Ryan Phillippe, a software wunderkind who reluctantly sells out to big business. And the movie's Bill Gates clone, played by Tim Robbins, has a pleasingly malevolent ooziness that's oiled up nicely by his disingenuous aw-shucks demeanor. He's one of those genius zillionaires who only recently traded their sloppy cords for Armani -- you can almost still hear that annoying swish-swish sound when he walks.

But if "AntiTrust" starts out with the promise of being loose and juicy and fun, Howitt quickly loses the trail. To its credit, "AntiTrust" isn't a screed about the potential horrors of software monopolies; it's more like a conventional thriller with a bit of vaguely idealistic ranting sprinkled in. And of course "AntiTrust" isn't supposed to be realistic. But Howitt, who also directed the enjoyably woolly "Sliding Doors," doesn't take firm enough control over Howard Franklin's screenplay, and allows the story to career wildly into the territory of absurdity. He toys with strange digressions, including an oddball subplot involving death by sesame seeds, but he lacks the conviction to push them to outlandish limits. "AntiTrust" poops out before it ever really gets going.

Milo Hoffmann (Phillippe), a free-software advocate in the midst of starting a potentially explosive software company with a few of his buddies, suddenly finds himself being courted by Gary Winston (Robbins), president and founder of the multibillion-dollar computer company NURV (the letters stand for "Never Underestimate Radical Vision"), which the Justice Department has been eyeing warily for its monopolistic practices. (Any resemblance to persons and/or companies living or dead is, of course, purely coincidental.)

Winston is on the cusp of unveiling a global communications system, called Synapse, that will allow him to become even more filthy rich than he already is and thus rule the world, metaphorically speaking. With his wire-rimmed glasses and motivational-speaker intonation, he's a mild-mannered megalomaniacal Batman villain for the 21st century. But he needs Milo's genius if he's going to make Synapse's launch date, so he woos the young man away from his buddies and his idealistic pipe dreams. Not long after he starts his new job, Milo realizes that Winston has no qualms about knocking off anyone who stands in his way, including, or perhaps especially, young software whizzes who work out of their garages. Milo spends the rest of the movie trying to find a way to expose Winston, poking his way into a viper's nest of intrigue and deception.

Or maybe it's really more of a rabbit warren. Howitt seems to think he's navigating an elaborate and dangerous maze of twists and turns, but before long it feels as if he's just killing time. Certain plot angles make no sense whatsoever, and you wonder what they're doing here. Milo unearths a secret about one of his co-workers -- she was molested by her stepfather as a child -- and confronts her with his knowledge as a way of enlisting her aid, but it's never clear what bearing this particular fact has on the story.

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