A few years ago, after Amistad, Anthony Hopkins and Morgan Freeman gave a well-received press conference in which they - two of the most reliable and soulful actors around - rocked back on their heels and promulgated, not without a certain smugness, the gospel of the "Just act, dear boy" school of drama. They lightly mocked the "call-me-by-my-character-name-only" excesses of the Method, and gave the impression that acting was no more difficult than falling into a barrel of bosoms and copping a feel.

The negative interpretation of that cosy little moment was that the pair of them were resting on their laurels in a manner most unbecoming to their craft, and a look at their recent work suggests that there may be some truth to this. Freeman has been drifting along for a while now in dodgy feminist-lite thrillers with Ashley Judd and such negligible time-wasters as Dreamcatcher. Meanwhile Lord Tony, or whatever we call him these days, has been in a slow downward spiral of phoned-, faxed-, or emailed-in performances, of which his Coleman Silk in The Human Stain (pictured) is merely the latest.

The casting of Stain is an object lesson in the confection of Oscar-bait: that process whereby the film matters less than the star-wattage one can muster for the poster. Robert Benton snagged pipe-cleaner gal Kidman and twitchy Ed Harris, and topped it off with Hopkins, routinely sought by directors who delude themselves that "only the greatest actor alive can carry off my masterpiece". There's no discernable reason why only Hopkins could have played a black man who passes off as a secular Jewish professor.

And it's true that this approach also sounded silly when Hopkins was cast as Nixon. Look at his breathtaking work in that film, though, and you take Benton's point. It doesn't work in Stain, sadly, and indeed, Hopkins has coasted through films for anyone who's asked him recently. Hannibal Lecter didn't need revisiting once, let alone twice. Bad Company was dross, Hearts In Atlantis was his Dreamcatcher, and as for Meet Joe Black...

There are worthier things to be doing with that exquisitely breathy and beautifully modulated voice, one of the great instruments in modern acting, but just lately Sir Anthony hasn't been doing them.

Career high Where to start? Shadowlands? 84 Charing Cross Road? The Elephant Man? Nixon? Remains Of The Day? Titus?

Career low And again, where to start? Victory At Entebbe? International Velvet? Hollywood Wives? Mission Impossible 2?

Need to know Hopkins relaxes between movies by driving across the great empty parts of America, alone and incognito.

The last word "To hell with this stupid show business, this ridiculous showbiz, this futile waste of life. I look back and see a desert wasteland. All those years spent in a fake environment. Everything was a fake." Dude, you could be working at 7-11!