Like Will, they resent the professors and wealthy students who brush past them on the streets. But they cherish a secret the blue bloods don't know: Will is a mathematical genius, an unschooled prodigy with the natural gifts of an Einstein. When three people discover the magnitude of his ability--an egotistical math professor (Stellan SkarsgŒrd), a loving student (Minnie Driver), and a grieving therapist (Robin Williams)--Will has to choose whether to accept the burden of greatness or retreat to the sheltered, unthreatening world of his buddies.

Brilliance is a tough subject for any movie: It's not easy to convey, and harder still to make sympathetic or understandable to the vast majority of us who aren't brilliant. All too often in movies, from The Absent-Minded Professor through Shine, genius is merely equated with harmless eccentricity. So Will's mean streak in the early scenes is a pleasant surprise. As generous as his gifts are, Will isn't above using them sadistically: He zeroes in on people and glibly dispatches them, like a gunslinger--or like the rich phonies he delights in skewering in bars. At first Will's quick temper seems bound to his quick wit, and we're fascinated to see how deeply the two connect.

Not very, as it turns out. Good Will Hunting never suggests for a moment that Will's anger has anything to do with being smarter than the ordinary folk around him; that would ruin the salt-of-the-earth cool that Damon and Affleck work so hard to provide him. He's no egghead--why, he drinks beer and gets laid and kicks ass! Although the movie sets up Will's class resentment as a character failing--he's rotten to his wealthy girlfriend and disdainful of professors--there's never an indication that the filmmakers don't share it, or won't exploit it for all it's worth. (Apparently, Will only gets impatient with rich people.) At the same time, Good Will Hunting turns into yet another story about teaching humility to a cocky kid, as if brilliant people aren't complete until they're made nice. We might as well be watching Tom Cruise learn the value of teamwork by saving the Iceman.

As he demonstrated by pumping some feeling and cinematic savvy into Buck Henry's coarse, obvious screenplay for To Die For, Gus Van Sant is the best friend a weak script ever had: He's a wizard at honing in on the nuances of performance and location that can bring freshness to trite situations. The icky platitudes the therapist exchanges with Will would be insufferable if not for Van Sant's rapt, hype-free concentration on the rapport between Robin Williams (who's remarkably good) and Matt Damon (who's impressively intense but sometimes sounds as if he's reciting speeches instead of thinking on his feet). And while Good Will Hunting is at heart a boy's movie--Minnie Driver's character is executive producer Kevin Smith's idea of a dream woman, a girl who likes to say "blowjob" and drink beer with the fellas--there's no denying Van Sant's charming evocation of brotherly camaraderie, the tang of the wise-guy dialogue, or the wonderful ease Damon and Affleck show in their scenes together.