Every summer Adam Sandler and I have a little ritual. He makes a new movie, and I get myself secretly excited that somehow, in some small way, he will be able to tap into the greatness he found in his best role, eight years ago. And each summer there are moments, small glimpses, proof that he could do it again, but he somehow refuses. His best role is an obvious choice: as Barry Egan in Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love (2002), because it's the only choice. And whatever he did to get there must have been too much work, too frightening, or cost too much.

Before 2002, Adam Sandler was a cult hero to teenage males and frat boys, and hardly anyone took him seriously, except possibly as an investment on another highly successful comedy. Movie critics certainly would never have admitted to liking him. (I'm personally rather fond of Michael Lehmann's Airheads, however.) I suspect that the critically panned Happy Gilmore (1996) has become a favorite in retrospect, known primarily for Sandler's golf course fight with Bob Barker. It's an interesting movie in many ways, because it establishes Sandler's comic persona. He plays a failed hockey player who lives with his grandma. He loves her dearly, and treats her with kindness and respect, without a hint of irony. But when he gets on the golf course, he explodes, and his outrageous temper makes him do funny things. That movie wasn't clever enough to really tie together the two sides, or to do anything interesting with the plot, but it was a start.

The first time critics gave Sandler a pass was in the charming romantic comedy The Wedding Singer (1998), with Drew Barrymore. There the sweetness and the temper merged once again, and Barrymore served as a powerful glue to make them more cohesive, more a part of one person. Unlike many of Sandler's cutie-pie co-stars over the years, she had enough personality to offset him a bit, and make him part of a comedy team. Following that Sandler retreated back to the Happy Gilmore formula, but on a far more successful level. He made three critically-hated, $100 million hits in a row: The Waterboy (1998), Big Daddy (1999), and Mr. Deeds (2002), with a stopover for the peculiar Little Nicky (2000), which nobody likes; it focused too much on Sandler's sweet side and turned him into too much of a dweeb, without the ferocious side ever coming out.

Picture Paul Thomas Anderson in the audience for all these films, laughing his ass off. Then he wrote Punch-Drunk Love, snatching all kinds of crazy, random stuff right out of the air. Plungers. Chocolate pudding. Airline miles. A blue suit. A harmonium. Phone sex. He somehow dropped the slightly befuddled Barry into the middle of this, saddled with an army of crazy, haranguing, belittling sisters, and meeting the sweet, intrigued Lena (Emily Watson). Thanks to his sisters, or perhaps due to life itself, Barry has an explosive temper, kept in check most of the time through his shoe gazing, flinching, mumbling existence.

Barry's explosive temper, or the threat of anger, lurks around every corner in this movie; the sound design alone can ramp up tensions. When he does cut loose, such as shattering a glass door in his sisters' home, demolishing a bathroom in a restaurant, or punching the walls in his office, the scenes do not end in laughter. Rather, the mood is more like an exhausted depression; an awful line has been crossed, and the reality of it becomes concrete. But, like a small piano dropping from out of nowhere on the street, wonderful things can happen, even if -- like a car crash -- something terrible seems not far behind. After a trip to Hawaii that may be one of the most beautiful things filmed in the past ten years, Barry learns that his anger can be channeled into a new kind of energy and strength to be used for healthy outlets, rather than destruction. His final temper tantrum becomes a showdown for the honor of his true love. The temper is even there during a tender, whispering scene: "I'm lookin' at your face and I just wanna smash it. I just wanna fuckin' smash it with a sledgehammer and squeeze it. You're so pretty." Then: "This is funny. This is nice."

The "nice" comes up again later during Barry's final battle. "I'm a nice man," he yells. And that's the truth of it. His foul temper is more like a disease or a drawback, something that can be overcome, and not the entire package. Barry is more than just his temper. All this is to say that it's a very complex, deeply emotional role, and Sandler stepped up to it 100%. A few brave critics suggested that he should be worthy of an Oscar for his performance, but this is not the kind of film that gets nominated, and it was not nominated. (Consider the other P.T. Anderson performances that were nominated, Burt Reynolds and Julianne Moore in Boogie Nights, Tom Cruise in Magnolia, and Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, and Sandler's performance is of a piece with them.)

What's even more encouraging is that this great performance was an enhancement of Sandler's comic talent, and not a betrayal. It was not borne of a desire for respect; it's not an attempt to show the world that Sandler is a "serious actor." He seems to have absolutely no need for such nonsense. He appears happiest when working with all his old pals. Sandler and former "Saturday Night Live" co-star Rob Schneider have traded cameos in various movies for many years, for example, and he tends to stay loyal to the same co-stars and crew, such as the director Dennis Dugan, or actor Kevin James, even at the expense of good movies.

Following Punch-Drunk Love, there was the abominable Eight Crazy Nights (2002), the stupid Anger Management (2003), the pointless remake of The Longest Yard (2005), and the unbearably sappy Click (2006). I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry (2007) and You Don't Mess with the Zohan (2008) both started to tread on some interesting and brave sociopolitical territory, but stepped back at the last second. Bedtime Stories (2008) was a half-baked attempt at some entertainment for kids. And these were the big hits.

But every so often, there were other attempts at smarter and deeper movies. 50 First Dates (2004) was a fair attempt to recapture some romantic comedy magic with Drew Barrymore. It was gimmick-heavy, but it had some sweet moments, and it was another huge hit. With Spanglish (2004), James L. Brooks tried to give him a typically Sandler-esque role in a more mature movie, and it was released at Oscar time, but Brooks dropped the ball with a movie that bounced off in too many directions. Likewise, Sandler turned in some superb work as a fictitious version of himself in Funny People (2009), but once again, the director, Judd Apatow, could not stop himself from too many subplots. The movie sprawls outward, but never very deep.

Perhaps Sandler's finest film after Punch-Drunk Love is Reign Over Me (2007), which centers on a male friendship so strong (with Don Cheadle) that it holds together through some of the less interesting subplots and supporting characters. Written and directed by Mike Binder, the movie illustrates how men can revert back to boyhood for comfort, but also shows the drawbacks of this and celebrates the idea of moving forward into adulthood. As with his best roles, Sandler's character is a bit unstable and can fly off into fits of rage; yet it's another sensitive (not scary) performance.

Sadly, all of Sandler's attempts at maturity have resulted in drastically lower box office totals. Sandler's new Grown Ups looks as if it tackles some of the same themes as Reign Over Me, but as directed by Dennis Dugan, it's probably more prepared to rack up ticket sales than it is to plumb the depths of Sandler's soul. It would be great to see him risk his soul again, but at least he tried it once. Thanks to Punch-Drunk Love, we at least know what Sandler is capable of.