Perhaps Barry Levinson's most personal film, this episodic reflection on the gradual assimilation and corresponding alienation of the immigrant Jewish community uses the rise of television as both a metaphor and an organizing device. Lou Jacobi and the Thanksgiving dinner wars are particularly funny . . . and moving.

The narrative events, far from epical or sagalike, resemble animated snapshots from a family photo album, documenting the onward march of the American Dream from urban sardine tin to a house in the suburbs with a television set and TV trays. None of the events could not be recollected for universal enjoyment at a family picnic. Or family funeral. It is precisely the universality of that enjoyment which limits the emotional range of the movie -- and the level of the enjoyment -- so severely.

Requiem for a family, for a life lived different, for a dream, for a lost world. The theme is simple but the story and characters have great depth. It's interestingly put together with seemingly random events, but the conclusion brilliantly recalls it as one sad memory. The atmosphere is alluringly forlorn with a sense of both love and constant menace. And Avalon is, in the end, an emotionally enveloping and incredibly effective family tree, evoking profound reflection, warmth, and melancholy.

Thoroughly tepid semi-autobiographical movie that's sort of like going through a total stranger's scrapbooks for two hours