Doubt
Written and directed by John Patrick Shanley, based on his stage play. With Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, and Viola Davis. (PG-13)
In the course of giving the sermon that opens Doubt, Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) puts forth the idea that doubt—the subject of his sermon—can be just as much of a bond within a community as certainty. "When you are lost," he says, "you are not alone," and the camera pans over the congregation as he describes the isolation they might feel in moments of crisis. When he speaks of a secret sickness, it pauses on a frail elderly woman; it catches a man wince as Flynn mentions losing a friend; but when he speaks of doing something wrong, it stays squarely on the priest himself.
Whether or not that is an indictment we're never sure. In this day, after the shocking revelations about the extent of child abuse in the Catholic Church, we're pre-conditioned to believe in his guilt even before he's been accused of anything. But director John Patrick Shanley, who has adapted his own Tony award-winning play for the screen, is smart enough to realize that the more interesting morality tale isn't in the easy denunciation of those heinous acts, but in something less straightforward. The result is a film about the obligations and abuse of authority, the power of the Church, and the dangers of absolutism.
Father Flynn is a popular priest at Saint Nicholas, a Catholic school in a working-class Bronx neighborhood populated by a mix of Irish, Italian, and African-American families. A year after the assassination of JFK, the school has accepted its first black student, Donald Miller, and Flynn takes him under his wing, giving him a position as an altar boy and helping him pick up his books when white students knock them to the ground.
In the buttoned-up halls of St. Nicholas, Flynn is the face of progress: a priest who also coaches the boys in basketball. On the opposite end of the spectrum is Sister Aloysius Beauvier, the school principal. Played with a controlled ferocity by Meryl Streep, Sister Aloysius is a woman whose life is supported by a scaffold of rules; some are the church's, most are her own. The list of items she bans from St. Nicholas includes ball-point pens, barrettes, and a nun's cough drops—"candy by another name," she sniffs. During rehearsals for the school's Christmas pageant, she denounces Frosty the Snowman as "heretical."
Caught between the pair is Sister James (Junebug's Amy Adams), an inexperienced nun and teacher who reports that Father Flynn may be having an inappropriate relationship with young Donald. Sister Aloysius, who has seen such abuse in other parishes, pounces on the young nun's suspicion and begins an effort to have Flynn removed from the school. The problem? There isn't a shred of evidence that anything untoward has happened. "You have no proof!" Flynn cries. "I have my certainty," Aloysius responds, a knight in a black habit.
Even as her crusade gains steam, her position is weakened on several fronts. First, Sister James changes her mind about what she thinks she saw. Far more troubling is the response from Donald's mother. In a short but electrifying turn as Mrs. Miller, Viola Davis is the one person able to bring Aloysius up short, at least momentarily, when she suggests that even if something awful is happening, it may be better for her son to stay at St. Nicholas than to deal with the wrath of his abusive father. It's an unbelievable proposition, and it's a testament to Davis' ability as an actress—for a moment, she makes you forget that Streep is practically polishing her next Oscar—that she makes it seem not only believable but almost sensible.
But if Davis and Adams offer great work from the sidelines, Doubt belongs to Streep and Hoffman. Their head-butting is the meat of the film, and it's wonderful to watch, all the more so when we can't be sure who is in the right. (As an aside, their sparring also shines a light on the changing nature of the Church in the wake of the Vatican II reforms—indeed, Aloysius seems as appalled by Flynn's progressiveness as she does by his possible crime.) Each draws blood, and as the film goes on you're likely to find your sympathies shifting from one to the other.
In adapting his play for the screen, Shanley can't help but allow his strengths to show through in those wars of words. Though the film is well shot by cinematographer Roger Deakins, it remains resolutely a dialogue-driven affair. There are times when the stillness of it all calls out for something more cinematic, but the script is strong enough to overcome any passing lassitude in direction. By the time of its last, wrenching scene, Doubt has long since drawn you in.
Seven Pounds
Directed by Gabriele Muccino. Written by Grant Nieporte. With Will Smith, Rosario Dawson, Woody Harrelson, Michael Ealy, and Barry Pepper. (PG-13)
Will Smith seems to be going through a blue period. In the last two years, he has portrayed a down-and-out salesman (The Pursuit of Happyness), a down-and-out superhero (Hancock), and the down-and-out survivor of a man-made plague (I Am Legend). In the overwrought but intermittently effective Seven Pounds, he again teams up with Happyness director Gabriele Muccino to play a down-and-out IRS agent looking to do some good before he dies.
Here he stars as Ben Thomas, who, when we meet him, is on the phone with 911, calling in a suicide—his own. After that snappy opening, the film jumps back in time to show us the weeks leading up to that dramatic moment. It's a catchy device, using a central character who's dead. It's also one used by a number of other films (Sunset Boulevard, American Beauty) that are quite a bit better than this one, but who's counting?
Ben, we learn, did something terrible at some point in the past, and he seems to be intent on making amends. On the walls of his ratty motel room he keeps newspaper clippings that report on a fatal crash that killed seven people. He also keeps a list of "candidates"—for what, we don't know—and as he makes the rounds he often drops hints about how it is in his power to "drastically change their circumstances."
Smith's natural charisma makes him one of the most accessible actors working today, and while it's refreshing to see him play an often awkward character, it doesn't really ring true. When Will Smith is onscreen, we expect him to save the day and toss off a few one-liners while he's doing it. Here he's constantly ducking his own shadow, and we're left with the confusing feeling that Ben could solve his problems any number of ways, simply because of Smith's star power.
It's difficult to divulge much of the plot of Seven Pounds without giving away the secret of the story, something the filmmakers have tried to keep under wraps. Of course, anyone with an Internet connection (or a passing familiarity with Shakespeare) could figure it out fairly quickly, but I'll not give it away here. Suffice it to say that all the people targeted for audits share some trait; once you realize what it is, the rest of the story will unfold very quickly.
The fly in the ointment here is Emily Posa (Rosario Dawson), a young artist with a heart condition who falls for Ben. Their burgeoning relationship is an odd one to understand. One day Ben is at her kitchen table discussing her back taxes; the next she looks out the kitchen window to find him weeding her back yard. If she finds it alarming that an IRS agent seems to be stalking her, she takes it in stride, and the two are soon sharing romantic dinners and walks in the country. Of course we know it can't last—there was that opening phone call, after all—but even when we know how it ends, the film manages to pull a few heartstrings in its closing moments.
The Tale of Despereaux
Directed by Sam Fell and Robert Stevenhagen. Written by Gary Ross, based on the book by Kate DiCamillo. With Matthew Broderick, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Watson, Tracey Ullman, Kevin Kline, William H. Macy, Stanley Tucci, Ciaran Hinds, Frank Langella, Christopher Lloyd, and Sigourney Weaver. (G)
The opening titles for The Tale of Despereaux promise so much. They brim with enough talent to make the credit roll seem like an appetizer, whetting your appetite for the feature to follow. They've even got Dustin Hoffman, who played Ratso Rizzo in Midnight Cowboy, playing an actual rat!
Sad to say, the considerable voice talent on display here isn't enough to make the movie, though it is certainly the strongest point in it. In the end, some inspired vocal performances and a strong animation department are brought down by the unforgivable sin of the children's book world: bad storytelling.
What would be wonderful as a single tale—that of the adventurous mouse Despereaux (Matthew Broderick) who sees himself as a knight ready to save his princess—is instead just one thread lost in a skein of stories. Competing for our attention are the trials of Roscuro, a forlorn rat yearning to escape the underground Ratworld, and the hard life of Miggery Sow, a servant who dreams of being the princess. The titular mouse doesn't even appear until the film is well under way; in effect, there is no main character in the story, leaving an audience with a collection of subplots, none of them strong enough to carry a film.
It's an opportunity wasted. The animation in Despereaux is top-notch, and quite different from what we're used to seeing in children's movies lately. Gone are the eye-popping colors and fast-paced visuals. In their place is a style more akin to the book world than anything else: muted colors; soft, velvety surfaces; an almost matte finish that calls to mind the bedtime stories of childhood.
Had the story been more focused—more childlike, if you will—it could have been a classic. It's frustratingly close already, but never crosses the finish line. As it stands, it's the sort of film likely to be loved by many children today, but forgotten as they grow up.
Jack Brown can be reached at cinemadope@gmail.com
