Sort of Awesome, Sort of Annoying

Rating: 8/10 (11 June 2008)

Clint Eastwood's newest project, Changeling, is sort of awesome, sort of annoying. The true story of Christine Collins, a telephone operator and single mother in 1928 Los Angeles, has a promising script and cast, but fails to accomplish any major feats on screen. At times the dialog feels forced. For example, when Jolie adds an ambient "Sport" moniker or makes references to Cleopatra. It's as if Eastwood is saying to the audience "Yes, this really is 1928, I promise." Historical accuracy is important in a film claiming truth, but Changeling is a bit like scaling a wall there is not much to hold on to.
But what little there is to hold on to is both enjoyable and sophisticated. Angelina Jolie, who plays Christine, gives a convincing portrayal of a mother who returns home from work to find that her son Walter is missing. In fact, Jolie might have scored a career best performance with Changeling, but it is hard to say whether or not this is enough to carry the film.
Jolie holds her head high as a mother who loses her son and receives little help from the Los Angeles Police Department during the search. The 1920s were wrought with scandal for the L.A.P.D. and Christine Collins find herself in the midst of them. After months of search, the police return Walter to Christine only to find that she denies that he is her son. Despite the mounting evidence supporting her claim (her Walter is uncircumcised, the new Walter is not; the new Walter is 3 inches shorter, etc.), the police continually deny that there is anything wrong. Because of the recent scandals, the L.A.P.D does not want to admit any wrongdoing with the Collins case.
The tone of this story seems to border between over-the-top melodrama and a dead-on homage to 1930s dramatic style. This is most notable in the scenes featuring Captain J.J. Jones (Jeffrey Donovan) whose performance is cookie-cutter bad cop for the period. Eastwood navigates the "bad cops" with ease and never allows them to become satire, but it borders on the edge. Likewise with the necessary court scenes in the latter portion, Eastwood makes the material work, even if just barely. It is hard to diminish the negative affects of these melodramatic choices, but then again, it is a story about true events. Who am I to say whether or not the courtroom proceedings actually had that much fervor and zest? It is hard to find fault in conceivable truth.
Another strong performance in the film comes from John Malkovich as Reverend Gustav Briegleb, a man determined to expose the misdeeds of the Los Angeles Police Department via his radio show. Briegleb vows to help Christine in her quest for her son as he believes that "Walter" is not the same boy. Malkovich gives a convincing role as a man of God, a man of principle, and a man of determination. He plays the hero, but never saddles up his white horse. His heroics come naturally as a man who wants the best for his city and the people within it his mission is never glitzy, never self-indulgent.
Malkovich and Jolie together save the one part of the film that could have poisoned the entire piece. When Miss Collins refuses to be quiet on the issue of her son and is convinced by Briegleb to go public with the misdoings of the police, she is whisked off to a mental ward. Until she admits that she is making the whole impostor-son bit up, she will remain in the ward. The mental ward scenes were in complete discord with the rest of the film. The inclusion of stereotypical elements like electro-shock therapy and evil nurses allowed these scenes to toe the line of ridiculousness. If it were not for a convincing and levelheaded performance from Jolie, nothing good would have come from these scenes. And when Malkovich's character swoops in to save her from the grips of the ward and the police, it never once feels trite. Eastwood should really thank these two and consider the possibility of never, ever filming any hospital-like scenes ever again.
The unsaturated color choice for the film gives an immediate feeling of doom and sadness for the picture, but a more upbeat, stylized look might have complimented the film better. The cinematography attempted to mirror the motif of the film but ended up missing the mark and falling more into dark and muddled than stylistically relevant.
With the film clocking in a 140 minutes, it is impressive that it never feels that long. Eastwood navigates through a significant chunk of time with little duress and manages to take on a troubling story without being all too troubling. Easily an audience favorite and definite Oscar-bait, as the United States release is set for November under the title "The Exchange." This film is mass of "in-betweens." It is neither complex nor simple; neither heartfelt nor underwhelming. I find it hard to love it, but I do not hate it either. That's the problem: nothing clicks. It is within this realm that I find this film, more than anything else, a tad bit frustrating. It is a virtuous attempt and no doubt going to do well both in box office numbers and with awards. But because of that, I wanted more punch. I wanted more zing, more attitude. The film melts quickly in my mind and becomes just another biopic that might soon be forgotten. A little originality is crucial, especially for a film being considered for the Cannes Film Festival's highest honor. This film leaves me generally satisfied all whist thinking, "Come on, Clint. You could've done better."