Each year even the most loyal of patrons finish off the summer with fears of the death of the cinema.
Lost in worlds within worlds of angst-ridden superheroes, explosions, car chases and lusting teens, one comes to think that reviewing films is like reporting on the Conquistadors of 16th century South America – we are sadly chronicling the death of a once mighty civilization.
But then comes the autumn. The race for Oscar begins and our hopes are again renewed.
‘Little Children’ is a film for those desperately searching for an adult, intelligent film rooted in a well observed contemplation of the world in which we live.
The writer-director is Todd Field who performed a similar cinematic alchemy with the remarkable ‘In the Bedroom’ two years ago.
Todd has sympathetically adapted Tom Perrotta’s fine novel of the same name and, in a rare Hollywood effort to keep the author happy, has co-written the screenplay with him.
This is one of the few occasions where the film is better than the book.
The title is no more than an oblique reference to the moppets who gravitate around the central characters. It applies far more to the adults. They are the rich and pampered who are living the American dream and find it wanting. Restless and unable to find happiness within the confines of their gold-plated existence, they look outside the family unit for fulfillment.
Sarah (Kate Winslet) feels suffocated in her well-padded suburban environment. She is fully aware that she is better educated than the other mothers who spend their afternoons watching their kids at the playground. Even her own child sucks energy out of her life. Sarah has opted for a safe marriage to an older man who, perhaps sensing his wife’s disinterest, finds release in internet porn.
Brad (Patrick Wilson) is a bland, ex-jock who just never grew up. He’s married to a gorgeous alpha female (an underused Jennifer Connelly) who is pushing him to complete his bar exams. Instead of going to the library to study every night, he spends his time idly watching some skater dudes perform. He takes his young son to the park where the local matrons call him “the Prom King.” Sarah accepts a bet to talk to him and, on a whim, persuades him to kiss her in front of the horrified ladies.
Slowly over a long summer, their simmering dissatisfaction grows into a flaming affair.
A sub plot featuring a pedophile that moves into the neighborhood (a creepy Jackie Earle Haley) provides yet another emotional catalyst. He becomes the target of a psychotic ex-cop (Noah Emmerich) who takes it upon himself to be the neighborhood’s protector.
Neatly turning our expectation on their ear, McCarthy finds a desperate humanity in the monster and a monstrous evil in his adversary.
Despite the resonances of the screenplay, McCarthy owes a lot to his leads. Wilson uses his bland good looks to subtly show how shallow his character is. The film is anchored by Winslet’s rich, detailed and intelligent Sarah. There is not a minute when you don’t understand the forces that are driving this desperate woman to make the wrong-headed and destructive choices she does.
Emmerich is a mess of conflicting emotions and toxically comes apart as the film progresses.
McCarthy pulls performances that are nothing short of amazing from his very young actors (Ty Sompkins & Sadie Goldstein).
I loved McCarthy’s use of a dispassionate narrator to advance the story and supply interior voices to the characters. The device, which could be disastrous in a screenplay, is at once, intimate and distancing.
In ‘Little Children,’ Todd McCarthy has made a film that examines in detail the fissures in middle-class American life. He is a subtle, adroit filmmaker and aided by a company of excellent performers, he has fashioned an engrossing, edgy and very adult film.
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