Audience needs liberation

By Nick Norman

"Freedomland" exudes the authority and power of damp toilet paper. I'm no expert, but deep in my bones I possess one inalienable truth: it's a bad sign when the audience laughs at the emotional climax of a film.

This disaster of a film opens with an obviously disturbed woman wandering the streets of urban New Jersey. Her white skin and blond hair stand out from the darkened storefronts of the neighborhood. Ultimately, she drifts into an emergency room and silently presents her bloodied palms, launching a deeply disappointing narrative.

Lorenzo Council (Samuel L. Jackson), the valiant local detective, immediately allies with this disturbed woman. Brenda Martin (Julianne Moore) claims to be the victim of a simple carjacking by a nondescript African-American male. Yet, under dubious circumstances, she reveals that her son was taken along with her car. Immediately, sirens scream and an entire block of federal housing projects are quarantined. The white cops cut off the black residents and the rest ensues just as expected.

The tension builds amidst tiresome shouting and shoving while the kidnapping investigation crawls forward. Martin herself constantly hinders the investigation. Yet Lorenzo drives forward, simultaneously alienating much of the cast.

Writing so much description for this film feels exceedingly pointless. Here are the necessary bits: child disappears, shady pasts reveal themselves, black residents and white cops don't quite get along--ad nauseam. We've seen it countless times, most of us could write our own version. And it would be better than "Freedomland." Just be sure to throw in multiple "jurisdiction" rants, threats to contact "the Feds," and the time-tested "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

The money spent marketing this film seems grossly unbalanced with the actual quality of the product. For the last three months, I've seen a trailer for this movie at every film I've attended. It's all over the television, and banner ads bog down my web browser. Yet the actual product stinks. I suspect a dose of overcompensation on the part of the production studio. And don't be fooled: this is not a thriller at all. It's sappy, slow and predictable--everything a charged psychological roller coaster shouldn't be.

Yet, actor Edie Falco does give a refreshing performance. Her presence on-screen ameliorates Jackson's atypically forgettable performance. Falco has the worn and caring face of a frontier mother. Her wrinkles and concerned eyes betray a life of hard, loving work sitting atop a covered wagon. In addition, she delivers the saccharine script from complete failure. In the current climate of remakes, unoriginal writing and hackneyed dialogue, she has a fighting chance at greater fame.

Despite the success of the eponymous novel, the narrative floated by from left to right, A to B, dust to dust. It's greatest failure was the lack of challenge to the audience. There's no opportunity for us to figure out the mystery on our own, no trust put in the intellect of the viewer. Everything is handed to us on a dull and lackluster platter.

Grade: C-

Contact Nick Norman at (408) 551-1918 or npnorman@scu.edu.