Movie review: Changeling

by John P. Meyer

There aren't many filmmakers who could take a story about a single mom whose kid goes missing and turn it into a gripping thriller that holds our attention - and engages our emotions - for a solid 140 minutes. Turns out there's at least one, though: Clint Eastwood.

Mind you: there are no gun battles, fist fights or car chases in Eastwood's Changeling. Working from an intelligent, thoughtful and character-savvy script by Babylon 5 scribe (and graphic novel author) J. Michael Straczynski, Clint's film drops us into a living, breathing authentic-looking Los Angeles of the late 1920's - complete with streetcars, Model A's, flapper hats and streets so free of traffic that no one feels the need to honk or curse (or shoot).

This is an era when telephone operators used manual switchboards to complete calls, while their supervisors (such as the serious-minded Christine Collins, played by Angelina Jolie) rolled around the workfloor on roller skates, solving problems and resolving escalations on the fly. (Can I get fries with that connection to Peoria?) Mrs. Collins - whose husband left her high and dry shortly after "celebrating" the birth of their son, Walter (now age eight) - handles her duties as professional person and Mom with determination and grace, easing out of tight corners into which she's been maneuvered by romance-inclined supervisors.

Christine is hearing from the head office that she may be in line for a promotion, so when another supervisor calls in sick on a Saturday morning, she consents to come in and work the shift - even though it means that young Walter will have to miss out on the picture show she's been promising him. More to the point, he'll have to remain home on his own recognizance for most of the day.

Which leads, of course, to his abduction, setting up the film's conflict and allowing for the unrelenting buildup of tension. Only through inexorable revelation and the interposition of characters with competing agendas will we discover whether Christine Collins will ever see her missing son again.

Chief among the interposers is the institution of the Los Angeles Police Dept., beginning with the dispatcher who Christine phones after arriving home, finding Walter gone from the house and searching the neighborhood. These being pre- Amber Alert days, she is told that there is a 24-hour waiting period before any action can be undertaken by the authorities - because "99 percent of the kids show up by the next day."

Days go by, then weeks - and with no sign of her son, Christine can do little beyond spurring the LAPD on to further action and using her position at work to make lunchtime calls around the vicinity in the hopes of finding some clue to Walter's whereabouts. A local Presbyterian minister - the Rev. Gustav Briegleb (John Malkovich, in one of his more subdued performances of late) - takes up her cause by using his weekly radio broadcast to get the word out. Rev. Briegleb ends up acting as Christine's chief ally in the cause of locating her missing son - and he is a tenacious one.

Meanwhile, the LAPD already has a tarnished reputation, given that Chief James E. Davis (the ever-sinister Colm Feore) has installed a "gun squad" charged with bringing in criminals "dead, not alive" - turning the members of his force into judge, jury and executioner. The Rev. Briegleb has made much hay over police corruption and mismanagement, and Chief Davis is desperately seeking positive PR wherever he can find it.

Thus, when it appears that Walter Collins has turned up abandoned at a diner in the Midwest, Chief Davis pulls out all the stops to make the most of this rare positive turn of events. Enlisting the aid of Captain J.J. Jones (Jeffrey Donovan, from Burn Notice) the LAPD orchestrates a media event, inviting reporters to the train station on the morning when Christine Collins will be reunited with her beloved Walter.

Only: the kid who disembarks from the train isn't Walter, as Christine realizes straight away. The fact that everyone WANTS him to be Walter - particularly Capt. Jones, who encourages this foolish, ungrateful woman to "take him home on a trial basis" - can't change the inconvenient fact that he's not. Somewhat floored by this whole bait-and-switch dog-and-pony show, Christine allows herself to be photographed with the kid - who's happily going along with the ruse, for reasons we don't fully understand until the last reel.

It's here that the tale turns surreal, because even if Christine had been skeptical of her own perceptions (as the doctor on the police payroll makes every effort to so incline her), there's still the evidence of the height marker placed on the doorframe, the assurances of Walter's dentist that the mouth structure is all wrong, and the fact that "Walter" - upon reintroduction to his elementary school classroom - can't remember where his seat is. (Plus, the teacher swears it isn't him.)

In spite of the resistance mounting against his obviously false assertions, Captain Jones - more worried about public relations than the petty concerns of one of the citizens he is sworn to protect - refuses to allow Christine to repudiate the false Walter. Maddeningly, it's as if he doesn't believe that a woman can distinguish her own offspring from someone else's. As he puts it to her, "the greatest minds in the field of child identification agree that he is your son." (Oh, well, when you put it that way...)

If not for the righteous efforts of Rev. Briegleb - and the professionalism of one Detective Lester Ybarra (Michael Kelly) - the story of Christine Collins might have never seen the light of day.

Amazingly, the story of Christine Collins is based on actual events, uncovered by ex-journalist Straczynski and recounted in this fascinating backstory. I'm not going anywhere near the details of what happened to Walter, because that is so much a part of the film's impact that any hint of it would be a disservice.

Yes, Mr. Eastwood's direction is masterful (what else might we expect from a master?); yes, Mr. Straczynski's script is taut and wise; but all would be for naught without the performance of Ms. Jolie, who positions herself firmly amongst the ranks of this year's Oscar candidates by carrying the film. Her Christine Collins is both vulnerable and determined: uncertain as to how she can overcome the forces arrayed against her, but unwavering in the knowledge that she is her missing son's only hope. And she refuses - against all odds - to give up on searching for him.

Accompanying the action is a laid-back, romantic, piano/horn score, composed by Mr. Eastwood and reminiscent of Jerry Goldsmith's music for Chinatown - another great movie set in the L.A. of yesteryear.

The final half-hour of the film is given over to righting wrongs and returning favors, and succeeds in avoiding tedium only because the righting of wrongs proves so bloody satisfying by this stage.

Bring on the bitch slaps.

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