Changeling(15)

CINEMATIC highlights of 2008, in brief.

Indiana Jones: The Complan Years.

Four old crones babbling about handbags for nearly three hours.

And Pierce Brosnan bellowing his way through Mamma Mia like a harpooned wildebeest.

This year's Oscar-judging panel? I don't envy them. So Lord be praised for Mr Clint Eastwood-a man who's gone down that most unfashionable route, once again, of telling a fascinating story clearly, confidently and without fuss.

As well as keeping his cast's performances understated and his camerawork simple, clean and pretty stunning. It'll never catch on. But heck, I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

Changeling is the latest typically impressive offering from the man whose last four films number among the best of the decade. (Go back as far as six and you get to Space Cowboys-so we'll gloss over that.)

But what's doubly impressive about this one is that it's based on a true story-and NOBODY has thought to make a film of it before.

We're in LA, late 1920s. Angelina Jolie is Christine Collins, a nondescript, single, mum (if by "nondescript, single mum" you mean "eyelid-fluttering Milf with the body of an Amazon and lips like an HGV tyre").

Like any other day Christine heads out to work at the telephone exchange and like any other day leaves her nine-year-old son Walter at home. Unlike any other day when she gets back Walter has gone.

Several months pass and Christine gets no news of her son's whereabouts.

Masterfully, Clint gets Angelina to underplay the trauma rather than having her tear her hair out and howl for "my baybee". Then Christine is contacted by the Los Angeles Police Department, who say they've found her son.

The cops organise a public reunion, hopeful the feel-good story will make locals forget about recent scandals in the department. It does and everyone's happy. Except for Christine. Because that kid they've brought back? It's NOT her son.

What follows is a story so far-fetched it would be booed out the cinema were it not true.

Rather than accept their mistake the cops smear Christine as a delusional, unfit mother. Experts are wheeled out to say that "Walter" changed due to the trauma of being away. Eyes changed colour, you say? Well, he's been crying a lot, innit. Four inches shorter? Probably wasn't fed properly. Oh-and that? Well . . . the kidnapper might have been Jewish!

But the LAPD-led by Burn Notice's Jeffery Donovan in a chilling turn as the corrupt police captain-finds itself pitched against the Rev Gustav Briegleb (John Malkovich in an unusually non-ridiculous role), a firebrand preacher who decides to fight Christine's corner.

And the story spins off in all kinds of unexpected ways.

Changeling is a big old powerhouse of an awards-baiting movie. It's a safe bet Clint will get a few Oscar nods and Jolie will be on the best actress list. But impressive as it is, for me there was just something missing.

The usual tribe of luvvies will praise the painstaking lenswork that captures 1920s and 30s LA with faint colours and stately camera pans.

Meanwhile I couldn't help but wonder what a single mum was doing in such a big house, and wishing Angelina had flashed a bit more leg and/or boob.

Still, it's a damning reminder that as recently as the 1930s, 90 per cent of women were looked on as bizarre, hysterical subhumans who wanted locking up.

Whereas today we know the real number is only about half that.

OUT WEDNESDAY

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