Some movies should have been tossed long before they made it to theaters. "Freedomland" is one of those movies.
Messier than a college dorm room, "Freedomland" has ambitious goals but fails miserably. It aims to make viewers question justice, forgiveness and the presence of racism in modern America, but the only question it really brings up is, "What were they thinking?"
From the trailers, you'd never know that "Freedomland" was such a colossal mistake. The premise seems decent enough, at least for a Hollywood blockbuster: a white woman's (Julianne Moore) four-year-old son goes missing in an all-black neighborhood, and savvy cop Lorenzo Council (Samuel L. Jackson) is on the job to solve the mystery and clean up the mess.
The problem, of course, is that the mess is bigger than both Lorenzo and viewers anticipate. Because it turns out that "Freedomland" is not just a story about a missing child, but the story of his mother, the story of Lorenzo, and the story of racial injustice in the legal system and urban America.
The result of this is an identity crisis that leaves "Freedomland" trying to be both a blockbuster and an astute social commentary. Combining those two genres takes an amount of skill that neither this movie's writer nor its director has. Instead, the movie fluctuates between silliness and pretension, trying to teach a sophisticated lesson through a plotline that could have been written by a twelve-year-old.
Take, for example, the series of events that unfolds at the start of the movie. Brenda (Moore) staggers into a hospital, pushes open the door (leaving a bloody handprint as an unfortunate and irrelevant homage to "Psycho" [1960]) and sits quietly without saying anything until Lorenzo arrives to question her.
Yes, her car was hijacked. It happened in the projects. She fell; her hands got cut up badly. Oh, and by the way: Her four-year-old son was in the car.
Although Moore delivers this last bit of information with the necessary hysterics, the fact that she waits so long to say it is an annoyingly obvious sign that all is not what it seems. This is the first of many scenes where one feels as if director Joe Roth (of 2004's "Christmas With the Kranks" and 2001's "America's Sweethearts") was standing in the corner of the screen holding a sign that read, "Oh, she might be lying, so you better pay attention!"
Implausible conversations such as this one are not necessary to point viewers in the right direction, especially because the "twist" ending is fairly easy to guess, at least in part, for any seasoned moviegoer. And what's true for plot is also true for meaning; in other words, the movie need not dress all its characters in t-shirts bearing sketches of grim-faced black males in order for us to understand its message about the presence of racism.
As if this weren't enough to distract viewers, the plot is also filled with tangents which are largely irrelevant to the storyline. Take Lorenzo's asthma, or whatever it is, that causes him to hyperventilate and whip out his inhaler at the most tense points in the movie. Contrary to the beliefs of the filmmakers, Lorenzo's asthma attacks do not heighten tension, but rather distract viewers from what little natural tension the plotline provides.
On a larger scale, there is the issue of Freedomland, an old abandoned children's home where "countless children suffered" (irony, anyone?). Somehow, everyone decides that Freedomland is the only feasible place where Brenda's son may be hiding.
Despite the fact that the movie's title bears its name, Freedomland really has very little to do with the actual plot. It is one huge symbol of the pain of poor, neglected children. But walking through Freedomland is like walking through one big clich?©, and the place has neither the atmosphere nor the psychological impact that it's supposed to. As a result, viewers can watch Brenda's emotional catharsis at Freedomland that leads her to reveal the truth behind her son's disappearance, but they can't feel it.
To be fair, "Freedomland" does have good intentions. It tries hard to avoid certain stereotypes and to paint a fairly complex picture of the politics and dynamics of inner city projects. Plus, there are a few very well-acted scenes owing to the genuine talent of Moore and Jackson.
But even Oscar-worthy performances wouldn't be enough to redeem this movie. "Freedomland," like the place for which it is named, is a regrettable, forgettable mess.
