- Culture
- 24 Nov 08
Based on the life of Christine Collins, this Kafkaesque nightmare is guaranteed to get you up in arms even if the script isn't the most perfect.
In March 1928, Christine Collins, a young working-class mother returned to her Los Angeles home to find that her son Walter was missing. The Los Angeles Police Department, a body defined primarily by corruption and mayhem at the time, responded by reuniting the woman with a boy who was not her own. When she dared to protest, she was branded a hysteric and a lunatic and slung into a mental hospital.
The stark facts of this appalling case need little or no embellishment. There is no part of Changeling – a terrifying Kafkaesque nightmare of child murder, wrongful incarceration and patriarchal abuses – that does not inspire fury in even the most casual viewer.
Ms. Collins’ plight, played with maximum anguish by Angelina Jolie, is, in the hands of Clint Eastwood, dramatised according to vigilante rules. For most of the film’s extensive running time, our heroine is vilified and victimised. Even the deceitful eponymous child is, in this wrong-headed society, superior to our suffering heroine by virtue of his gender. Elsewhere we find cops and mental health officials who, regardless of the returned child’s biological origins, view her dissent as outrageous. Why can’t she at least take the boy home, wonders one Captain (Jeffrey Donovan), on a ‘trial basis’ at least?
While there are few opportunities for Ms. Jolie to get all Lara Croft on their phallocentric asses, Changeling is, nonetheless, propelled by a righteous feminist fury. Historical details, though never radically altered, are neatly aligned to ensure that vengeance (rather than plain old justice) is seen to be served.
There are minor quibbles to be had. Ms. Jolie, though perfectly good in the main role, looks far too much like, well, herself, to ever convince as a downtrodden mum. It doesn’t help that the script can lack finesse. These caveats do not, however, prevent Changeling from looking like a big old Oscar picture. Towards the end we even see Angelina listening to the 1935 Academy Awards on the radio. Hint. hint.
Is she really worried about her son or is she just figuring out what to wear?