Opens December 25, 1999

Ah, there's no better way to celebrate Christmas than to watch a bunch of poor Irish people acting miserable. At least that's what Paramount and Universal seem to think, having decided to open the bleak and dismal Angela's Ashes on December 25. Opening date aside, this is a movie that won't find much of an audience anyhow, less because of its depressing outlook -- although that certainly is a downer -- and more because it simply doesn't offer up a compelling enough, conflict-driven story.

I've heard that Parker claimed that the novel by Frank McCourt, based on his childhood, couldn't be made into a film; it would appear that he was right. Now, I don't mean to make light of McCourt's experiences. They were truly horrible and he clearly triumphed over his circumstances, having come to America and won a Pulitzer by relating what he endured. If that isn't the Horatio Alger myth come to life, I don't know what is. Yet, somehow, this story of personal triumph gets buried in the morass of McCourt's dismal Irish childhood, from which there seems to be no escape and no real lessons learned.

Truth be told, the only difference between what McCourt suffered and what the other children around him experienced, is that he came to America and told the world that his life was rough. Yet, when you look at it, his life -- rife with poverty, disease, Catholic guilt and family alcoholism -- is no different than the lives of countless Irish people of the time. So what makes McCourt's experiences special? Not a lot. Somehow in the book, McCourt managed to give his world a sense of majesty and a patina of nobility. None of this comes through in the film, which is well-acted and superbly crafted but ultimately hollow.

Frank's story starts in New York where his newborn sister dies. Still mourning, the family returns to Ireland where they get a cold reception from the parents of Frank's mom Angela (Emily Watson), who have never liked Frank's Northern Irish dad (Robert Carlyle). As the McCourts settle into a pathetic little hovel, dad lives off the dole and drinks himself stiff with every extra cent, while Angela is forced to beg to keep the children fed. As Frank's father, Robert Carlyle does his best to bring a modicum of dignity to a thankless character that we can't help but dislike. He is a man perpetually caught up in a Southern Irish bureaucracy, who drowns his sorrow and his ineffectiveness in the bottle. Unfortunately, after this happens three or four times, even Carlyle's empathy starts to wane and his actions feel like a broken record.

Frank watches his family's suffering this with detachment, getting a job as soon as he is old enough. His work on a coal wagon almost leads to blindness; as a teenager, he has better luck delivering telegrams and falling in love with one of his young customers along the way. If all this seems episodic, it is, to a fault. Like the book, McCourt's childhood is accessible in snippets, which can work in narrative form but is more than a little annoying in a film. Frank (Joe Breen, Ciaran Owens and Michael Legge) jumps in age three times, the result being that just when we get to know him at a certain age, he is ripped away from us and transforms into someone new. Nor are any of the young actors who play him particular stand-outs.

In the end, what cripples this film is its lack of conflict and its failure to impart any sort of thematic intent. If there were ever a message movie, then Angela's Ashes should be it. In the book, there was a pervasive message that Frank must break the ties of family if he ever wanted to make something of himself. In the film, Frank’s story culminates with his returning alone to America – his journey having come full circle – but an overriding point is noticeably missing, which is surprising considering that Alan Parker, usually so adept with emotional brush strokes, had a hand in the script.

Ironically, too, part of what made reading McCourt's book so moving was the fact that you knew this man had endured such suffering and been rewarded for his insights into it. The man won a Pulitzer after all. Yet, in the film, Frank's greatest triumph is when he throws away a ledger belonging to the local moneylender, thus erasing everyone's debts in town. Big deal. Without knowing Frank's dreams, his return to America is little more than the dream of any other hopeful immigrant. While it might have been egotistical and even a bit melodramatic to do so, a post-script at the end of the film mentioning Frank's later achievements would have at least given the story an "Oh, wow" finale to top it off. After all, when it comes right down to it, the only reason McCourt's childhood was made into a movie is because he got the prize. A harsh, but true, observation to be sure.