American Pastoral

Nobody is real in "American Pastoral." Characters are defined only by labels: Patriot. Whore. Anarchist. Wild child. Middle class. The list goes on and on and on, always remaining stagnant, since this is where the characterizations stop in John Romano's ghastly and empty adaptation of Philip Roth's novel of the same name.

I've read Roth, though not this particular novel, but I'd still feel safe betting my life savings that the author's motivations aren't reflected in either Romano's writing or the debut direction of actor Ewan McGregor. What I'm sure was a fantastic framing device in the book becomes hokey and forced in the film, driven home by a godawful "Stand by Me"-style voiceover from David Strathairn as Zuckerman -- the man romanticizing McGregor's character, Seymour "Swede" Levov, at his 45th high school reunion.

As the film ventures into the primary narrative, the result is so ham-fisted that I began daydreaming about clumsy pigs in a boxing ring to amuse myself and escape the movie's crippling boredom. There's a fascinating story here about fathers and daughters, political anger and activism, beauty, human perception and so much more, but the screenplay and direction are both drowned in painful, surface-level simplicities. The images composed by McGregor are plain and unremarkable, lacking any inspiration other than that from previously uninspired sources, while other technical elements like editing and music cues accomplish nothing to place the film in a better light. There are moments where I genuinely had to stifle back laughter -- a gruelingly obvious usage of Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth," to name just one.

As for acting, McGregor must require a good director to deliver a decent performance, since he's completely lost by serving double duty here. His accent drifts in and out of what feels like a weird Jimmy Stewart impression, especially when he yells things like "Where is my daughter?!" -- which is exclaimed at least a few dozen times, turning the film into some bizarre, period piece version of "Taken."

Dakota Fanning, as the Levov family's rebellious daughter Merry, is not much better, cursed with the character trait of a stutter that never once feels authentic. Jennifer Connolly is typically wonderful, but her performance is a tonal disaster here. There's a scene between McGregor and Connolly yelling back and forth that genuinely feels as if both actors are severely constipated, which is contradictory considering the moment in question is absolute cinematic feces.

The film dips and dives from one dramatic turning point to another, never quite feeling right, always indicative of what could have been done in better hands, with better actors ... better everything. It's a shame when you can see the potential failing with every passing moment. If anything, it encouraged me to pick up Roth's novel. Even if I don't end up reading it, a 423-page hardcover novel with enough blunt force is still probably enough to knock me out and erase the memory of this film forever.