Since it’s source novel was picked for Oprah’s book club, the
melodramatic machinations of Peter Kosminsky’s well-intentioned chick flick White
Oleanderdon’t
exactly come as surprise or a disappointment, but it ultimately fails to live up
to promise of its all-star cast. This is resolutely a character study, and its
inability to better exploit its series of fine actresses’ talents hurts more
as a result. Instead of completely satisfying, fully rounded performances, we
get characters that shine only in a few individual scenes, and the emotional arc
of the film suffers as a result. The script might be more to blame here than the
actors though. Things start off badly as the voiceover narration intones
obviously-scripted metaphysical observations such as, “Maybe the wind was the
reason my mom did what she did.” Most of the dialogue throughout suffers from
similar pratfalls, and very few moments in the film feel the least bit
improvisational. Only the soft-spoken Renee Zellweger, who has a tendency to
crinkle her nose and pause a bit before talking, manages to consistently
convince the audience that her character, and not screenwriter Mary Agnes
Donoghue, is thinking up her lines. Otherwise, the laboriously scripted dialogue
feels phony and contrived in its artfulness, even though it’s supposed to be
spoken by prison inmates, punk teens, and white trash. People who desire gloss
over grittiness certainly won’t mind, but for those expecting a coherently
realized world, the discordance will be tough to resolve.
Still, whatever the flaws of White
Oleander, each of the lead actors has at least one scene that justifies her
presence. The most unexpected of these was a powerful scene in which Michelle
Pfeiffer’s jailbird mom attacked organized religion (in a Hollywood film!) in
order to encourage her to think for herself. It is perhaps the only time that
the film’s Oprah’s book club-endorsed message really stirs you though.
Mostly, we just see a series of relatively disconnected pseudo-edgy encounters
with the people that enter the teen protagonist’s life once she’s placed
into the foster care system. None of these stories linger long enough to bore
you, but all of them would have gained more cumulative impact if at least one of
them didn’t end in an explosively physical climax. For all of the astute
articulation of complex feelings that fill the generally intelligent lulls in White Oleander’s
action, none of its episodes are allowed to resolve with a simple
conversation. It’s that it always needs to unnecessarily push things toward
the histrionic that disappoints the most.
Since it’s source novel was picked for Oprah’s book club, the
melodramatic machinations of Peter Kosminsky’s well-intentioned chick flick 
Still, whatever the flaws of White
Oleander, each of the lead actors has at least one scene that justifies her
presence. The most unexpected of these was a powerful scene in which Michelle
Pfeiffer’s jailbird mom attacked organized religion (in a Hollywood film!) in
order to encourage her to think for herself. It is perhaps the only time that
the film’s Oprah’s book club-endorsed message really stirs you though.
Mostly, we just see a series of relatively disconnected pseudo-edgy encounters
with the people that enter the teen protagonist’s life once she’s placed
into the foster care system. None of these stories linger long enough to bore
you, but all of them would have gained more cumulative impact if at least one of
them didn’t end in an explosively physical climax. For all of the astute
articulation of complex feelings that fill the generally intelligent lulls in