Top Box Office Movies - White Oleander

White Oleander (2002) Warner Brothers
1 hr. 49 mins.
Starring: Michelle Pfeiffer, Allison Lohman, Renee Zellweger, Robin Wright Penn, Patrick Fugit, Noah Wyle, Billy Connolly
Directed by: Peter Kosminsky

White Oleander

Rating:

E-MAIL FRANK OCHIENG

Photo: Warner Brothers

There’s a lot of estrogen juice flowing in director Peter Kosminsky’s sentimental but corny uplifting film White Oleander. Based on the penetrating novel by Janet Fitch, Kosminsky’s female-friendly narrative escapes the total stigma of needless sappiness by fortifying this feminine fable with solid performances by a talented cast that instills some believability in the otherwise lightweight material begging to be repeated on the Lifetime cable channel. White Oleander is a well-meaning drippy drama in its earnest approach to spotlighting various women and the foibles they face based on the snappy decisions that are regrettably made. Basically, this is a revealing and affecting chick flick that wants to tap into the angst of fragile womanhood sensibilities. The melodramatic tone is decent while never going over-the-top in its sporadic fluffy machinations. Sure, maybe White Oleander gets away with murder in that its top-notch casting along with the well-produced sheen of this particular film keeps it from being just another generic female-bonding tearjerker.

Newcomer Alison Lohman plays frustrated but resilient teen Astrid Magnussen, a Los Angeles-based young gal who’s tossed around like a salad due to the fact that she’s a ward of the state. Poor Astrid is first placed in a youth facility then she finds herself bouncing back and forth amongst three foster homes. Astrid is disillusioned, and rightfully so, but the kid hangs in there despite the temptation to feel sorry for herself.

Astrid is in this precarious situation in the first place thanks to the hideous indiscretion of her glamorous and skillful artist mother Ingrid (Michelle Pfeiffer). Because of the nature of her volatile affair with abrasive companion Barry (Billy Connolly), Ingrid suddenly reaches her boiling point. When Barry pushes her buttons once too often by flaunting his cheating ways in a twisted effort to taunt Ingrid, she snaps and instantly kills him. Thus Ingrid is sent to prison because of her heinous “act-of-passion” impulse. Naturally this leaves a devastated Astrid hung out to dry because mommy dearest is no longer around to provide comfort and support.

And while Ingrid is determined to fight for the reunion with her nomad daughter prancing about the City of Angels, Astrid’s peculiar field trips to these different foster homes prove to be quite telling indeed. In fact, the sampling of foster mothers who are welcomed into this impressionable girl’s life are meant to represent the varied segments of womanly alienation.

Foster mother Starr (Robin Wright Penn) is a former stripper with an alcoholic past who embraces her Christian born-again credo with the same tight grip that helped her hold onto a tempting pint of hooch. Starr is indeed an uptight sexy gal but her controlling nature suggests an individual trying to discipline her nostalgic demons. Another caretaker named Claire (Renee Zellweger) is married to a boyish-looking cheating bum-of-a-hubby Mark Richards (Noah Wyle) who thinks it nothing to leave her in the dust as he conducts his carousing routine while going on countless business trips. The next foster mom is Rena (Svetlana Efremova), a Soviet hard-nosed manipulator who exploits her foster girls for her own personal and financial gain.

As the disenchanted Astrid intrudes on one dysfunctional household after the other, the weary Ingrid works furiously to try and champion her motherly obstacles behind bars by reassuring her dazed and confused offspring to hang in there and persevere while she figures out her next move. The film wants to diligently present these scattered dilemmas as a sure-fire way to magnify the dramatic veneer not to mention define the indelible idiosyncrasies and courageousness of its diluted players in this ambitious but sudsy weeper.

White Oleander’s screenplay is by courtesy of Mary Agnes Donoghue. Donoghue, of course, is the same scriber that brought us the notoriously teary-eyed and saccharine-coated bravura of the Bette Midler/Barbara Hershey hanky spectacle Beaches. Thankfully, Donoghue’s scripting of Oleander doesn’t cater as much to the instant mushy session designed to sheepishly work on our sympathetic pulse regarding these wounded souls. The characters suffer from a quiet recklessness that is refreshingly restrained and understated. It’s too bad the story wasn’t sturdy enough to support the protagonists’ embittered outlook.

Twenty-three year old Lohman assumes the skin of Astrid with impeccable forcefulness as she’s asked to endure different emotions while adapting to the chaotic climate of her unbearable fluctuating circumstances. The one shining bright note that Astrid takes to her underlining misery is the love and friendship of fellow foster kid Paul Trout (the wonderful Patrick Fugit from Almost Famous), a comic artist with a bleak perspective that’s relatively infectious. As far as the “big three” from the Blonde Bombshell Brigade, dependable screen sirens Pfeiffer, Zellweger, and Wright Penn all deliver durable and astonishing performances in a film that could have been dangerously considered transparent and tepid in its sluggish makeup.

White Oleander rises to its acceptable promise based on plausible characterizations that are smart, slightly damaged, and self-reflective. Interestingly enough, the hint of male-bashing is subtle if not altogether non-existent (although you got to love the film’s flippant taste of presenting the obligatory philandering and emotionally abusive husband coupled along with the soul-searching young man not yet corrupted by the idealism of male-dominated complexity and insensitivity).

Overall, this sparingly compelling coming-of-age saga of a mother-daughter relationship testing the waters of adversity is not completely a memorable or declarative exposition that screams as a classic confrontational cinema of self-imposed womanhood. However, it is marginally engrossing in its ability to convey the unflappable ups and downs of female frailty and fortitude. The intermittent contrivance of this soapy gem can be overlooked by the star-studded element that enhances the feminine message of misplaced empowerment. White Oleander is a cinematic flower that could use some more blooming but the scent is still pleasing enough to acknowledge with frothy satisfaction.

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Frank Ochieng
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