We've all heard the story of Erin Brockovich by now: a plucky, down-on-her-luck single mom takes on an evil corporation, gloriously beats all the odds to avenge the humble townsfolk, and lives happily ever after. "Kind of like David and what's-his-name!" she exclaims at one point, and yes, a straightforward David and Goliath story is exactly what it is. The good guys are very very good; the bad guys are very very evil. There is no moral ambiguity here. "Erin Brockovich" is as black and white as an Oreo cookie, and as sugary.
That said, it isn't a badly made David and Goliath reenactment -- on the contrary, it is as polished and professional as a movie can get. Susannah Grant's screenplay is dutifully by-the-book in its tidy structure; setup, confrontation, and resolution are laid out with a correctness that would make Syd Field proud. Stephen Soderbergh's direction bathes everything in a comforting sunny glow. The good guys are played by attractive actors; the bad guys are all ugly and say things like, "You can't scare us, we're a twenty-seven-million-dollar corporation!"
Julia Roberts as the eponymous heroine sure is plucky. She may be down on her luck, but she's got pluck coming out of her ears and cleavage. That's why she's able to curse so boldly at her evil male oppressors, even as she cares for her three obnoxiously angelic blonde children and wanders around doing what I guess is supposed to be housework. We know that a girl like that can't possibly lose in a movie like this, so all we have to do is sit back and wait for her to overcome her obstacles. Ms. Grant has, of course, kindly written in a love interest for her as a diversion from her relentless overcoming.
Ms. Roberts isn't exactly a brilliant actress. She's not, for example, Julianne Moore, who conveys infinite depths of subtle emotion with the tiniest twitch of her face. And I'm yet to be convinced that Roberts has any range. Still, I can't imagine anyone else in a role like this, because Julia Roberts can do what few actresses can: she can carry a movie. Erin Brockovich occupies every single scene here without a single consistent partner, which would be daunting for anyone, but Roberts confidently yanks hold of the screen and lets the movie hang on her like a flattering cashmere sweater. And she looks great in it, almost too great -- "I can't even pay for my phone," she whines in one scene, but the camera is too busy noticing her gorgeously leggy figure to sympathize much. On the other hand, it would be nice to see a movie about the adventures of an average-looking middle-aged woman who actually does look like she's had three kids. (Shirley Valentine, where have you gone?)
The strange, nagging element of weirdness to "Erin Brockovich" is its unapologetically capitalist worldview. In this movie, litigation is presented as a means to an end, and the end is money. Mr. Soderbergh seems to assume that the proper response to any form of oppression is to press charges, and that enough money will assuage even the most grievous of injuries. Look at the face of that teary, frail wisp of a housewife (Humble Townsfolk Exhbit A) in the end, when she learns how much money she'll be awarded. The score swells; it's a glorious moment. Apparently she's forgotten that she and her entire family are still dying of cancer. Ah, the American dream.
That said, it isn't a badly made David and Goliath reenactment -- on the contrary, it is as polished and professional as a movie can get. Susannah Grant's screenplay is dutifully by-the-book in its tidy structure; setup, confrontation, and resolution are laid out with a correctness that would make Syd Field proud. Stephen Soderbergh's direction bathes everything in a comforting sunny glow. The good guys are played by attractive actors; the bad guys are all ugly and say things like, "You can't scare us, we're a twenty-seven-million-dollar corporation!"
Julia Roberts as the eponymous heroine sure is plucky. She may be down on her luck, but she's got pluck coming out of her ears and cleavage. That's why she's able to curse so boldly at her evil male oppressors, even as she cares for her three obnoxiously angelic blonde children and wanders around doing what I guess is supposed to be housework. We know that a girl like that can't possibly lose in a movie like this, so all we have to do is sit back and wait for her to overcome her obstacles. Ms. Grant has, of course, kindly written in a love interest for her as a diversion from her relentless overcoming.
Ms. Roberts isn't exactly a brilliant actress. She's not, for example, Julianne Moore, who conveys infinite depths of subtle emotion with the tiniest twitch of her face. And I'm yet to be convinced that Roberts has any range. Still, I can't imagine anyone else in a role like this, because Julia Roberts can do what few actresses can: she can carry a movie. Erin Brockovich occupies every single scene here without a single consistent partner, which would be daunting for anyone, but Roberts confidently yanks hold of the screen and lets the movie hang on her like a flattering cashmere sweater. And she looks great in it, almost too great -- "I can't even pay for my phone," she whines in one scene, but the camera is too busy noticing her gorgeously leggy figure to sympathize much. On the other hand, it would be nice to see a movie about the adventures of an average-looking middle-aged woman who actually does look like she's had three kids. (Shirley Valentine, where have you gone?)
The strange, nagging element of weirdness to "Erin Brockovich" is its unapologetically capitalist worldview. In this movie, litigation is presented as a means to an end, and the end is money. Mr. Soderbergh seems to assume that the proper response to any form of oppression is to press charges, and that enough money will assuage even the most grievous of injuries. Look at the face of that teary, frail wisp of a housewife (Humble Townsfolk Exhbit A) in the end, when she learns how much money she'll be awarded. The score swells; it's a glorious moment. Apparently she's forgotten that she and her entire family are still dying of cancer. Ah, the American dream.