In America, Jim Sheridan's new film, tells the story of an Irish family that moves to New York in the 80s. Just as you would imagine, they are in search of that elusive phenomenon that involves both America and the rapid-eye-movement stage of sleep (notice how I circumnavigate a certain overused phrase?). But this film goes way beyond that. It's not even really about the experience of immigration—it's about four people who just happen to be immigrants.

The New York seen through the eyes of these characters is both gritty and magical, and it wins you over immediately. Right after they move into their ancient, junkie-populated tenement, the family is sweltering in hundred-degree heat, and there's this great scene where the dad stubbornly drags an air conditioner through the street, ignoring the noise of honking and screaming cabbies. You can see the grim determination etched on his face, and the message is clear: family is the only thing that means anything for this man. None of the rest of it even exists. This sentiment is further evidenced when a simple carnival game comes to symbolize his uphill struggle to provide happiness, as well as food, for his family. This part is played by Paddy Considine, and he does an amazing job. Samantha Morton is fantastic and sexy as his wife, and her close-cropped haircut seems to magnify her every expression, making her joys and sorrows that much more tangible. Djimon Hounsou is great, too, as an angry, dying artist (I know, this idea is not exactly fresh off the grocery shelf, but it works here).

That's enough about the adults. Let me say a few things about these kids, cause I have never in my life seen two movie children who seemed so much like real children. No kidding! The function of children in movies is too often to look adorable and to demonstrate the likability of their parent/parents. If they do disobey, they do so in a cute fashion. But either way, they are never able to pull off the essence of Real Kid—they're so aware of the camera that they make faces and flash their dimples and, in general, exude this precious sentimentality that makes me want to gouge my own eyes out. You can just tell they're throwing tantrums off-screen because their agent didn't get them the right kind of corn dogs. To be honest, I'd prefer the platinum-blond demon children in Village of the Damned any day. At least they're up front about being evil. But the little smirking kids, that horrible Jerry Maguire kid for example, or the ones whose specialty is being more grown up than the grown-ups and thereby teaching their elders a valuable lesson about life? Gag and double gag. Let's agree to let this concept go, shall we? No one likes a precocious brat, and most of these kids playing off Tom Cruise today are just going to be robbing convenience stores tomorrow. Sorry, Ms. Dakota Fanning, but someone's gotta say it. The best case scenario is Kirsten Dunst, who is a decent actress except for in Spider-man, and the worst is Corey Feldman, who peaked with The Goonies and never quite reached that same level of greatness again. (To be fair, Corey is soldiering on as frontman for his band, Corey Feldman's Truth Movement. Doesn't it sound like he should be wearing a black beret and carrying out guerrilla attacks in Cuba?) Of course, there's Jodie Foster, too, and now I see I'm proving myself wrong because she's very talented.

But back to the point.

The In America girls, who are sisters in real life (maybe that helps), seem totally authentic in this film. Even the little one, who is hyper and friendly, never comes off as the slightest bit "Hollywood." And believe me, I was watching her like a hawk, just waiting for the moment when that natural veneer would crack. It didn't. So a hearty bravo and bravissimo to those Bolger girls. Without them, the movie would not have worked, despite the best efforts of Considine, Morton, and Housou (or Crosby, Stills, and Nash, for that matter). It would have been unpleasant and mawkish, and I would have been gouging my eyes out as described above.

Tags: movies