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In 1928 Los Angeles, single mother Christine Collins (Angelina Jolie) takes on the LAPD to her own detriment when it stubbornly tries to pass off an obvious impostor as her missing child, while also refusing to give up hope that she will find him one day.
What we're left with is a straightforward sob story; a haunting, matter-of-fact depiction of cruel injustice that couldn't fail to touch a nerve in any context.
In a movie "based on" a true story, if the drama doesn't have a ring of authenticity, it can seem even more suspect than fiction, especially if the source material is distant and obscure: it makes you wonder what really happened.
It is a misfire, a silly and borderline absurd story that cannot excuse its twists and turns with the simple 'a true story' declaration that opens the film.
If Changeling lacks the knockout power of, say, Million Dollar Baby, it proves that Eastwood continues to seek out stories that take him places he hasn't been before -- and the audience along with him.
Jolie is alternately distraught and outraged (in good ways) but Eastwood's film is an odd mix of genres that never quite settles into the one we want to watch.
Eastwood's latest confirms its director as the dean of American melodramatists and as an accomplished yet unadventurous artist as uncomfortable with ambiguity as his admirers appear to be.