Grade: C+

If you took “Good Will Hunting” and stirred in a healthy dose of “Soul Food,” you’d have something very close to Denzel Washington’s directorial debut. “Antwone Fisher” is based upon the autobiographical book by the title character, who also wrote the screenplay, but in the telling it emerges as an overly formulaic, if lovingly crafted, tale of a troubled US navy recruit (Derek Luke) who overcomes his inner demons by taking the advice of Jerome Davenport (Washington), a sensitive, low-key psychiatrist, to reconnect with his long-lost family. By the end of the narrative, Fisher has come to terms with his unhappy childhood, been swallowed up in the embrace of relatives he’d never known he had, found the love of a good woman (a navy clerk played by Joy Bryant), and effectively saved his military career; the process of working with him has also helped Davenport resolve some rough spots in his own childless marriage to Berta (Salli Richardson).

With its likable but haunted young protagonist, raucous shipmates (these guys could be from a road company of “South Pacific”), avuncular man of medicine, supportive girlfriend and boisterous family waiting in the wings, “Antwone Fisher” has all the makings of a crowd-pleasing tearjerker, and Washington takes advantage of them to create a film whose earnestness and dignity almost (though not quite) overcome the narrative’s sentimentality and lack of surprise. By mostly refusing to push the emotional buttons too hard, exercising generally firm control over the actors and adopting an unhurried, largely straightforward approach, he imparts a tone of decorum and directness to a project that might easily have degenerated into heavy-handed mawkishness; his work as director mirrors that of Gus Van Sant in “Hunting” and evinces the same sort of assurance that he brings to his performance as Davenport, and he manages to keep “Fisher” from becoming crudely cloying. He also secures solid, unfussy turns from Luke and Bryant, both of whom are engaging and, in the case of newcomer Luke, genuinely touching as well–even if, in the culminating confrontation with Antwone’s mother (Viola Davis), his inexperience is detrimental.

Nonetheless the predictability and patness of the piece, based on Fisher’s actual experience though it might be, eventually take their toll, and Washington’s occasional forays into a more grandiose style prove particularly damaging. A gauzy opening dream sequence, for example, foreshadows the cause of Antwone’s psychological trauma all too blatantly, and the frequent flashbacks to the youth’s past, particularly the Dickensian ones concerned with his stay in a brutal foster home headed by the awful Mrs. Tate (Novella Nelson), aren’t always tonally right (some of them also seem rather abruptly inserted into the narrative). On the other hand, a few of the dialogue sequences, while admirably understated, come off a trifle flat. (Though it’s probably a natural result of the compression required to tell the story, moreover, Fisher’s opening up to Davenport after initial resistance seems rather facile.) Technically, however, the film is a class act down the line, with Philippe Rousselot’s photography nicely complementing Washington’s warm approach.

Anyone looking for an inspirational tale of a young man’s overcoming obstacles to succeed–something in the style of “Hunting” or “Finding Forrester”–should, therefore, find that “Antwone Fisher” fills the bill, and the film certainly shows that Denzel Washington can work as keenly behind the camera as he does in front of it. In the final analysis, though, it’s just too familiar a story, and its tone may strike you as self-consciously noble (just as Washington’s performances sometimes are). It will probably extract the tears the makers want you to shed, but afterwards you may feel a bit used by the manipulation, however expertly applied.

B+

Spike Lee has made a couple of masterful films–“Do the Right Thing” (1989) and “Malcolm X” (1992). But his recent feature career has been disappointing. Apart from non-fiction efforts like “4 Little Girls” (1997) and the filmed concert piece “The Original Kings of Comedy” (2000), he hasn’t directed a picture with more strengths than weaknesses since “Clockers” (1995). That’s why it’s such a pleasure to welcome “25th Hour.” It may not match his finest work, but it’s Lee’s best film in years, a solid, substantial picture made with taste and style and carrying considerable emotional punch.

The screenplay, adapted by David Benioff from his own novel, details the last day of freedom for a convicted New York City drug dealer named Monty Brogan (Edward Norton), who has to report the following morning to begin a seven-year stint in the state pen. The episodic narrative basically follows Monty–an intelligent, sad-faced guy–as he reflects ruefully on his past and fearfully on his future while almost ritualistically saying his goodbyes to friends and family. His connection with live-in girlfriend Naturelle (Rosario Dawson) is strained, since he suspects that she might have turned him in to the authorities, and his Russian boss Nikolai (Levani) is understandably concerned that he might turn state’s evidence in return for special treatment. Nonetheless after a difficult dinner with his widowed father James (Brian Cox), a bar owner who blames himself for his son’s troubles and insists on driving him to the penitentiary the next morning, Brogan sets out for a final party at Nikolai’s nightclub with Naturelle and two of his oldest friends–Francis (Barry Pepper), a high-octane Wall Street trader, and Jacob (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a rumpled, guilt-ridden high school teacher. There the tensions among the characters come to a head, a major revelation occurs, and ultimately friendships are seriously tested when Monty asks his buddies for a favor.

Employing a clever mixture of contemporary dialogue sequences and telling flashbacks, Benioff and Lee build a compelling portrait of Brogan’s life and relationships (although they conspicuously ignore how he got into the drug trade). They’re nearly as successful in sketching Francis and Jacob, especially in terms of the former’s ambivalent attitude toward Naturelle and the latter’s improper interest in one of his students, the provocative Mary (Anna Paquin), who shows up outside Nikolai’s just as the party arrives and contrives to accompany them inside. In a few brief strokes James’ despondency is also skillfully sketched. (The female characters–Naturelle and Mary–are, unhappily, less successfully delineated, and all but the most rabid canine lovers will probably feel that too much attention is paid to Monty’s dog, a mutt we see him rescue in the opening scene and of which he becomes very solicitous. Yes, his treatment of the animal is meant to represent his underlying humanity, but it still strikes one as an obvious device.)

For the most part Lee directs in an uncharacteristically straightforward style, generally eschewing the extreme floridness he’s often embraced. He does, however, insert several virtuoso sequences, which serve almost like breathtaking cadenzas. The first, interrupting Monty’s dinner with his dad, is an extended restroom rant the younger man delivers into a mirror, recalling the bigotry-laced montage that was so memorable in “Do the Right Thing.” The second, set in Nikolai’s club, involves Jacob’s surrealistic encounter with Mary. And the last, and most overwhelming, is an alternate ending that James proposes for his son at the close of the film–a hallucinatory dream of what might have been that’s achingly poignant. While it could be argued that these visually extravagant episodes are dramatically intrusive, they’re also part of Lee’s signature style, and they’re exceptionally well handled here; the picture would be more cinematically chaste without them, but it would lose some of its power and vitality. And throughout the cinematography of Rodrigo Prieto is supportive and often striking.

Edward Norton isn’t the first actor one might think of to play Monty, either in terms of the character’s hard edges or his appearance, which is supposedly so handsome that it insures him a tough ride in prison, but he rebounds from “Death to Smoochy” to draw a deft, finally moving portrait of a basically bright guy who’s gotten off the right path. Pepper is better than he’s ever been before as the high-pressured Francis, and Hoffman partners him beautifully as the perpetually slouching, hangdog Jacob. Dawson and Paquin bring more to their roles than the script affords, and Cox, who’s quickly becoming an almost ubiquitous presence in Hollywood films, brilliantly portrays a worn-down man almost desperate at long last to show real affection for his boy.

A final nod should be made to Terence Blanchard’s brooding, insistent score, which–like Lee’s set-pieces–might strike some as intrusive but actually adds a good deal of power to a film that raises essentially pulpish material to the level of moody cinematic poetry.