American Pastoral's narrative tension goes underground, just like the kid

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      Starring Ewan McGregor. Rated PG

      “You’ve done everything wrong, Mr. Levov.” So says a philosophical FBI agent to Ewan McGregor’s character in American Pastoral. Mr. Levov’s answer: “When did that start, exactly?”

      This exchange captures the tartness familiar from most , and this one also misses the mark after a solid beginning. In his feature-directing debut, McGregor looks good as Seymour Levov, nicknamed “the Swede” in high school for his fair hair and football prowess.

      A scar-free marine at the end of World War II, the Swede returns to Newark, New Jersey, and initially does everything right. He marries the most beautiful shiksa in the neighbourhood, a pageant winner named Dawn, here played by Jennifer Connelly, and takes over his father’s glove business, building it up with a mostly black staff.

      The young couple move to the country to raise cows and their young daughter, a blond nymph saddled with a debilitating stutter. After she turns into (a very good) Dakota Fanning in the 1960s, the Vietnam War, inner-city rioting, and other ills sharpen her tongue against anything establishment—especially her parents. (This is the second movie this month, after Unless, to feature a teen driven to extremes by Buddhist self-immolation.)

      Eventually, the kid goes underground, and so does the movie’s narrative tension. McGregor struggles throughout to find the right ethnic accent, but it’s not a real problem until about halfway in, when Connelly’s character pretty much goes nuts and we get too many scenes with the Swede trying to find his daughter before the feds do. There’s a lot of yelling, too little nuance, and even less humour. (Peter Riegert does add some amusement as Seymour’s crotchety dad.) But, hell, we have those Taken movies if that’s what we want.

      Screenwriter John Romano (The Lincoln Lawyer) has kept the book’s original frame, with the Swede’s younger brother telling this whole story, in flashbacks, to Roth’s writerly alter ego, Nathan Zuckerman (David Straithairn), at a 1996 reunion. This device adds nothing to the screen version—except as a reminder to stay home and read.

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