Sometimes movie choice is a matter of life and death

This month, you have a tough choice at the multiplex: life
or death.

Two significant adaptations of popular novels hit the big screen in September, James Ellroy’s “The Black Dahlia” and P.D. James’ “The Children of Men.” Both are edge-of-your-seat thrillers, and both feature star-studded casts and big-name directors.

But “The Black Dahlia,” a potboiler set in 1947 Los Angeles, revolves around a corpse, specifically that of would-be actress Beth Short. In “Children of Men,” set in a dystopic London in the near future, everything revolves around a poor girl and her
unborn child.

My advice? Choose life.

I’m not discounting “The Black Dahlia” entirely. Ellroy is an outstanding novelist in his genre, and we have him to thank for “L.A. Confidential.” The problem is, “Dahlia” is a little too much like “L.A. Confidential” – the same gritty cops, the same seamy underbelly of Hollywood, the same noir-soaked sheets of cheap hotels. It gets more ponderous with the addition of the cast, the overrated Josh Hartnett and Scarlett Johansson in particular. The whole thing is held together by Brian De Palma, a former A-list director who hasn’t been the same since his last adaptation, “The Bonfire of the Vanities,” back in 1990. Much like that notorious bomb, I don’t think “Dahlia” will bear up under scrutiny. I could be wrong.

“Children of Men,” however, has the potential to be a sleeper hit. Penned by mystery writer James in 1992, the novel envisions a world staring at its own extinction. For unexplained reasons, human females have – seemingly overnight – lost the ability to bear children. Society has collapsed all around the world, with refugees streaming into the remnants of the wealthiest nations, in this case England. But England itself has devolved into a police state, controlling the movement of its population, exiling even petty criminals, enforcing “voluntary” euthanasia of the elderly and enslaving immigrants.

Stumbling his way through this grim reality is Theo (Clive Owen), who once fought the rising dictatorship, but now has become inured to his life. Early in the film, he steps into a coffee shop where a crowd clamors in front of a TV broadcasting the news of the untimely death of the planet’s youngest person, an 18-year-old named Diego. Theo gives the news only a cursory glance and moves on, uncaring.

But soon thereafter, Theo is abducted and brought to a dingy, paper-walled room. When his blindfold is removed, he’s face to face with his ex-wife, Julian (Julianne Moore). Unlike Theo, Julian never gave up the struggle, and now she desperately needs Theo’s help. The underground has been sheltering a girl from the government’s watchdogs – a girl who is pregnant. Julian pleads with Theo to use his contacts and wits to deliver the girl to a secret offshore platform, where a group called The Human Project is desperately researching a way to reverse the global infertility.

There’s a significant amount in the movie that’s different from the novel, and that’s par for the course these days. Director Alfonso Cuarón even admitted in an interview that he had not read the book, and asked fellow screenwriter Tim Sexton to “extract the relevant parts of the novel” to work them into the script. Ordinarily I’d be leery upon hearing that, but Cuarón did an exceptional job of editing down “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” from its unwieldy written form into what has been the best of that franchise’s features. While some of the deeper themes of James’ novel may be glossed over or left behind entirely, I have faith that Cuarón’s minimalism will be preferable to De Palma’s (and Ellroy’s) tendency toward excess.

Truly English cuisine is at a minimum here in St. Louis, where the pubs tend to run Irish, Welsh and Scottish instead. I still don’t know a local place where one can get a Branston pickle sandwich and a glass of Ribena, but that’s just as well. “Close enough” should take you to The Scottish Arms, home of the least grubby pub grub in town.

Though it’s nearly impossible to resist the call of high-end fare like roasted pheasant or Scottish salmon, the deprivations of “Children of Men” should lead you to humbler blue-collar fare; I suggest a plate of crisps and curry sauce, or an order of sausage rolls, best eaten at the bar over a pint of John Courage. And don’t forget to raise your glass to your mother for having you!