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Max Payne

Rated R. 110 minutes.

Action.

Cast: Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis, Beau Bridges, Ludacris, Amaury Nolasco.

Director: John Moore.

In the right hands, this true story of corruption and unspeakable cruelty coupled with a mother's biggest fear could have been mesmerizing. But somebody needed to edit the film post-haste. Director Clint Eastwood created "Changeling" in a pre-film noire style with its deep shadows and mixes it with a rotten cop caper. But at times he seemed more interested in shooting Christine Collins (Angelina Jolie) staring out her front room window, gloved fingers touching those famous ruby red lips, than moving at a tight clip.

And it's too bad, because the events that unfold are every mother's nightmare. "Changeling," which means a child surreptitiously or unintentionally substituted for another, is set in 1928 in Los Angeles. Divorcee Christine must go to work at the Pacific Telephone Company on a Saturday, leaving her 9-year-old son home alone. Upon her return, the child is missing, and the police seem unconcerned, advising her to wait 24 hours and he'll surely come back. Through grainy newsreels, we learn that both the L.A. police department and mayor's office are corrupt; they're never bribe-deprived and frequently take the law in their own hands. Months go by without a trace and as the public becomes more concerned about the missing boy, crusading radio minister, the Rev. Gustav Briegleb (John Malkovich), helps fan the flames.

Desperate for some good publicity, the police announce that they have boy and he will be on a train from Illinois. The cops followed by a gaggle of reporters, reunite mother with child. The trouble is that Christine is sure this boy isn't hers. Worse, when she questions the police, they plant stories in the newspapers insinuating she is a neglectful and perhaps mentally unstable mother.

While the story is evocative, Eastwood also ups the charm of a young L.A., minus the smog and freeways. Christine lives in a lovely bungalow on a tree-lined street and takes the bright red electric streetcar to her job. The film may be a mystery, but it also is a history lesson, with the telephone switchboards lined with women making contact with phone services in faraway Baltimore to Chicago. Offering a peek into the birth of our communication system, we watch as supervisor Christine roller skates down the halls, helping the women with any glitches. But reality comes back to haunt Christine, when in her 10-minute coffee breaks, she skates to her office and calls police stations around the country looking for her son.

Jolie may be a fine actress, but with her personal life always in the headlines, she has become more curiosity than performer. It's hard to forget she is anything but Brad Pitt's partner or Shiloh's mom. Even so, she effectively plays a woman carefully voicing her anger in a time when females, especially divorced mothers, are expected to be demure, cheerful and quiet.

Capt. J.J. Jones (Jeffrey Donovan) steals the show as the meanest cop in town. In true crime movie fashion, there isn't one ounce of good in this guy from beginning to end.

The facts are complicated and include many puzzle pieces; it was a good thing Eastwood chose to focus on the mother. But using only news clippings as his guide, Christine is as muted as chiaroscuro lighting. I wondered where her family and her neighbors are during this crisis. Why was this little boy willing to pretend he is her son? Answers occasionally dribble, but they don't satisfy.

As the months pass, we wait for the axe to fall — literally and figuratively. And when it does, the film requires shutting one's eyes tight and hoping there really is a place called hell for bad guys.