Earlier I had reviewed Notes on a Scandal and lauded Judi Dench’s voice over narration, but here, in Little Children, those same techniques become too much, too often, and remind me of Emma Watson’s narration of Stranger than Fiction on Crack. That was just the beginning of my problems with Little Children. This film critique is almost oxymoronic in that there was so many things I really enjoyed about the movie, but at the same time there’s a ton I didn’t enjoy. There are those movies that just make you want to analyze them over and over again, but the problem here is that everytime I attempted to answer a question posed for the audience, I realized that we never did get those answers. Why was Jean mad at Sarah? Did Ronnie live? And what was up with Richard?

Little Children should’ve been the smart intersection of four separate life stories all entangled in subterfuge, lost and loneliness in suburbia, but I really didn’t get that. I got the mopey housewife who once had potential and, dressed, looked only a step better than Cameron Diaz in Being John Malkovich. Sarah Pierce, played by Kate Winslet, is stuck in a drole life where her husband would rather masturbate to internet porn than pay attention to her. He’s on-screen long enough to be caught and then we don’t see much of him, at all. Sarah’s lover Brad’s (Patrick Wilson) wife, played nicely be Jennifer Connely almost feels like the most talented actor in the film and isn’t given much credit. Throughout she wants Brad to take the bar for the third time, but we don’t know why he never passes. I suppose he doesn’t want to really be a lawyer and would rather play with his son in the park or watch the local skaters. Sarah seems happy in her boring life where she absolutely nothing to worry about. (Her house is paid for and her daughter’s a dear.)

In a seemingly enigmatic parallel plot line, a convicted pedophile has been released from prison and moved into the neighborhood with his elderly mother. Jackie Earle Haley, former child star from The Bad News Bears, plays this predator with acidic aplomb who, at times, the audience can almost feel sorry for. He is sickening to look at, but the entire plot around the town’s obsession with his arrival did nothing for the film and didn’t seem to mesh with the affair Brad & Sarah begin in the local park — other than the obvious link between lust & playground antics.

It seemed that whenever Tood Fields wasn’t sure how to show a scene, he just decided not to. Instead he had some faceless narrator tell the audience what was about to happen, and by doing so, treated us as if we weren’t intelligent enought to figure it out for ourselves. Unfortunately for Sarah, Ronnie, and for us, Fields dropped his voice over narration toward the crucial end, where he left us high and dry. These Little Children went home to bed without as much of a good night, let alone any explanation whatsoever. I guess after Marie Antoinette and, now Little Children, it was the week of ignoring the audience for the sake of art.