The Kid shines; Simone comes up short

The Kid Stays in the Picture is a new documentary from directors Nanette Burstein and Adam Morgan. Based on his autobiography of the same title, it tells the mythic story of Hollywood producer Robert Evans, a once young businessman who, during a short sojourn in Beverly Hills, jumped into a swimming pool and came out a Hollywood legend. Recognized that fateful day, he was cast in Daryl Zancuk's The Sun Also Rises and almost lost the role, until Zanuck uttered those now famous titular words. Evans would go on to rebuild Paramount studios, marry and divorce Ali McGraw and produce some of the greatest films of the O70s.

Evans narrates the documentary with punchy, prehensile banter of a hard-nosed shamus we might expect to find in one of his films. Burstein and Morgan ingeniously employ Evans' narration of his book on tape. The ensuing talk is focused but not scripted, conversational but not loquacious. We're taken through the dark journey like children being told a great story by a great storyteller.

The visuals mainly consist of the documentary staple: still photographs. Burstein and Morgan take Ken Burns' favorite zoom-in trick to the next level, however, by matting different levels of the pictures, creating a captivating parallax scrolling effect. They add cigar flares and swirling smoke when appropriate and tastefully colorize Ol' Blue Eyes only where it counts. The film is like a history book come alive.

And this is history, right? Sure. I think. While Evans' influence on the biz is as significant as any filmmaker's, or perhaps even more so (at one point Evans says "I was on Chinatown for five years, Polanski was on it for nine months"), one might have trouble unearthing the appeal of his story. Granted, the nobody-to-somebody aspect makes things interesting, as does the almost poetic irony that Evans' life plays out like many of his films, but the fact remains that the most entertaining parts of them film come when Evans relates anecdotes about familiar stars and filmmakers. When Francis Ford Coppola entered Evans' timeline, I had the nagging notion, "I wish I were watching a documentary about him."

Still, The Kid Stays in the Picture is an entertaining romp through Hollywood's best and craziest years, when the stars were in heaven and, as Roger Ebert says, when the gods walked the earth.

Some films have farfetched premises at their core yet capture our attention and imaginations because the drama within plays out logically. Take, for example, writer-director Andrew Niccol's screenplay for The Truman Show, in which a man slowly figures out that his life is a television show. The Truman Show worked because we saw the ins and outs of the show's production, so at no point during the film could we say, "Hey, Truman would have realized what was going on a long time ago." Andrew Niccol's latest film, Simone, ignores this strategy in favor of lighthearted satire, and the resultant film is virtually unwatchable.

And it's a shame-- Simone's concept of exactingly lifelike digital actors exemplifies 21st century science fiction to science fact. Just look at last year's Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within. The entirely computer-animated movie differed from Shrek andthe Toy Stories because it wasn't trying to pass itself off as a cartoon - the film didn't feature digital characters, rather it starred digital actors, stirring up a maelstrom of controversy in the process. Why writer-director Andrew Niccol refused to impose even the slightest bit of reality onto Simone is a mystery. Instead, he expects us to laugh away the plot holes and take his silly narrative for what it is.

So maybe we should. But there's a problem; it's not funny. Simone is Hollywood satire at its worst. Yes, we know some actors are conniving, spoiled children. Yes, we know studio heads mercilessly fire longtime directors because their careers are sagging. Yes, we know that paparazzi will stop at nothing to get their photos. How do we know this? Because we've seen these concepts in almost every other film that pokes fun at Tinsel Town. And even in films that are copies of copies of copies, these notions can still garner a chuckle. In Simone, they sit on the screen like a faux pas.

It doesn't help that Al Pacino is visibly struggling with his character. Granted, the man he portrays is at his nadir, but Pacino plays him lazily, as if uninspired by the screenplay. Catherine Keener enlivens a few scenes, but her role as a female studio head and ex-wife of Pacino is hardly explored. We're left to assume that she's the studio head because the screenplay needed it to be that way. Niccol leaves valuable ore, especially for a Hollywood satire, firmly buried.

Hopefully another film will tackle the same concept from a more serious angle. It's solid ground for great thematic exploration. In the meantime, I hope Andrew Niccol, who's demonstrated his talent with Gattaca, finds time to defragment and reboot.