'Phoebe in Wonderland': This Girl (and Film) Has Problems

Think of "Phoebe in Wonderland" as "A Beautiful Mind," only for kids. And with Elle Fanning, Dakota's little sister, in the Russell Crowe role of the gifted outsider, tormented by demons from within.

I'm not saying this movie is as good as that 2001 multi-Oscar winner. Ultimately, it bogs down in its own earnestness and made-for-TV melodrama. But Fanning's performance stands up to Crowe's portrayal of mentally ill mathematician John Nash. As the title character -- a troubled 9-year-old who finds refuge from the growing sense that she's not like other children by playing Alice for a school production of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" -- the young actress shines (see MovieMaker interview on Page 30 of Weekend).

Which makes it all the more disappointing that the material she has to work with is so lackluster.

At first, Phoebe seems like she might merely be one of those especially "sensitive and imaginative" children that her mother (Felicity Huffman) keeps insisting she is. Obsessed with all things Alice, Phoebe has no friends her own age. For one thing, she spits at them. No friends, that is, except for Jamie (Ian Colletti), an equally persecuted little boy who collects American Girl dolls, owns a baking kit and jumps at the chance to play the Queen of Hearts when their school's new drama teacher, Miss Dodger (a creepily intense Patricia Clarkson), decides to mount a musical adaptation of "Wonderland."

Writer-director Daniel Barnz, who is gay and has said that he identifies with Jamie, certainly knows how to make a point about society's intolerance of all forms of difference. But he lays it on a bit thicker than necessary. We get it: The "awful normals," as Miss Dodger calls people like the school's principal (Campbell Scott) and the rest of its drudgelike staff, just don't understand what it means to be . . . me.

Anyway, Phoebe's freespirited quirks soon worsen. In addition to the spitting, she displays signs that look a lot like obsessive-compulsive disorder, washing her hands to the point of bleeding and performing other repetitive rituals, along with verbal outbursts that she can't control. That Phoebe's mother continues to deny the seriousness of these symptoms as long as she does -- "I really don't see the problem here," she says -- is more than a little hard to believe.

I guess things are just a lot more obvious when, you know, you're watching a movie, instead of being in it.

It takes another couple of episodes of Phoebe's poor impulse control, not to mention getting kicked out of the school play, before everyone, including Mom, realizes that something more is going on here than artistic temperament run amok.

That, however, seems to be exactly what filmmaker Barnz is suggesting. At least out of one side of his mouth. Half of the time, the movie seems to advocate that Phoebe should be left to her own wacky devices, even when they threaten her well-being. The other half, the movie feels like a by-the-book plea for greater understanding about a much maligned medical condition. Which shall remain nameless. (Hey, I want to leave you with a little more suspense than the movie does.)

All of this may have you thinking: These are my choices? A let-your-freak-flag-fly rallying cry about the way the Man's rules stifle the creativity of the child? Or, on the other hand, a Hallmark Hall of Fame-style examination of a misunderstood malady (the only thing missing being an 800 number to call, after the credits, for more information)?

Elle Fanning, and her audience, deserve better.

Phoebe in Wonderland (96 minutes, at Landmark's E Street Cinema) is rated PG-13 for some profanity, homophobic playground taunts and brief discussion, from a child's perspective, of procreation.