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This is a painstakingly researched and very interesting documentary on the murders of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner during the Mississippi Freedom Summer of 1964. It is really far better and much more interesting (and disturbing) than the far less probing, FBI-boosting dramatised film versions of this event - Mississippi Burning and the TV drama also called Murder in Mississippi. This doco looks not only at the murder but at the intricate web of groups and individuals involved, including the state of Mississippi itself. Sadly it also reveals the involvement of blacks informing on civil rights workers, presumably for the cash, thus contributing substantially to these murders.

These three executions were but a small portion of the murders occurring in the South and received such attention due to the fact that whites were, in this case, killed (when dredging a local swamp for the bodies they found nine other black males murdered in separate incidents).

This is much more than an overview of the event but a probing and fascinating effort. Given that this documentary exposes some ugly hidden truths (and identities some would obviously prefer hidden), it is suspicious that 5 out of 8 people have rated it 1 out of 10 without leaving a comment, especially as it is obviously not rubbish. Perhaps there are parties who would like to discourage others witnessing the truths exposed here.

What a dreadful adaptation of a fine novel. I suppose each culture must make something foreign its own. Thus, all subtlety is excoriated and all the exquisite undertones and delicate ironies are broadcast by semaphore and megaphone via contrived incident and declamatory speech, aimed at the least perceptive member of the audience - "Watch out for that dry British irony fellas; it sure is great but somebody might not get it". Thus, the implacable realities, boundaries and rules of a class society, and the very real costs of ignoring those strict social codes, are imagined, from an American perspective, as trifling absurdities, mere flummery and costumery, which an injection of a little no-nonsense egalitarianism will 'fix'. Thus a novel that deals with class becomes a film which deals only with social pretension. It is the rules of Hollywood genre and not Georgian England that rule here. This would all be very well if this film were set in the US in the 1930s, but it is not, suggesting an inability or unwillingness to imagine a culture and time other than one's own. The dresses are not only improper for the country and era but, I would guess, historically inaccurate in any setting, suggesting, above all else, a couturier's fancy run wild, and indicating an income well beyond the means of this modestly-resourced middle-class family which yet lives so luxuriously (witness the extravagant gardens of their home). This is an outsider's fantasy of late 18th-century England, unencumbered by knowledge or faithfulness to source. Aldous Huxley, like so many artists gone to Hollywood, must have cringed to see his name attached to this script. Austen's novel is a mere pretext for a fancy dress romp which crushes the novel into the raiments of a Hollywood genre, excising all that gets in the way of those conventions. I cringed to see a master of subtlety and irony so often reduced to gaucheness. However, I cannot say there is nothing to redeem it. A few witty lines survive.

This is really a very weak movie. The script is poor, the music sounds like a contribution from a mate of Johnny's and the direction is weak. Depp is really very unconvincing playing a Native American who has lived a hard, down-and-out life of poverty and failure (too well-spoken for a start) and his acting looks especially thin in the brief scene with Marlon Brando who seems to remind us what real acting is, although Brando's contribution (along with Marshall Bell's) is not enough to save this film. The only compelling scenes are the ones with Bell and Brando with the rest appearing as weak filler which fails to properly establish mood, depth or content or hold the attention.

The main faults are with Depp's acting (very shallow, altogether unconvincing and invoking little sympathy from this viewer), the characterization, the realization of the story and the direction. Perhaps most crucially, the story itself reaches for profundity but is pretty contemptible - if Raphael really loved his children he wouldn't be throwing away his life for some short-term bucks, thereby robbing them of the lifelong love and support of their father and increasing the likelihood of permanent disadvantage and psychological damage. The film does not explore this side of the situation and seems to infer some sort of deeper meaning and selflessness in his act (i.e., he is the "brave one", as well as the Native American "Brave" - the puerile turgidity of this pun suggests the facile nature of the film).

The plot also toys with ideas that are insufficiently explored or developed, tacked on, pointless or implausible: for example, the last-minute conversion to Native American spiritualism, which seems to go nowhere, mean nothing and develop nothing; there is the lunacy of giving up his life so his children can have the money to get out of the hole they're in and then spending much of it on a trashy fun park and a big party (perhaps intended to demonstrate the protagonist's generosity and good-heartedness but in a way that robs his gesture of value and meaning); there is the question of how the priest is supposed to ensure Raphael's family get the money from such vicious types as the film depicts; and the priest's sudden change from fury at the protagonist's fatal decision to a sort of stymied resignation and his ultimate failure to try and stop him on the day, which really makes little sense in light of his character and previous actions.

There is certainly social comment here but it's pretty ham-fisted. The Native Americans live in a garbage dump (not so subtle symbolism) and the film generally suggests the corner that the poor (especially poor non-whites) are backed into and the lack of regard for their lives by those with money and power. However, this too seems pretty thin, obvious and half-baked (try watching a Ken Loach or Mike Leigh film Johnny). Furthermore, by making two such louche and mysterious characters the villains in this social commentary, Depp does not point the finger of culpability in a very suggestive direction. In the final wash-up, it just doesn't explore the choice he makes with any real depth or profundity.