The Kite Runner
So, um, what are the kites supposed to symbolize again?
I’m sure the novel’s good, or at least readable in a stolid, well-intentioned sort of way — a well-wrought story of betrayal and redemption that reminds Westerners that Afghans Are People Too. But the movie is a chore. The wildly uneven Swiss-German director Marc Forster brings “The Kite Runner” to half-life at best, trudging through its continent-hopping, generation-spanning tale in a detached, stilted, bloodless style. And, dear me, it’s hard to recall a more wooden performance by a lead actor in a major movie. Khalid Abdalla makes Keanu Reeves look like Al Pacino. I assumed he was cast because he was the right age and spoke English and Farsi, but since I’ve learned that he’s a Scotsman of Egyptian descent who had to learn the Farsi dialogue phonetically. That, and do an American accent for the English-language stuff. With little dialogue to work with, Abdalla played a believably tormented 9/11 hijacker in Paul Greengrass’s brilliant “United 93,” so I can only conclude he was overmatched by this role and got little support from his indifferent director. And screenwriter David Benioff ain’t exactly channeling Noel Coward.”I heard you write,” says Amir’s love interest, Soraya (Atossa Leoni). Amir responds: “Would you like to read one of my stories?” Oooh, sexy!
The supporting players — the always excellent Shaun Toub as Amir’s uncle and Iranian actor Homayoun Ershadi as his father — fare better. And the kids who play young Amir and his buddy, Hassan, are effortlessly cute. But “The Kite Runner” plods along, always too cognizant of its noble intentions. It’s the bitter-tasting medicine of the holiday season.