‘The Little Traitor’ Succumbs to Shameless Manipulation

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Rating: 2.5/5.0

CHICAGO – “The Little Traitor” is a story so sweet and so well-intentioned that it practically dares you not to like it. It’s mighty tempting to give it a pass purely on the basis of its premise, which is vital, timely and quite moving. If this story were told by a filmmaker less intent on yanking audience’s heartstrings until they snapped, it may have provided the foundation for a great and important film.

Instead, “The Little Traitor” is forgettable art-house fodder. It’s so self-conscious about the issues it’s attempting to address that it can’t help feeling phony every step of the way. There’s not a moment in the film that feels authentic, and not a word that comes out of its young protagonist’s mouth that doesn’t sound scripted. The film is based on a novel by the acclaimed Israeli novelist Amos Oz, who’s been a vocal proponent for a two-state solution to the never-ending Israeli-Palestinian conflict. His book, “A Panther in the Basement,” is rich and provocative where the film version is bland and pat.

The Last Traitor
Photo credit: Westchester

The most fitting thing about “The Little Traitor” is its title, since it evokes the old comedy shorts featuring Spanky, Buckwheat and Alfalfa. While the film isn’t exactly a comedy, it does treat it’s rough subject matter with an oddly light touch. Proffi (Ido Port), the film’s 11-year-old protagonist, resembles a Palestinian Alfalfa. The year is 1947, and Proffi is perturbed by the British soldiers that are occupying his homeland. He often conspires with his friends about ways to sabotage the British, but these tykes seem no more threatening than the He-Man Woman Haters (though they do know a thing or two about homemade explosives). Like Alfalfa, Proffi ends up growing a fondness for the “enemy,” when he develops an unlikely friendship with the compassionate Sgt. Dunlop (Alfred Molina). Unlike many of his comrades, Dunlop actually bothers to educate himself about the surrounding culture of Palestine, rather than condescend to it. It’s a shame the filmmakers couldn’t follow his example.

At it’s best, “Traitor” is a feature-length variation on the memorable subplot in “The Hurt Locker,” where Jeremy Renner’s American soldier casually shares a few tender, heartbreaking moments of friendship with an Iraqi boy. Yet while that film dove headfirst into the moral complexities of war and occupation, “Traitor” is more interested in the predictable symbolism of its central friendship. The importance of identifying with one’s assigned enemy is more vital now than ever, but writer/director Lynn Roth (who’s work has largely been in television) handles the message in the style of a bad TV-movie. Every character lacks the crucial third dimension that would jettison them from mere caricature to flesh-and-blood human being. What’s worse is that Roth loses her focus, and awkwardly attempts to accompany her story with a parallel subplot involving Proffi’s sexual awakening. We even get a scene where Proffi spies on his female neighbor like a pint-sized peeping tom, and discovers her habit of undressing right in front of her window, as if auditioning for Hugh Hefner. Why must the audience share in this kid’s newfound awareness of the female form, especially since the rest of the picture could pass for thoughtful family entertainment?

The Last Traitor
Photo credit: Westchester

The one major element of this film that nearly saves it from utter disaster is Molina’s magnificent, deeply moving performance. He’s become a master of bolstering dreck, as demonstrated by his double-duty in two bloated blockbusters this season. If Sgt. Dunlop was portrayed as an angelic model of tolerance, the picture would’ve collapsed. But Molina burrows himself deep within his character’s loneliness and sensitivity, which are barely concealed by his gruffly militaristic exterior. There are a handful of moments when Molina conveys a wealth of emotion through the subtlest nuances. After Proffi hugs Dunlop for the first time, Molina’s wordless reaction is so touching that it’s impossible not to get choked up.

Unfortunately, the bulk of the film rests on the shoulders of the poorly directed Port, who’s one of the least convincing child actors in many a moon. His mouth always seems to be moving at a different rhythm than the rest of his face, which is fixed in concentration, as if he’s straining to read off a teleprompter. It’s hard not to cringe while listening to the kid recite lines like, “My enemy is more friend to me than my friends,” and “One day, maybe there will be a Jewish mandate on Britain.” He seems more suited for the role of Jerry Mathers’s stand-in.

By MATT FAGERHOLM Staff Writer HollywoodChicago.com matt@hollywoodchicago.com