An Italian flick called THE SON'S ROOM has won some big prizes, including, I believe, the Gilded Palm Door of Splendor and Magnificence at Cannes in 2001, but G-Max and I were not so impressed when we caught it at the Mayan. Granted, the dialogue is intelligent and the acting quite good, and I admire the director for depicting Freudian psychoanalysis without satirizing it the way directors always do in Hollywood films. The editing is snappy and entertaining, with some cleverly timed jumps back and forth between the psychoanalyst's attempts in his office to communicate with his patients and his attempts at home to communicate with his family.

Most of the scenes are, to some extent, realistic and believable, but there are some key scenes in which the director sacrifices realism entirely in order to heighten the dramatic effect. One of those syrupy life-is-tragic-but-sweet musical soundtracks contributes to an overly maudlin tone, and in general THE SON'S ROOM is too predictable in its plot and too heavy-handed in its themes. Not a bad film, but not a very good one either.

My rating on the Watson scale: 3