Jim Caviezel as Tim Ballard in Sound of Freedom

I am way behind on seeing currently running films, and have decided to jump back in now that I have the time. Sound of Freedom comes first, partly because I didn’t want to miss it in the theaters, and partly because the brouhaha over it has been going on for a while now.

But first…parents, please keep your children QUIET in the movie theater. As another viewer expressed loudly but to no avail, we come to experience the movie, not hear your incessant chatter throughout the ENTIRE FILM. Thanks—I feel better now.

Sound of Freedom, directed by Alejandro Monteverde (Bella, Little Boy), has been the surprise hit of the summer movie season, at this writing having made more than $165 million on a budget of $14.5 million. It’s also been a Rorschach test for some hysterical interpretations of the film and its messages from those who may have sat through a screening (or not), but clearly have not seen the film itself apart from the frenzy of reaction.

It’s not a bad film by any stretch; in fact, it has a lot of strengths. It’s been derisively compared to a movie of the week, perhaps because of its strong and single focus on a hot topic. But it’s better than that—more like a streaming service offering like Jack Ryan. It looks good, and has a number of stylistic flourishes that set it apart from the straightforward styles of most mysteries, thrillers, or action/adventure films. Check out the beauty of many of its images, and the use of light, shadow, and silhouette.

For those who haven’t been able to discern the plot-line through the noise, the film is specifically about the rescue of two children from kidnapping and sex slavery, and more generally about the scourge of sex trafficking. It’s very loosely based on the story of Tim Ballard, who left his position at Homeland Security to devote his life to rescuing sex-trafficked victims, many of whom were minors. The film follows one highly fictionalized story to present an example of the broad problem, the personal pain associated with each person lost, and the work it takes to bring these victims home again.

The film approaches the red-hot topic in a few ways that keep things from going off the rails emotionally or ideologically. First is the structure of the storytelling, which is at once personal (with the father of the kidnapped children and Tim Ballard himself) and coolly distancing in its approach. There are emotional moments, but the camera is often kept at a medium distance, reducing the emotional intensity and keeping viewers as more observers than participators in the trauma, which would have been easy to do. The editing is surprisingly deft, and helps to keep the individual stories of kidnapping, sexual exploitation, family pressures, and multiple aspects of the rescues in the greater context of the problem. That’s a tough balancing act, and the film pulls it off well.

The casting and directing of Jim Caviezel is a key factor here. Caviezel is a recessive presence on screen, which worked well for his casting as Jesus in The Passion of the Christ, which was about what was done to Jesus rather than on what he did. Caviezel’s Ballard is the driving force of the plot, but the emotional center is located in José Zúñiga’s (“Chicago PD”) Roberto, the father of the brother and sister taken into slavery in the beginning of the film. His story provides the structural and emotional framework of the story, and his limited role overall and his subtle but deeply expressive role takes the weight of pain in the story, allowing us as viewers to keep a wider perspective on the issue of trafficking, and by contrast, allows Caviezel to effectively underplay his performance.

Caviezel, known as much for his TV work in “Person of Interest” as for The Passion of the Christ, can seem to come off as a little stiff and expressionless. But that works here. He has a perfect face for film, with the camera and lighting working every angle in his nose, jawline, and cheekbones. With this character, we are called to observe, not to identify with, and that keeps us at a necessary slight distance from the horrors of the subject matter. There is a stoicism necessary to do this work, which the film doesn’t shy away from, and Caviezel’s underplaying works well with the distancing camerawork and editing. In spite of what may have been written about this film, it is anything but hysterical, and in fact works on several levels to balance all elements of its story with a cool aplomb.

The film gets a little on the nose in some of the dialogue sequences, which could have given us the information we need without being so direct. But the fact that this is obvious in a few places sets in contrast the fact that its general tendency is to show, not to tell.

Clearly, a great challenge for film attacking a subject so fraught with angst and fear is how one deals with the kidnapping and the abuse itself. Spoiler alert: The black-and-white images of kidnapping toward the beginning of the film may or may not be real, but they represent a harsh truth that is easy to dismiss because it happens quickly and we don’t tend to see it happen. The abuse sequences are shown again and again in a cinematic series of images that let us know what happens with just enough information—think Eisenstein’s work and the Psycho shower sequence without their ideology or intensity. Yes, it’s uncomfortable to view and is not meant for children, but it’s never exploitative. It’s a tightrope to walk, and the film does it well. And the film stays focused on one aspect of sexual exploitation, and shouldn’t be seen as a comprehensive study of the issue.

Side note: Kudos to Oscar-winning actress Miro Sorvino for playing Ballard’s wife Katherine, a relatively miniscule and unshowy role for such an actress; she obviously believes in the message.

A paragraph I wish I didn’t need to write: This is not a QAnon phantasm or recruitment tool, and such interpretations only distract from the reality of the sex trafficking problem around the world, and in particular, the U.S. None of this is new to film. Have we already forgotten 2008’s Taken?

It has also been characterized falsely, IMHO, as a faith-based film. My experience with that category consists of films financed and acted by those with an evangelical Christian perspective, working to share the Christian gospel directly or indirectly. This film does neither, and it’s a sad state of affairs (as my parents used to say) that a film that has 1) one quote from the Bible, 2) a recurring line that “God’s children are not for sale”—not a line from the Bible and one that nearly everyone can attest to—and 3) a reference to a spiritual experience that generically mentions God and leads to a change of perspective on good and evil, could ever be dismissed as a “faith-based” film. The fact that this categorization has been read both as a negative criticism and a subtle warning to the film review reader is something I will leave to the analysts. Have we reached the point that a character (based on real life, no less) motivated by a belief in God and the Bible can’t be received by the audience as anyone but “other”? There is no proselytizing, no Scripture quoted that doesn’t fit narratively and effectively in the film (Luke 17:2), and no focus on Jesus and the Christian gospel. Is the prejudice of many simply based on the lead character having played Jesus, or being motivated by faith, or both?

The film is often hard to watch, in spite of efforts to keep a distance from the worst atrocities and the most dramatically expressive elements of the personal trauma experience by many of its character. It’s not for young children, and it may need some adult explanations and context for younger teens. My guess is that this film will ultimately be remembered for two things: raising awareness of sex trafficking, and hitting fascinating chords within some individuals who see things in this film that simply aren’t there. (Some serious sociological study is needed here, plus some serious therapy for some).