‘The Soloist’

Just because it's a great story doesn't mean it's a great movie.

For proof, look no further than "The Soloist."

This adaptation of Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez's book -- based on his stories about his relationship with a homeless, Juilliard-trained musician -- tells an undeniably touching story.

It just doesn't tell it in an undeniably touching manner.

It's not for lack of trying, though.

Rather than simply presenting the story and allowing us to react accordingly, "The Soloist" keeps trying to tell us how we should feel -- even though it doesn't always know how it feels about things either.

Sometimes it's about the disheartening problem of inner-city homelessness. Sometimes it's a story about the redemptive power of music -- or the redemptive power of friendship.

And it's the second movie in as many weeks -- after last week's thriller "State of Play" -- to explore the fourth estate's current perilous state.

Even at a major metropolitan daily such as the L.A. Times, longtime staff members are packing decades of detritus from their desks and departing the newsroom.

"Points West" columnist Steve Lopez (Robert Downey Jr.) probably isn't on the chopping block, but he has other problems to feed his anxiety.

He and his wife (a rueful Catherine Keener) may be splitsville, but he still sees her every day -- because she's an editor at the Times. (At least that's the case in reel life; in real life, Lopez is married, but not to a Times staffer.)

Adding to his endless angst: the columnist's perpetual battle with the blank page. Or, more precisely, the blank computer screen.

That explains why a homeless street musician (Jamie Foxx), playing a two-stringed violin near downtown's Skid Row, catches his eye.

The lone fiddler's name is Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. And, unlike some musicians who perform on the streets to earn whatever pittance they can, Nathaniel clearly has an altogether different relationship with music.

The reasons for that difference become clearer when Steve discovers that Nathaniel once studied at New York's renowned Juilliard School. And that, despite his obvious talents, Nathaniel's equally obvious mental problems have prevented him from capitalizing on this musical abilities in any conventional way.

Nathaniel's great column fodder, to be sure. But does Steve's obligation extend beyond writing a haunting -- and accurate -- account for his newspaper?

He's about to find out. And so are we.

Working from Lopez's own best-selling account of his relationship with Ayers, screenwriter Susannah Grant ("Erin Brockovich") tries valiantly to link these two soloists -- each longing to connect with others, each destined to play alone.

Not surprisingly, she succeeds most strongly when the two share the screen, establishing a wary but undeniable bond -- albeit one that stretches only so far.

But "The Soloist" tries to have it both ways, delving into each character's personal crises, past and present, from Nathaniel's childhood traumas to Steve's trials in his new, post-breakup abode.

There's also plenty of arresting, near-documentary footage of Skid Row and the Lamp Community, a haven for mentally troubled folks trying to escape Los Angeles' mean streets.

Through it all, British director Joe Wright ("Atonement," "Pride and Prejudice"), in his U.S. debut, strives mightily to hold things together.

He brings an outsider's eye to his view of Los Angeles, providing a striking, and gritty, alternative to traditional Tinseltown views. As happened in "Atonement," however, Wright sometimes goes over-the-top in the imagery department. (The most obvious example: an excruciatingly overwrought light show that attempts to capture Nathaniel's rapturous response to hearing the Los Angeles Philharmonic rehearse a composition by his favorite composer, Beethoven.)

Every time "The Soloist" threatens to sink permanently into a swamp of self-conscious melodrama, however, the human-scale starring performances bring it back down to earth.

As the audience stand-in, Downey sparingly deploys his trademark hot-wire energy, reminding how well his smart-alecky, afflict-the-comfortable attitude meshes with the role of a successful journalist. (Remember his standout "Zodiac" performance as an ace San Francisco Chronicle crime reporter on the trail of the title serial killer?)

Yet, as "The Soloist" reminds us, being a great reporter and a great person represent two very different challenges; Downey ably tiptoes along the dividing line that separates the aggressive reporter determined to get his story from the sensitive soul wondering what, and how much, he owes Nathaniel.

In similar fashion, the Oscar-winning, fiendishly clever Foxx shows off his multiple talents, convincingly suggesting there's a truly talented musician beneath the barely checked madness. Considering the show-offy possibilities, Foxx mercifully underplays Nathaniel's more tormented moments -- although, as often as not, you're admiring Foxx rather than reacting to Nathaniel's ordeal.

Sometimes "The Soloist" allows us to listen for the music. And sometimes it's so determined for us to hear what it wants us to hear -- primarily the plucking of our heartstrings -- that, in the process, it drowns out whatever music it makes.

Contact movie critic Carol Cling at ccling@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0272.