Steven Spielberg's too-bright, overlong, slickly-designed adaptation of Alice Walker's book about a repressed black woman in the old South living at the mercy of her brutish husband, mourning her separation from her beloved sister, and having a flirtatious friendship with a sexy female singer who passes through town. Spielberg guides the viewer through the crowded script quickly and with ease, and the introductions to the characters are jazzy and direct; but, whereas the director is terrifically at home with his cast, he doesn't seem to know how to stage this story. It's mounted like "Gone With the Wind", with a sweeping grandeur that treats the material with cartoonish reverence. Results are both moving and sticky, with finely-wrought sequences quickly followed by banal whimsy and heartache. Whoopi Goldberg is terrific in the lead, and some of the dialogue has a haunting, evocative feel, but we're never aware of this as anything but a movie, staged and mechanically set-up to wring tears. **1/2 from ****
Review of The Color Purple
