With his blonde hair cutting through the movie’s gray and black palette, Caviezel is a crucial anchor for this hollow character study to be taken as seriously as possible. He’s also there to say the movie’s title and sets up Ballard to say its catchphrase, which you can now buy as a bumper sticker: “God’s children are not for sale.” Camp has a gutting monologue about being at the heart of darkness of child sexual abuse. We at least get to hear more from Bill Camp, playing a confidant for Ballard. Mira Sorvino, as Ballard’s wife Katherine, plays a character who is credited at the end as inspiring his whole journey, but we only hear from her a couple of cliche sentences at a time. A work buddy asks him how many children he’s saved, so Ballard changes his line of work. Handsomely stark scenes are often reduced to three or four lines of dialogue, including the eureka moment of how Ballard gets involved in the process. (For anyone gearing up to see 'Sound of Freedom' because the poster has Caviezel holding a gun and a glare, this isn’t that kind of movie. It's one anti-climactic moment after another, and while it's intriguing how Monteverde leans away from violence or machismo, it puts little else in its place. There are hardly any mind games to be played, just the settings of sting operations made from a broad idea of how this would happen in real life. This world is so fraught with worry about the children that it seems to avoid creating tension elsewhere, and so it places Ballard in dull scenes opposite gullible one-dimensional creeps his undercover missions, which sometimes have him speaking like the pedophiles he is pursuing, are more about the audience’s discomfort than his danger. The “true story” framing only gives it so much edge before that, too, is dulled.

But while being so committed to such solemnity and suffering, the truncated storytelling by co-writers Monteverde and Rod Barr neglects to flesh out its ideas or characters or add any more intensity to Ballard’s slow-slow-slow burn search for two kids in particular (Lucás Ávila’s Miguel and Cristal Aparicio’s Rocío) whose faces haunt him.

Previous films like “ Gone Baby Gone” and “ Taken” have also banked on that tension, showing how easy it is to be invested in a story when children are stolen and put into uncertain danger. If “Sound of Freedom” were less concerned with being something 'important,' it could be more than a mood, it could be a movie.Īll on its own, “Sound of Freedom” is a solemn, drawn-out bore with a not particularly bold narrative stance-caring about the safety of children is roughly the easiest cause for any remotely decent human being. Take away the noise surrounding it, and “Sound of Freedom” has distinct cinematic ambitions: a non-graphic horror film with what could be called an art-house sensibility for muted rage and precise, striking shadows derived from an already bleak world. Which is a shame, not just because it’s uncomfortable to be numbed by these themes, but also because director Alejandro Monteverde well-clears the low bar for filmmaking one expects from movies that are message-first (and often come with similar faith-driven backers).

The story is true, but it barely comes to life with such a telling.

A burn after writing book haunting