Lisa Kijewski     'Tard Core Less than three years ago, a movie about a southern simpleton won America over, rendering witticisms like, "Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get" -- nauseatingly trite additions to the wellspring of popular American aphorisms. Forrest Gump charmed audiences because he was simple, direct, honest -- and because he was Tom Hanks. You had to like Forrest Gump, and if you didn't cry shamelessly with the other two hundred people in the theater at the struggles of this unlikely hero, you obviously had no sensitivity or compassion. The recent movie Sling Blade, written and directed by Billy Bob Thornton, is often hastily compared with the aforementioned 1994 box office hit. In this relatively low-budget southern drama, Thornton plays the role of Karl Childers, a man who must learn to readjust to life in society after spending 17 years in a state mental hospital for murdering his mother and her younger lover. Without friends, family, or a place to live, Childers relies on the help of the hospital director to find a job. In the meantime, he befriends and eventually moves in with a fatherless boy, his compassionate mother, and her stereotypically homosexual friend and boss. Of course, the obligatory abusive, alcoholic, and categorically evil boyfriend disturbs this otherwise tranquil and accepting group. There are decidedly Gump-ean elements to Sling Blade that persuade you to like this film, perhaps against your better judgement. From the moment the audience sees Karl Childers staring out the window of the mental hospital with his vacant, dimpled grin, there is something endearing about him -- his protruding lower jaw, his shirt tucked crookedly into a pair of too-short pants, the way he protectively clutches his motley collection of books to his chest because he's "got no place to set 'em down." His first attempt to order french fries immediately following his release will provoke the most sensitive types (okay, including myself) to tears. His cultivation of genuine, fiercely loyal relationships (particularly with Frank, his unlikely young ally) gives the film real emotional substance. The strength of the film lies in the interaction between the vividly drawn characters. Certain elements in the plot, however, were incongruous or incomplete. Initially, the film seems to be a characteristic view of life in a small town in the rural south -- complete with biscuits, gravy, and a healthy dose of uninhibited intolerance thrown in for good measure. Still, even in this presumably hyper-aware community, no one seems unduly bothered, or even slightly unnerved, by the fact that Childers murdered two people before his return to the sleepy southern town. His reunion with his estranged father features a cameo by Robert Duvall that seems promising, but never amounts to much. There are several such elements throughout the film which are other times hastily introduced but never developed. At times the film moves just as slowly as Childers' throaty southern drawl. Though the proliferation of entirely too convenient coincidences and plot twists make the film predictable and flat at times, remarkably unaffected dialogue and sincere performances make it a worthwhile pick. The film is far from a Forrest Gump Lite. Karl Childers won't shake President Kennedy's hand through the wonders of modern technology, nor will he win a medal for valor in the Vietnam War. He can, however, "fix a small motor like nobody's business," and damned if he doesn't make you want french fries when you come out of the theater.

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