Sinners into Saintsrnby David R. SkvittrnIn the Name of the FatherrnProduced and directed by Jim SheridanrnScreenplay by Terry George andrn]im SheridanrnBased on the autobiography ofrnGerry ConlonrnReleased by Universal PicturesrnFranz Kafka was right about metamorphoses.rnThe usual direction isrnfrom the human condition to somethingrnlower, the cockroach or whatever insect itrnwas that Gregor Samsa became. Moies,rnthough, are a popular art, depend onrnmass audiences, and, with more or lessrncalculation, appeal to the mass taste.rnMovies prefer stories of transformationrnfrom bugdom upward, or, as in thisrnpicture, from fecklessness to somethingrnapproaching sainthood.rnThere is a fine moment of vindicationrnat the end of In the Name of the Father,rnwhen the judge dismisses the case of I’hernCrown V. Gerry Gonlon and bangs hisrngavel. The audience in the courtroomrncheers as Conlon (Daniel Day-Lewis)rnshrugs off his guards and announcesrnthat he is a free man and will walk outrnthe front door. His lawyer, Mrs. Piercern(Emma Thompson), smiles in approval,rnand the crowd outside the courthousernroars in a celebration in which we are invitedrnto join… . But of what? The correctionrnof an injustice? The inevitablerntriumph of good over evil? The lesserrncontention that, if ouK through Murphy’srnLaw, evil doesn’t aKas win out?rnConlon was one of the GuildfordrnFour, accused bv the Brits of havingrnbombed a pub on the relatively flimsyrnground that he was an hish Catholic,rnhad been in England at the time, andrnhad gone back to Belfast with a fistful ofrnmoney. Eariy on, they discovered thatrnhis alibi was plausible, that there hadrnbeen a vagrant named Burke in the parkrnin London where Conlon claimed tornhave been at the time of the bombing,rnbut this was a war. Perhaps thev believedrnthat if they arrested and con’ictcdrnanyone at all, the real bombers mightrntake advantage of the opportunity andrnstop their acts of terrorism or at least layrnlow for a while.rnConlon wasn’t a bomber and hadrnnothing to do with the LR.A., whichrnwouldn’t have had him even if he’d volunteeredrnbecause he was an unreliable,rnlying, stealing, all but worthless lavaboutrnwho was interested onl’ in drugs, freernlove, and whatever easy monc’ he couldrnget hold of without too much effort, fhsrntransformation during the course of hisrn15 years of imprisonment (three and arnhalf of them in solitary confinement) torna condition of some worth and weight,rneven of some wisdom, is the story JimrnSheridan is interested in telling, and hernmanages it well enough, I suppose.rnDaniel Day-Lewis is as good as he hasrnever been, and we mostU believe in thernchange his imprisonment brings aboutrnin him. But the real Conlon, whom 1rnheard interviewed on the radio a fewrndavs before I went to the movie, is muchrnmore commanding than Lewis lets himselfrnbe. Conlon’s laconic testimony tornhis suffering was eloquent and incontrovertible.rnAnd his punishments went farrnbeyond what the mo ie’s prison scenesrndare to suggest.rnThe politics of the setting is all but irrelevant.rnThe English in the film behavernamazingly badly (but then, during thernweek 1 saw the film, Gerry Adams, thernhead of Sinn Fein, visited New York andrnthe English demonstrated to the worldrnhow foolish the’ can be by broadcastingrnhis CNN interiew but having an actorrnread his lines so that his voice would notrnpollute their air waxes). Yet the film isrnnone too sympathetic to the LR.A.rneither, and we are given to understandrnthat their terrorist tactics are designed tornshow up the English as fascists, thugs,rnand bullies. Conlon is an innocent victimrnin a war, as the real I.R.A. bomberrnexplains to him when he’s caught andrnput in the same prison, adding, in a nicernreference to ‘Ihe Informer, ‘Tin sorry forrnyour trouble.”rnThat the transformation has somethingrnto do with Conlon’s relationshiprnwith his father seems clear. The titlerntells us so, and the most implausible manipulationrnof Conlon’s story is the assignmentrnof both father and son to thernsame cell to provide opportunities forrnCcrry and his Da’ to interact. How itrnworks is a mystery, but something happensrnto the son. Other men might havernbeen broken bv the imposition of suchrnpunishment, which was, as Conlon argues,rnall the harder to bear because of hisrninnocence. On the other side, there arernonly odd hints and inklings. Conlonrnremembers bits of his childhood—thatrnhe clung with his little hand to his Da’srnbig hand, which smelled of tobacco.rnHappiness, he says, he still associatesrnwith that faint smell of tobacco.rnIt is the death of Gerry’s father,rnGiuseppi, that turns him, somehow,rninto a man. The real fervor of the filmrnis here, and the picture is worth seeingrnfor Day-Lewis’s Conlon and for PeternFostlethwaite’s dignifiedly restrainedrnfather. The machinery of the film,rnthough, is awkward. By a clumsily contrivedrnaccident, Mrs. Pierce, whilernpreparing her appeal, is handed thernwrong set of files. She a,sks for a file inrnthe name of the father and discoversrnthat there are others in the name of thernson—including one marked in magisterialrnmajuscules: “NOT TO BE SHOWNrnTO THE DEFENSE.” I thought of arnscene in some Woody Allen movie inrnwhich a couple of secret agents meetrnand exchange the code phrase; “I am arnspy.” Allen, of course, was trying to bernfunny. Still, the movie doesn’t dependrnon such plot details. The point is that, asrnin Henry ‘, a father’s death can be thernoccasion for a spiritual regeneration andrnredemption of the kind we see Conlonrnundergo, and this transformation is whatrnthe passion and intensity of Sheridanrnand Day-Lewis manage credibly tornconvey.rnDavid R. Slavitt is a poet and novelistrnliving in Philadelphia.rn48/CHRONlCLESrnrnrn