True Story is a thin, narcissistic tale

True Story is an unsatisfying account of real-life reporter Mike Finkel’s fall from grace and bid to find redemption. The movie, based on his book by the same name, shares faults that plague its two main characters.

Finkel (Jonah Hill) fudges some details in an article that appears on the front page of the The New York Times Magazine. Although the fabrication is probably a first-time offense, his Times bosses fire him. He retreats to the Montana home where his wife (Felicity Jones), with whom he spends little time, lives. No one in the news business will give him a second chance at employment.

A sympathetic local reporter tells Finkel about Christian Longo (James Franco), who is accused of killing his wife and three young children. Oddly, when Longo was on the lam in Mexico, he told people he was Finkel, who sees a golden opportunity to restore his career.

During numerous meetings in an Oregon jail, which make up much of the movie, Finkel gives Longo writing tips in exchange for exclusive publication rights to Longo’s side of the story. Longo’s constant communication with and flattery of Finkel might, however, be part of a scheme to manipulate his audience—his dead wife’s family, Finkel, and the justice system. Presuming the accuracy of Longo’s assertions, Finkel secures a $250,000 advance from a major publisher to tell Longo’s version of events.

If you don’t already know the outcome of the case, Franco’s mix of menace and meekness will keep you guessing. Hill works hard to overcome his cherubic complexion, adequately portraying an ambitious writer who doesn’t truly want to turn over a new leaf. But the film doesn’t fully seize the opportunity to plumb the two narcissists’ sordid chemistry together.

True Story (rated R for language and some disturbing material) does succeed in forcing the moviegoer to walk a mile in a reporter’s shoes. Finkel struggles to separate fact from what might be a smooth-talking killer’s fiction. Intent on resurrecting his once-good name, Finkel begins to yield to the same pressures that wrecked his career.

Unfortunately, Finkel’s attempted mea culpa (cinematic and real-life) is celluloid-thin. After the jury returns its verdict, Finkel pounds out his regrets on a bathroom stall, but in the film’s final scene, he is hawking his own True Story at a book-signing event. And now, of course, his autobiographical tale has reached the big screen.

Most disheartening, though, is the notion that the violent slayings of Mary Jane Longo and Madison, Sadie, and Zachery, ages, 2, 3, and 4, respectively, should serve as a vehicle to explore a writer’s attempted return to glory. Reporters and filmmakers, evidently, can be just as cold-blooded as murderers.