Sound of Freedom

Jim Caviezel

Both the commercial success and critical mauling of Alejandro Gomez Monteverde's Sound of Freedom are a bit baffling to me, but, to a great extent, one is connected to the other. The Christian themes of the flick attracted viewers in the heartland while the coastal critics went apoplectic over the film's ties to QAnon. One hundred years from now, the film will be of little interest to anyone except American cultural historians seeking to picture the divide between blue and red states in 2023. Future film historians will be able to find little of interest in this decently crafted, yet unrelentingly bland expose of child trafficking. 

Part of the vapidity of Sound of Freedom stems from the anodyne presence of leading man Jim Caviezel. An all purpose savior for Christian audiences since the success of The Passion of the Christ, Caviezel projects little except stoic earnestness. Monteverde tries to play off Caviezel's woodenness in a Clint Eastwood sort of way, but Caviezel cannot project the indignation and macho bristliness that emerge from beneath Eastwood's taciturn facade. Only when Bill Camp shows up about halfway through the film, as a former Columbian cartel fixer who has reformed and dedicated his life to busting child traffickers, does the film generate any signs of life. 

Monteverde utilizes the Cartagena locations well, but the picture has little in the way of real suspense or engaging action. The arc of the narrative is eminently predictable and the pace, plodding. It is difficult to make a film about exploitation without being exploitive. Sound of Freedom manages to avoid that conundrum, but with the result that the picture is almost totally drained of vitality.