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'Frankie' a short and sweet hero

Story of deaf boy pining for dad tugs at the heart - gently

Robert Denerstein, Rocky Mountain News

Published March 25, 2005 at midnight

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A boy carefully places toys in a cardboard box before taping it shut. He then writes his name on the outside of the box: "Frankie Morrison. Handle with Care."

Frankie's note refers to the contents of the box, but it might as well be about himself. Frankie is a deaf child who's about to move to Glasgow, Scotland, with his mother and grandmother. He's also the main character of Dear Frankie, a delicate Scottish import that quietly creeps up on you.

Director Shona Auerbach's genuinely touching debut blends sweet and sour notes as it focuses on 9-year-old Frankie, played by a very convincing Jake McElhone.

As the story unfolds, we learn that Frankie's mother (Emily Mortimer) has tricked the boy into thinking his absent sailor dad is corresponding with him. Actually, Mom writes the letters. The boy's grandmother (Mary Riggans) worries that the ruse will ultimately backfire and the boy will feel betrayed.

Mom and Grandma constantly relocate, adding to the instability. The story slowly reveals the reason that such movement has been deemed necessary and gives us more insight into the motives for Mom's letter-writing, which centers on the fact that Dad is supposed to be working as a petty officer on a cargo ship.

When the boy, who follows the movements of the ship, learns that the vessel is going to dock in Glasgow, he naturally wants to see his father. Mom arranges to have a stranger (Gerard Butler) pose as the boy's dad.

Dear Frankie won't be confused with an epic, but the movie can be quite affecting, a heart-tugging story moored in the dreary, lower-class ambience of Glasgow.

The performances are good all around. Special note should be taken of Butler (Phantom of the Opera), who knows that good actors don't play all their cards at once. Mortimer, with a mixture of determination and wariness, proves touching.

Dear Frankie, which opens today at the Chez Artiste, is a little movie, and that shouldn't be taken as a pejorative. It can be sweet without being sickening, as heart-rending as McElhone's soulful gaze. Credit director Auerbach for handling both Frankie and her movie with admirable care.