Angela's Ashes

(Paramount)

Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes, a memoir of growing up desperately poor during the '30s and '40s in Limerick, is a litany of woes that would be unbearable if not for the author's lyrical style, his flair for irony and absurdity, and his balming bit of sentiment. These are qualities that do not always translate well into film, however, and in this Alan Parker adaptation, the squalor, bitterness, and pain prove very photogenic -- cinematography passes for style, and McCourt's grim childhood becomes a cinematic coffee-table book of bittersweet anecdotes. There are some powerful moments: the death of McCourt's infant sister while the family were still trying their luck in the USA stings, and Frank's schoolday run-ins with severe masters crack with savage whimsy. But even the talented Emily Watson as the benighted, indomitable Angela of the title makes no big impression, and the succession of young actors who play Frank at various incarnations have striking faces but are otherwise unmemorable.