The Question of the Cradle.

Tim Robbins has Has starred in a couple of Robert Altman's films, and you can tell he learned a thing or two about the craft of directing. His Cradle Will Rock has many plot strands that twist into a good story. Set in 1936, it concerns the making of Marc Blitzstein's eponymous musical of greed, unionism, and, alas, hope. The musical was being directed by Orson Welles (played by Angus MacFadyen) and produced by John Houseman (Cary Elwes) when the Works Progress Administration yanked funding for it at the last minute and prohibited its showing. Blitzstein's theater was padlocked, but not to be denied, he and the cast marched to a different theater and performed the show, with the actors singing their parts from the audience.

This alone would be a film worth making. But Robbins expands his canvas to bring in the story of the beleaguered but determined Federal Theater Project director, Hallie Flanagan (played by Cherry Jones), and an account of Nelson Rockefeller's commission of a mural by Diego Rivera (John Cusack as Rockefeller and Ruben Blades as Rivera are wonderful, incidentally).

Along the way, we see homeless Olive Stanton (Emily Watson) being chased out of a Manhattan movie theater. She runs past Hazel Huffman (Joan Cusack), a Federal Theater Project employment clerk, who is putting up fliers in search of fellow anti-communists. Huffman, with the sort of reluctant pity one might see from a stick-in-the-mud aunt who doesn't understand how you've made it this far in the world, gets Olive a job as a stagehand with Orson Welles's theater company. It is Huffman's testimony before Congress about communists that undermines the Federal Theater Project.

Cradle Will Rock is well written, well directed, and well acted, and Robbins entertains large themes here, including the role of political art, and the heavy hand of government censorship.

But for me the film comes down to this: What price are people--both strident leftists and so-called patriots--willing to sell themselves out for in order to meet their goals? Rockefeller, whose own self-important brilliance as a patron of the arts is only outshone by his teeth and the sun, hires Rivera, who also is arrogant and egotistical. This pairing is both humorous and revealing. While Rivera is the "good guy" for painting a mural that depicts the valiant workers' struggle, the excesses of the wealthy, and a heroic Lenin, you have to wonder why he accepts the money from Rockefeller. Can you take tainted money and make it good? For his part, Rockefeller dances in Rivera's studio and then asks the artist to "cheer up" the mural by getting rid of Lenin.

Robbins slaps down Rockefeller, William Randolph Hearst, and other wealthy industrialists of the time for cozying up to fascists. Susan Sarandon plays Mussolini's mouthpiece in the states, Margherita Sarfatti, who bribes the rich with precious da Vincis to fund a war in Ethiopia and other sideline gigs. Margherita has learned to get by, get ahead, and see a nonexistent silver lining in the cloud of fascism, so she suppresses her Judaism and her once pro-left leanings. Mussolini, she tells her old friend Rivera, is not a friend of Hitler's and is doing a lot of good things.

There's a whole lot of denial going on in this movie.

Maybe the most pathetic, but surprisingly sympathetic character is that of Tommy Crickshaw (Bill Murray), a washed-up ventriloquist who takes money from the Federal Theater Project, only to complain that the Project is crawling with unfunny commies. But Crickshaw, with all his rightwing rhetoric, isn't that different from the sloganeering Rivera. Highart, low-art, both of these characters want to do what they do best. So they justify taking handouts from their enemies to keep going.

Robbins's characterization of Welles as a blow-hard, drunken ass is a bit harsh, as Scott Tobias has noted in The Onion. Tobias roasted Robbins for his "appalling, disingenuous treatment of Welles." Robbins betrays his contempt for Welles in a scene that occurs at a posh eatery. Blitzstein, played by the very underrated Hank Azaria, asks Welles if there is a difference between being The Shadow on radio and being a spokesman for soap. Welles laughs at Blitzstein's naivete and changes the subject. It's painful to recall this great man narrating silly documentaries about aliens and Bigfoot and selling wine before it really was his time. And it's too easy for Robbins to paint him as a fat man to be scoffed at for his obvious sellout. People should know that Welles had rocked a number of cradles in his day (including one with Hearst in it)--and suffered greatly for it.

Now, I blow a Bronx cheer (although I'm from St. Louis) for critics that blast the film because of its politics. The movie is far from shrill or pretentious, and it sure was nice to see labor win for a change. Too many times, unionists are cast as ignorant sheep dominated by Mafia sycophants who are out to screw God and country. Not here.

But Robbins does not gloss over the flaws of strident leftists; he vilifies them for their lack of compassion and creativity.

Outside of the portrait of Welles, Robbins has created a film worth seeing and, better yet, worth reflecting on long after you've left the theater.

Notes:

* The best new show on television may, perhaps, be its most irreverent. Malcolm in the Middle (Fox, Tuesday, 8:30 P.M. ET) is a smart comedy about young Malcolm (Frankie Muniz), who is suddenly hailed a genius by his school district after years of being the goofy, smart-alecky, middle child of white, suburban middle class parents Hal and Lois. Yes, Malcolm is both cynical and endearing, which may leave many of you asking, "So, how is this different from any other comedy about a child on television?" Good question. The answer is, this show has the most off-beat timing I've seen. And the situations are very funny, occasionally weird, and sometimes thought-provoking. In one recent episode, nosy neighbors come over to complain that Malcolm's dad has cut down a tree in the family's own yard. To get them to go away, the whole family starts making loud animal noises. The plot gets wackier when dad buys a wood-chipper and lets the kids hurl just about anything into it--including a watermelon and a basketball. Not much gets solved in a half-hour, which is OK by me.

* Britney Spears may have been given the best new artist trophy at the American Music Awards, but God help the music industry if the Grammy isn't given to Macy Gray. Britney's fine if you like kid stuff. Macy Gray is fine if you love music. Her album "On How Life Is" (Sony/Epic) showcases a vocal style that ranges from sixties soul and seventies funk to the bluesy women of the forties and the last time I heard a gospel choir get in good with the spirit (it's got to be somebody's Missionary Baptist Church in order to be effective). She sings, she writes, she's righteous. Go get this album now, or bad things will happen to you.

Fred McKissack is a writer based in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.