By Steven Rosen, Denver Post, October 22, 1999

Even the title of "The Straight Story'' is heartfelt and direct.

This movie does indeed tell a straight, unencumbered story of a 73-year-old man who rides his lawn mower across Iowa and Wisconsin to visit his sick, estranged brother. And that man's name is Alvin Straight, too. He's played with unforgettable wisdom, generosity, courage and a haunting sense of melancholy by Richard Farnsworth.

Since "The Straight Story'' has been made by David Lynch, the consummate cinema surrealist responsible for "Eraserhead,'' "Blue Velvet'' and television's "Twin Peaks,'' you might approach its simplicity with skepticism. Is there a joke here? But Lynch always has been a thoughtful filmmaker, and he's decided the ironic hipness that fuels so many of today's "edgy'' movies has become passeé. "The Straight Story,'' thus, is post-ironic and a welcome respite from the "Fargo-''ization of middle America. It's even being distributed by Walt Disney Pictures. And just because Lynch finds Alvin's journey more wondrous than weird doesn't mean it isn't unusual. Also, just because this is a family movie doesn't mean it can't feature extraordinary filmmaking. It does.

Tough traveling

Overall, it is one of the better and more honest renderings of Americana ever. That it is opening here the same day as the equally fine "Boys Don't Cry,'' which finds a sobering, harrowing hell in the same general landscape in which this movie finds hope and redemption, only shows how difficult it is to generalize about this country.

"The Straight Story'' is based on a true story. Mary Sweeney, who wrote the quietly reflective screenplay with John Roach, read about Alvin Straight in a 1994 New York Times article. (He died in 1996.) Lacking a driver's license and unwilling to be driven or take a bus, he traveled to his brother's remote, rural home by riding mower.

This is not a slow, meditative art film. But neither is it typical Hollywood "based on a true story'' melodrama, in which the filmmaker mistrusts the quiet honesty of the material and juices it up with exaggerated comedy, action, music, etc. There is an eloquent deliberateness to Lynch's film as it follows Alvin on his journey.

His vehicle, by the way, belongs in the Smithsonian. It's a green 1966 John Deere mower with a yellow seat, and Alvin has hooked up a rickety, homemade wagon to the back that holds food and camping supplies. As he rides along the highway shoulder, unprotected from rain or bugs and practically being blown over by passing big rigs, you realize the extreme difficulty of his undertaking.

Subtle touches

The movie can be bemused, such as when an amazed Alvin is passed by touring bicyclists - he is as confused by their "primitive'' mode of travel as they of his. It can be poignant, such as when he shares his campsite with a lonely teen runaway.

There is gentle humor, such as when Alvin complains about the labor prices charged by bickering twins who repair his mower. And there is understated sadness, as when Alvin recounts his World War II experiences to a newfound friend in a small-town tavern. These traits all are present in Farnsworth's performance. An actor who made his first movie in 1937 (and was nominated for an Oscar for 1977's "Comes a Horseman''), he has trouble with weak hips, himself. Alvin needs two canes to walk.

Devoted dad, daughter

In the movie, our first introduction to Alvin is as an unseen presence. It's a wonderful extended opening scene, which moves from a panoramic shot of rows of corn through the small, quiet town of Laurens, to Alvin's home. Then it zooms toward a side window just long enough for us to notice a thump. That is Alvin, who has fallen and can't get up. Later, we go back inside the cluttered home with his neighbors and devoted but speech-challenged daughter (Sissy Spacek), to find Alvin on the kitchen floor. He refuses to call paramedics and, once at the doctor's officer, bickers over the costs. He's as cantankerous as he is frail.

We don't immediately know how to take Alvin. Is he a brusque, unpleasant old bird? The answer comes soon afterward, as he and his sweet but slightly "lost'' daughter Rose sit in the dark and watch a storm. The shadows of the downpour play against the wall and Alvin's face - just one example of Freddie Francis' poetic cinematography. He is a soulful man given to pondering his own mortality. And when he later calls his daughter "Rose, darling,'' we realize what a good father he is.

Original imagery

As I watched the delicate but determined Alvin drive that "tiny'' mower past the bigger cars, trucks and farm machinery on the two lane highways, I realized Lynch was creating a metaphor for our smallness in relationship to our environment. And he was doing it with the concrete imagery - the highways and vehicles - of rural America. That's powerfully original. And it's not a pessimistic vision, but an accepting one. It notices how one person - one elderly person, particularly - can still make a difference in a big, big place.

Movies don't get more inspiring than that.