Director Sean Penn goes sappy in his fourth feature film, Into the Wild, a moody biopic throbbing with audacity, schmaltz, and youthful angst.

Henry David Thoreau once said, “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me the truth.” Sounds nice, but it’s never easy to quote a 19th century transcendentalist and mean it.

22-year-old Christopher McCandless had no problem in that area. An admirer of great thinkers, McCandless quoted Thoreau with such confidence, such passion, that one can’t help but admire the Annandale, Virginia native.

Part of his appeal had to do with his chaste, unsullied idealism. Inspired by Jack London and Wallace Stegner, he went through life guided by a firm set of principles many would consider unconventional. Money was irrelevant to him; society’s stifling tenets riled him. He was a renegade and a vagabond stuck in a proud, materialistic world.

Tipsy with a little too much to drink, McCandless fumed, “Society, man! It doesn’t make sense: judgment, control—the whole spectrum!”

In Into the Wild, director Sean Penn lays bare McCandless’ radical philosophy, distraught family life, and zest for the great outdoors. It’s a long and winding odyssey that starts in McCandless’ middle-class home in Atlanta, and ends in the vast, freezing wilderness of Alaska.

“Sean is an incredibly special person, and let’s say you’re standing on the edge of a pool wondering whether you should jump. Sean’s the perfect person to push you [in].”

Based on Jon Krakauer’s 1998 bestselling novel, Into the Wild is a moody biopic throbbing with audacity, schmaltz, and youthful angst. We see McCandless (played by Emile Hirsch) as a bullheaded bohemian in search of truth and adventure. Thanks in part to the 23-year-old actor’s boyish charm, we forgive McCandless’ bothersome quirks and self-important one-liners (“I think careers are a 20th century invention and I don’t want one”). Hirsch is so compelling and so agreeable, the latter’s frailties and imperfections all take a back seat. What we get in the end is a spruced up, inflated McCandless that the movie-going public ends up rooting for.

By relying heavily on Krakauer’s book, Penn overlooked certain aspects which filmmaker Ron Lamothe eventually covers in his documentary, The Call of the Wild. The latter’s revelations contradict key elements espoused by Penn and Krakauer. Not only did he question the latter’s credibility, he also brought into perspective McCandless’ overly romanticized myth. So now we have two McCandless’s: Penn’s and Lamothe’s, Hollywood and art house, real and questionable.

Nevertheless, it’s hard to ignore Penn’s vigilance in making Into the Wild the best way he could. Eric Gautier’s subdued cinematography, Eddie Vedder’s somber music, and the immensely talented cast’s poignant acting all merge beautifully, leaving in their wake bittersweet memories that linger persistently.

Penn made sure viewers are left sniffling and bawling by the time the end credits roll. Catherine Keener (Jan Burres), Brian H. Dierker (Rainey), and most notably, William Hurt (Walt McCandless) all oblige, giving sympathetic, deeply affecting portrayals of people mourning the loss of Christopher McCandless. When Walt, exhausted and spent, finally collapses and weeps uncontrollably in the middle of the street, we see grief in the most raw and primal state.
“Sean is an incredibly special person, and let’s say you’re standing on the edge of a pool wondering if you should jump in, Sean’s the perfect person to push you [in],” Vedder quips.

Good point, but Penn should leave scriptwriting well alone.

During the film’s second half, McCandless gets a sermon from Ron Franz (Hal Holbrook): “When you forgive, you love, and when you love, God’s light shines upon you.” At that very instant, the clouds part and the sun’s divine rays light them up.

Is Penn trying to emulate the Hallmark Channel?