[WARNING: As this review progresses, it incorporates more and more spoilers.]

For my Twelfth Night present, my parents gave to me a little coffeetable book entitled Bad Press: The Worst Critical Reviews Ever, written by Laura Ward. The book pretty well lives up to its name. Included in the mix are film, music, and literature reviews; all lambasting targets which are more or less deservedly so. Here's an example:

"Frankly, I thought it was tripe designed and made quite brilliantly for an audience of village idiots." --Barry Took.

Mr. Took was reviewing Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a movie some consider a masterpiece and, of course, a Steven Spielberg classic.

There's no telling what Mr. Took thinks of Mr. Spielberg's latest, however. In Catch Me If You Can, Spielberg describes close encounters of quite another kind, as Leonardo DiCaprio portrays real-life (former) con man Frank Abagnale and Tom Hanks plays FBI agent Hanratty, always close on our villain-hero's tail.

And "villain-hero" is the best way to describe DiCaprio's character. For although he steals millions of dollars through check fraud, amuses himself by making others into fools, and seduces woman after woman for the fun of it...ultimately hurting someone he comes to actually care about, the audience nonetheless finds itself rooting for Abagnale. Indeed, when Abagnale calls Hanratty one Christmas Eve to tell him he wants to stop, get married, and settle down, you find yourself silently pleading Abagnale's case with him, until Hanratty reminds him and the audience that Abagnale has defrauded the innocent of millions of dollars. Is it because Spielberg has emphasized Abagnale's fraud against the large corporate airlines and not the effect of his crimes on individuals that we feel ourselves sympathizing with Frank? Is this deliberate? Is that a silly question to ask?

It is obvious that Spielberg is trying to make a variety of points throughout the movie. In fact, at times it feels almost irritating. Spielberg inserts scene after scene that, taken at face value, seem to do little to advance the plot, yet you know there must be a reason the scenes are there. It is reminiscent of a law school exam: you are given a fact pattern and are told to identify the relevent parts and to explain their relevence. Or perhaps a better analogy is when a woman is obviously upset with her beau, yet when he asks what is wrong, she makes his identification of the problem part of his penance. It would be better if Spielberg would either set his point in plain view or else blend it in more subtly with scenes that advance the storyline.