Photographed in warm, burnished hues that lend its vision of Depression-era Liverpool a picture-book elegance, Stephen Frears' Liam initially looks like an ironic nostalgia piece in the vein of Hope & Glory and The End Of The Affair, two other British films that found secret pleasures amidst WWII bombing runs. Like Hope & Glory, Liam tells its story through the eyes of a mop-headed schoolboy (Anthony Borrows) with a brilliant smile and a sunnier-than-average disposition, especially given the increasingly grim circumstances closing in on his family and the neighborhood. The only sign that things aren't what they seem is the boy's stammer, which at first sounds comical, as he stumbles over words in school and at the pawnbrokers', then later causes him such frustration that he pounds the floor trying to force out a complete sentence. Based on a loosely autobiographical script by Jimmy McGovern, Liam thrives on the subtle deceptiveness it uses to set up these characters and their world, only to quietly undermine expectations. Even the title, named after Borrows' character, turns out to be a little misleading, as his story yields to the sad arc of father Ian Hart, a tough-minded factory worker who loses his job when the local shipyard closes down. Angry and humiliated by his inability to provide for his family, Hart falls in with the British Union Of Fascists, and begins directing his mounting resentment and bigotry at his Irish and Jewish neighbors. Meanwhile, the women of the house are more resourceful in putting food on the table: Hart's stern, practical wife (Claire Hackett) pawns off clothing and jewelry, while their daughter (Megan Burns) works as a part-time maid for a wealthy Jewish family. Borrows, for his part, contends with the terrifying dogma of Catholic School, where his teacher lectures about eternal damnation and how mortal sin "drives the nails deeper into the hands of Christ." McGovern previously exorcised his venomous feelings toward Catholicism in his script for 1994's overwrought Priest, but Frears wisely curtails any gross histrionics and deals with the more insidious ways the church disrupts and exploits this family's life in a time of need. But in spite of his sensitivity to the characters and the uniformly fine performances, Frears can do nothing to stop the runaway climax, which collides a pair of subplots with the sort of hammering irony that could only occur in a film script. Until then, Liam stays grounded in the well-observed lives of an ordinary family led astray by forces beyond their control.