That’s too bad, because as cornball as it is, I like Crossing Over better than Haggis’s multiple-Oscar winner, which was both cornball and reductionist: A universe in which we’re all puppets at the mercy of our racism is finally as simpleminded as one in which we’re all beaming multiculti zombies in a rainbow coalition. Kramer at least creates old-fashioned conscience dramas where people have room to make choices, to breathe. Harrison Ford plays an immigration agent who commands raids on factories where scores of illegals drop their tools and make a run for it, only to be swept up in the net. A young Mexican woman (Alice Braga) cries out to him that she has a little son who’s being looked after by someone; she has to get money to that woman, she has to get her boy. Taunted by his colleagues for appearing namby-pamby, the agent shrugs it off—then spends the rest of the movie on a grim border-crossing mission to reunite the child and his mom. Contrived? Sure, but Ford’s tight, furrowed visage becomes increasingly poignant, and our memories of him as a larky, whiz-bang, can-do American movie hero makes the slowness of his character’s trek even more heartbreaking.