The aspiring writer is Jamal Joyce (likable newcomer Rob Brown) who lives with his mom (April Grace) and brother (rap star Busta Rhymes) in a noisy Bronx apartment. When Finding Forrester begins, the lad is content hanging out with his buddies, just getting by in school, and playing basketball. After his stellar test scores on a standardized exam become known, however, some local private schools come a-callin', offering full scholarships.

Meanwhile, a dare to break into the apartment of a mysterious local shut-in brings Jamal face-to-face with William Forrester (Sean Connery), an agoraphobic Pulitzer Prize-winning author. As the young b-baller is deciding what keepsake to remove from the premises as proof of successful entry, he is startled by the writer's sudden appearance. In a rush to vacate the premises, he leaves behind his backpack containing precious journal writings. Wandering by the building the next morning, the lad observes his knapsack in the window of the man's flat. Moments later, an unseen hand drops it to the ground outside. Worried that his texts have been removed or damaged, Jamal finds instead that Forrester has seen fit to carefully annotate them. Avid for further authorial attention and wisdom, the boy returns to the scene of his crime, and is allowed access through the front door. As the relationship between the pair develops, Forrester hears about Jamal's educational opportunity. While acknowledging that the transition to private school will be difficult, he nevertheless advises his protégé to take advantage of the offer.

The aspiring young writer ends up matriculating at snooty Mailer-Callow, surrounded by a mostly Caucasian student body, and the movie begins to fall apart. Finding Forrester has not exactly been a simulacrum of subtlety to this point, but the lack of nuance displayed hereafter is shocking. Here we have the rich white girl (Anna Paquin) developing a crush on the protagonist of color. Over here we have the father (Michael Nouri), dismayed by his daughter's choice of boyfriend (although the cowardly script doesn't even allow the pair a kiss). Of course, we also can't forget the bitter, nasty teacher (F. Murray Abraham) who bears a terrible grudge.

If the relationship between Forrester and Jamal were developed in a complex and interesting manner, the stereotypical qualities of the other characters might have been tolerable. But the scenes between the two leads are perhaps even more annoying than the ones that take place at Mailer-Callow. Supposedly, the award-winning author is honing the authorial skills of his young pupil, yet the advice he offers is spurious and the writing that results is treacle. One of the most egregious moments comes when Forrester says, "The words we write for ourselves are always better than the words we write for others." What a load of hooey! There's a reason why people don't let folks read their personal journals or diaries — because this writing come from the heart rather than the head — good prose needs to come from both. One would also assume that someone with a Pulitzer could come up with something better in a letter to his student than, "You need to know that while I knew so very early that you would realize your dreams, I never imagined I would once again realize my own." Lines like this just beg to be ridiculed and Finding Forrester is full of them.

In fact, there are few plot points in the whole of Mike Rich's script that have any complexity whatsoever. There are unbelievably trite and reductive explanations for Forrester's agoraphobia (Connery's lugubrious performance doesn't help), the mean-spiritedness of Crawford the teacher, and the reasons behind Mailer-Callow's interest in their new black student. Because Finding Forrester is so paint-by-numbers, the third-act accusations brought against Jamal and the melodramatic scenes that result are uninvolving and oh-so-predictable.

The only matter of substance in this whole film is the touching relationship developed between Jamal and his older brother, partially due to the adept and engaging performances of Brown and Busta Rhymes. It's rare to see a familial relationship between African-American characters that doesn't involve violence and cursing, and their scenes together are remarkable. This one saving grace, however, cannot save Finding Forrester from sentimental purgatory.

After his similarly saccharine but slightly better-scripted Good Will Hunting (which resembles Finding Forrester to such a degree that Matt Damon and Ben Affleck should consider legal action) and the senseless shot-for-shot remake of Psycho, Van Sant is far from realizing the promise he showed in his earlier work. What this talented director needs to do, instead of relying on formulaic heartwarming and the efforts of others, is to find his own private Idaho again.