DIRECTOR Francois Girard’s films are mostly about his great passion – music. Not the jangly noise that so often assaults the ear claiming musical status simply because it’s made on musical instruments, but sounds that delight the senses and challenge the intellect with their emotional and artistic creativity and durability long after the creators of those funny dots and squiggles on paper have carked it.

“Boychoir” offers beautiful and difficult music, played on that unique miraculous instrument that, for better or worse, each of us possesses – the voice.

Eleven-year-old Stet lives with his single mother in a small Texas town. Recognising the boy’s vocal talent, Stet’s music teacher (Debra Winger) has persuaded the American Boychoir to swing by during a tour so that Master Carvelle (Dustin Hoffman at his best) may hear it. Carvelle devotes his life to the art and science of music and the young singers at the school (which actually exists, as does the choir). The Headmistress (Kathy Bates) mixes maternal warmth with resolute business acumen.

While Ben Ripley’s screenplay has structural shortcomings, the bulk of its substance so appeals to our affection that its gentleness, compassion, commitment, emotional verity and musical credibility effortlessly set at naught any concerns that they might generate.

After his mother’s death, Stet’s wealthy father Gerard (Josh Lucas) pays the school fees and hides the boy’s existence from his wife and daughters. Stet has few friends at the school, notably his class teacher (Kevin McHale) dealing with both academic and musical subjects. His transition from caring for an invalid and alcoholic mother to a totally different set of family and cultural values is not comfortable.

Apparently Stet’s solo singing is dubbed, which doesn’t detract from Garrett Wareing’s impressive playing of him.

At Palace Electric and Capitol 6