Teenage thug “Tsotsi” (Presley Chweneygae) living by his wits in the slums of Soweto, presides over a gang of sorts that includes his harmless childhood friend Aap, would-be academic Boston and a knife wielding maniac named Butcher.

The gang hops the train into Johannesburg, with its skyscrapers and affluent middle class. After Tsotsi picks a suitable mark in the train station, the gang takes his wallet and Butcher knifes him.

Back in Soweto, Boston isn’t too happy about this. Drunk and blabbering about how they lack any decency, he tries to provoke some feeling out of Tsotsi, but by suggesting a dog wouldn’t warrant the treatment they gave their mark, Tsotsi nearly beats him to death.

Returning to Johannesburg, Tsotsi carjacks a middle class black woman. When she tries to stop him, he shoots her. Flying down the road, he notices there’s a baby in the backseat and nearly crashes. He takes the baby back to Soweto, eventually seeking the help of a young widow from the slums (Terry Pheto) whose husband was murdered on his way home from work, as he tries to figure out what to do.

Written and directed by Gavin Hood, from the novel by Athol Fugard, Tsotsi was the first film released by Miramax after Harvey and Bob Weinstein’s divorce from Disney. It won one award or another in one film festival after another, and was awarded the Oscar for Best Foreign Film of 2005.

While I admired the look of the film, which features terrific lighting by Lance Gewer, and liked the glimpses into ghetto life of the new South Africa, I never got on board the story or felt anything for any of these characters, particularly the boyish predator of the title. Ask me whether you should see this and would say no, it’s pretty pointless.

We eventually get Tsotsi’s real name and his backstory as the film digs through the roots of violence. The script suggests that no tragedy visited upon your childhood is a justification for preying on others, but I never felt any kind of sympathy for this kid that the white filmmakers were pandering for.

For a journey into the slums that feels much more vibrant and honest, I’d highly recommend Fernando Meirelles’ 2002 film City of God instead.