Glimpses of what could have been a far better film appear at regular stages throughout what is essentially another 'Landan' crime flick.
You could be forgiven for assuming the predictable plot is actually a clever ruse, with a huge twist or revelation certain to turn events on their head in the back end of the film. But alas, William Monahan's directorial debut points you in one direction from the start, then follows a fairly straight line for it's 100 minutes run time.
What elevates this movie from Danny Dyer fodder is the rather exciting cast of British and Irish big guns, with David Thewlis perhaps the most interesting character and screen presence. The likable Colin Farrel's posh-boy cockerney accent is consistent enough not to distract, and you certainly root for his reluctant protagonist Mitchell. Ray Winstone is typecast as the (needlessly racist) villain, and Anna Friel is perky and trashy as Farrell's screen Sister.
Ikea Knightley on the other hand, is wooden and unconvincing as the 'Superstar' whom Farrell's Mitchell is hired to protect. A limited screen presence at the best of times, it's hard to tell if Knightley's emaciated Supermodel/Actress is supposed to look so frail or if that's just how Knightley turns up to work... Either way, she makes for a particularly unattractive and unconvincing screen starlet, and when her Charlotte laments that Actresses are merely in films to make the male heroes look good, she struggles to do even that.
The under explored sub-plot regarding Mitchell and a young thug shamelessly bookends the film with a predictable climax 'borrowed' heavily from the far superior Carlito's Way, and left me for one, thinking about the far better film this so-so effort could have been.
You could be forgiven for assuming the predictable plot is actually a clever ruse, with a huge twist or revelation certain to turn events on their head in the back end of the film. But alas, William Monahan's directorial debut points you in one direction from the start, then follows a fairly straight line for it's 100 minutes run time.
What elevates this movie from Danny Dyer fodder is the rather exciting cast of British and Irish big guns, with David Thewlis perhaps the most interesting character and screen presence. The likable Colin Farrel's posh-boy cockerney accent is consistent enough not to distract, and you certainly root for his reluctant protagonist Mitchell. Ray Winstone is typecast as the (needlessly racist) villain, and Anna Friel is perky and trashy as Farrell's screen Sister.
Ikea Knightley on the other hand, is wooden and unconvincing as the 'Superstar' whom Farrell's Mitchell is hired to protect. A limited screen presence at the best of times, it's hard to tell if Knightley's emaciated Supermodel/Actress is supposed to look so frail or if that's just how Knightley turns up to work... Either way, she makes for a particularly unattractive and unconvincing screen starlet, and when her Charlotte laments that Actresses are merely in films to make the male heroes look good, she struggles to do even that.
The under explored sub-plot regarding Mitchell and a young thug shamelessly bookends the film with a predictable climax 'borrowed' heavily from the far superior Carlito's Way, and left me for one, thinking about the far better film this so-so effort could have been.