Wise Guy back in his element
Not since Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998), has Guy Ritchie had so much fun with the formula of the comedy-thriller.
Not since his first film, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998), has Guy Ritchie had so much fun with the formula of the comedy-thriller as he has with The Gentlemen, a sly, resourceful, ripping yarn about some very bad guys. Despite the fact the leading role is elegantly played by Matthew McConaughey, the movie is as British as Yorkshire pudding and as cheeky as one of those old postcards sold in seaside towns in summer.
After a string of pretty ordinary movies, Ritchie is well and truly back on form with this one. His take on England’s “green and pleasant land” at a pivotal moment in history is filled with larger-than-life characters doing and saying things they shouldn’t. It’s a film about likely lads, so women don’t get much of a look-in; Michelle Dockery plays the adored but long-suffering wife of the McConaughey character, and she’s a tough, sexy lady (described at one point as a “Cockney Cleopatra”), but her role is minor in the scheme of things.
It all begins when Micky Pearson (McConaughey) comes into a typical English pub and orders a beer. He’s contemplating his role as self-styled king of his particular domain when someone quietly enters the bar behind him carrying a gun equipped with a silencer. The gun goes off, and Micky’s beer is spattered with blood. Cue for an extended flashback.
Micky’s longstanding deputy, Ray (Charlie Hunnam in fine form), receives a visit from Fletcher (Hugh Grant), a private eye with blackmail on his mind. Fletcher embarks on a lengthy story involving Micky’s criminal business, which involves locating secret marijuana farms on the country estates of members of the impoverished nobility. There are 12 such farms and they represent “the most innovative marijuana technology on the market”. Micky is negotiating with Mathew Burger (Jeremy Strong) to sell these valuable assets, but a glitch occurs when the farm on the estate of Lord Pressman (Samuel West) is vandalised by a bunch of teenagers. This leads to an intervention from Coach (Colin Farrell), who operates the gym where the teenagers habitually hang out.
Fletcher’s story is a deliciously convoluted one and he’s even turned it into a screenplay titled Bush – he sees it, he explains, as an “old-school” production, shot on 35mm film, not digital, and in anamorphic widescreen; in fact, Fletcher is a bit of a film buff who, at one stage, goes into a bit of a rave about The Conversation, the Gene Hackman thriller Francis Ford Coppola made between the first two Godfather movies.
Of course a crime movie wouldn’t be complete without a few tough Russian bodyguards and Chinese gang members: Ritchie takes all the cliches and upends them with sardonic glee – one of the Chinese gangsters is named “Phuc” (Jason Wong). He adds to the mix a dodgy newspaper editor (Eddie Marsan) who undergoes a humiliating experience involving a pig, plus the heroin-addicted daughter of the aforementioned Lord Pressman, who has to be rescued from a nasty fate. He also helpfully “translates” some of the slang by these Pommy wise guys by using on-screen titles.
To say the language of the film is colourful is putting it very mildly, but it’s so outrageous that it adds to the pervasive spirit of anarchy. The actors enter into the spirit of it all with unabashed enthusiasm, with Hugh Grant having a wonderful time as the campy blackmailer. Slick, smart and very rude, The Gentlemen revels in its rejection of political correctness and succeeds in being devilishly enjoyable entertainment.
The Gentlemen (MA15+)
Wide national release from January 1
★★★★
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Japanese master loses nothing in translation
The films of Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda, including I Wish, Our Little Sister, Like Father Like Son and the recent, award-winning Shoplifters, have dealt with family life in contemporary Japan. They are calm, thoughtful and serene, and completely steeped in the culture of Japan.
So when it was announced that Kore-eda was to make a film in France, many wondered how successfully he would make that transition, especially as he speaks no French. The catalyst was Juliette Binoche, a great admirer of Kore-eda’s work, who met the director at a festival and encouraged him to make a film about a French family. He wrote the screenplay in Japanese, after which it was translated into French.
The extraordinary thing about the end result is that, while The Truth lacks the feeling of a typical Kore-eda film, it works splendidly as a high-end French movie. It also contains some delicious insights into the world of filmmaking itself.
Fabienne (Catherine Deneuve) is a movie actress. She’s vain, self-centred and a bit of a pain to those around her, including her partner, Jacques (Christian Crahay) and her long-suffering personal assistant, Luc (Alain Libolt). When the film begins she’s being interviewed by an obsequious journalist (Laurent Capelluto) about her recently published autobiography, during which she airily assumes that a rival actress is already dead when she isn’t.
And then her daughter, Lumir (Binoche), arrives from America with her actor husband, Hank (Ethan Hawke) and delightful daughter Charlotte (Clementine Grenier) in tow. Fabienne is openly disdainful of her son-in-law’s career because he works mainly in television (“Acting is saying a lot,” she opines), and Lumir is incensed at the inaccuracies she finds in her mother’s memoir. Again, Fabienne is dismissive: “I’m an actress. I won’t tell the unvarnished truth. It’s not interesting.”
Unsurprisingly the stage is set for troubled times, exacerbated by the fact Fabienne is nervous about the role she’s playing in a new film, Memories of my Mother, being made by a ‘‘hot” young director (Sebastien Chassagne) in which she co-stars with the beautiful Manon (Manon Clavel). More than one person has compared Manon to Sara, Fabienne’s contemporary, friend and rival, who died young, and Fabienne isn’t happy with the comparison.
Meanwhile she half-heartedly attempts to bond with her granddaughter, telling her that the ancient tortoise that lives in the garden is named Pierre after her ex-husband and regaling her with stories from the past. She even makes an attempt to connect with Hank, and as she does so we begin to see the frailty and loneliness of the woman behind the arrogant exterior.
Deneuve is very much at home and dominates the film with effortless skill. The rest of the cast respond to Kore-eda’s sympathetic direction, with Grenier giving a delightful performance, confirming Kore-eda is a master at directing children.
One of the film’s most beautiful sequences comes as the family members leave a restaurant. Outside in the street musicians are playing and suddenly, unexpectedly, everyone starts dancing. It’s a rapturous moment in a gentle film composed of many delights.
The Truth (PG)
Limited release
★★★★
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