suicidea

Sometimes I think Guy Ritchie has ruined British movies, the same way Quentin Tarantino ruined Hollywood. They are both terrific filmmakers, two of the best in my opinion, but they have spawned such an unfathomable number of imitators that we are now drowning in movies that try to copy their style, albeit with none of the substance.

Dom Hemingway is a great example. It has some great scenes, some nice dialogue, but they don't add up to make a movie. It's as if some people have put together their favorite movie characters / scenes / dialogue, changed them a bit to make it their own, and put them in a blender, hoping a movie would come out. Nope.

There's the philosophical gangster with the cool old-timey facial hair, who keeps making jokes but is also very brutal. There's the other gangster who is somehow quite fond of his cat. There's yet another gangster who's very stylish, but can explode any minute. There's the slo-mo car accident, the innocent-looking but dangerous girl, a long tirade about a man's genitals (because that's still very original and funny in the 2000's) you name it, they made it. But it's not a movie. It's a series of scenes, with no glue holding them together.

I'm quite okay with movies that steal / copy from previous ones, as long as they make something new or at least something entertaining with the material. If you want to use elements from Snatch, or Godfather, or The Long Good Friday, or Goodfellas, do it. But do it by making a movie. Just yelling GOODFELLAS! SNATCH! Is not a tribute, nor does it constitute as a movie.

The atmospheric opening scene sets the tone for the rest of the movie: A man wakes up, shaves and gets ready for work, casually talks to his wife (who doesn't get out of bed), but there's an unexplained, slight sense of eeriness and a strong sense of sadness. We soon find out that his wife is a mannequin.

Martin has a (not so) carefully crafted life. He has a well-paying job and a nice house (which, honestly, I envied more than anything) and lies to people about his wife, who he says is perpetually sick. His humble happiness is soon invaded by an extremely annoying pesky kid from the house next door, and then her mother who's a prostitute, and finally by her pimp.

You kind of wish for the kid and the mother to be killed right away, they are both quite overwritten. They seem like 21st century characters: Hundred percent entitled, no sense of secrecy or decency or shame, never shutting up for a second, and of course, judging. As a viewer, you wish the worst for them. Yet this is not that kind of film. Martin's overwhelming quality is not his shyness, but his pacifism. He gives in to the invaders rather easily, and as they keep pushing him further, he never forces them back. But of course, everyone has a breaking point.

Still, don't assume that it's a revenge drama or anything violent. The overwhelming feeling is one of sadness, rather than tension or perversion, especially when we find out that the reason for the mannequin wife is not sexual. It's Martin's denial, his failure to let go and move on. It's a tragedy.

José Luis López Vázquez is simply wonderful. There are some actors who don't even have to act or recite lines, their faces have that unexplainable quality of telling stories, conveying emotions simply by being there (Lino Ventura, Alberto Sordi, Giancarlo Giannini, Brad Dourif, James Mason and a few more) and I'd consider him among this elite bunch. He portrays the harmless Martin perfectly. Carmen Sevilla is very attractive, but plays such a suffocating, assertive villain that you can't even appreciate her beauty.

I must add that I loved how they used a real actress instead of a mannequin in a few shots. It really helped to illustrate Martin's state of mind.

I also liked the direction, the music and the cinematography. The 70's were indeed the golden age of movies.

I was in my teens in the early 1980's when this story takes place, and we were going through hell in my country. But by all accounts, Britain was not really a paradise in the 80's either. You can feel that in every frame, every line of dialogue.

A bunch of Polish builders arrive in London to renovate a house belonging to their boss. The foreman, Nowak, played quietly and brilliantly by Jeremy Irons, is the only one that speaks English. Their money is sufficient only for the tools, building materials and barely surviving.

This is a slow-burner film with every face hiding a deep anxiety, anger or fear, it's a wonderful experience for those who can appreciate true cinema. Irons carries the film single-handedly (often with inner monologue, since there are not many people to talk to) with few facial expressions but each one telling books of emotions.

You can literally taste the frustration of every character: the builders, working hard but not able to enjoy the western life that they finally see but cannot touch, are angry. (There's a very funny scene where one of them wants to buy Coca Cola on their first trip to the supermarket, exclaiming "Coke!" with childish glee, but their money is so limited that they can't afford even that.) The neighbors are angry, because the builders make too much noise. Most of all, Nowak is angry for a lot of reasons, although he never shows it: He misses his wife, and has growing doubts about the intentions of his boss about her. He speaks English, but doesn't always understand the subtleties of what the British people say. He has to deal with the men, the meager finances, the neighbors, the skip workers, and of course the house itself, which looks like it will come down if someone sneezes hard.

Two things change the course of their dull days dramatically: the money obviously won't last, and Nowak starts to come up with little schemes to get extra food from the supermarket using the same receipt. He's quite inept, but lady luck is often on his side. But most importantly, he hears that a military coup has taken place in his homeland. He faces a terrible dilemma: does he tell the men? He must, since they all have families at home, but then the work will never finish, and they really need the income. (There's no way they'll be allowed back, anyway) Or does he not tell them? Then the work may finish on time, but how will he keep the men from finding out themselves, when their weekly phone calls from home suddenly stop?

It's basically a hero story. What's a hero? A Marvel guy in leotards, speaking in one-liners? Or a man who does the right thing, at his own cost, knowing that he will never be appreciated? Nowak does the right thing. He hides the truth about the coup, thus keeping the men from rushing to the border and probably getting arrested. He gets the work done on time. He sees attractive women, but never chases them: they only remind him of how much he loves and misses his wife. He steals, but not from regular people: he only steals from the supermarket, and steals food and basic necessities only. And all the while he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't "share his journey" or any other nonsensical stuff we love oh so much nowadays. He doesn't expect rewards, admiration, medals, approval, praise. He does the right thing, because he's a man, and that's what a man does. Even the final scene, where he tells the men about the coup and gets beaten by them for hiding the truth so long, is a tribute to this: He doesn't try to justify it, he knows he did the right thing but also hurt his men, so he takes their punches like a man.

As one other reviewer mentioned, it's a movie for the discerning viewer. There's nothing wrong with Marvel movies or action movies, but there's a lot wrong with thinking that's what movies are all about.