Fourplay

Other than saccharine shots of West London, if that appeals to you, and a lesson in "how not to do it" this film has relatively little to offer. The problem is in the writing. Many scenes are badly written, painfully unfunny - such as the sessions with the Stephen Fry's "labour relations" counselor -, or simply misjudged - the late night pub brawl which seems to be trying to reprise the excellent fight at the end of Bridget Jones' Diary, but looks more like a sick sub-Ritchiesque gangland denouement. To their credit, the actors do a good job with the material they are given. The plot is promising, and somewhere there was a good film in here but one feels that combining the roles of writer, director and lead actor lead to a fatal loss of internal critical tension.

Mike Binder must have had some kind of seriously serious blackmail-worthy information on Colin Firth. There is no other way to explain why he'd allow himself to complete a single scene in this film without walking right off and calling a lawyer.

I only decided to watch this movie because Firth was in it, and hoped for a smart film that would distract me with voyeuristic moments into American-English cross-culturalism. Instead, one improbable scene after another violently attacked my intelligence, as Bender starts an affair with Margeaux Hemingway, who's married to Firth, who falls for Bender's wife. Hemingway and Bender then try to bait their spouses into an affair, which they then regret, compounded by the fact the the spouses fall in love with each other.

The consistent nonsense of this film comes from the humanly improbable scenarios, and the pervasive personality disorders of each character with no context whatsoever. Firth apparently is trying to come across as a cuckold, who likes "letting off steam" by violently beating up unsuspecting(?) staff who consistently meet with him after work in a pub. No cops, no witnesses, no suing, no quitting - just violence then "see ya at work tomorrow." Bender is just an idiot writer whose interests, goals, motivations and drive seem to shift schizophrenically in every scene. His wife is a control freak he and Firth can't seem to get over, while Hemingway plays a neurotic narcissist actress that everyone keeps tolerating. The nuttiness of this movie is compounded by the attempt at a romantic ending, which only leaves you dazed, confused and convinced that you will regret having ever donated 2 hours of your life to this movie.

In the credits, Binder adds "This Movie is for Dyno, I Love You..." Dyno, if this is representative of Binder's love, then you need to develop an escape plan. And hopefully, you missed the film he dedicated to you.

This is a mishmash. it is attempting to achieve something but since it fails badly it is hard to know what. Is this a light comedy? Is this a Woody Allen take off? God knows...its all over the place but I loved the scenery of London in the summer. I liked the Mind of the Married Man on HBO and was sorry when they cancelled it but this is most peculiar. Possibly a slightly better script and decidedly better directing might have transformed this film ie made it more comprehensible. A bit of editing and the London Tourist Board would love it. But most of it is pretentious crap.

This movie is just crap! It's pointless, it isn't funny.

I just finished watching and write this in very fresh memory of this disappointing experience.

Not even Colin Firth manages to rescue some part of it. And since I'm a complete Firth-Lunatic, that's a weighty conclusion.

I can't even finally decide which movie is worse: The Playmaker or Londinium. Playmaker had at least the comfort of some very hot scenes under the shower which saved some of it. But this movie lacks any comfort of any kind.

And since in Germany you can only get it dubbed you cannot even listen to his beautiful voice but get this silly boyish dubbing voice.

The only slightly amusing scenes are those where Fiona and Allen try to solve their problems by consulting a therapist (Stephen Fry).

Well, actually it had some unintentional irony in it when Ben sees his play ruined by Carly (with the dying scene which was just illogic and silly). It was like "art imitating art" if this comparison might be allowed.. Though "art" might not be the right word for it.....

This movie is an utterly useless and completely unsuccessful attempt to do a Woody Allen Movie without the spirit, the wit and the timing of Woody Allen.

Over and over again I was just asking myself "WHAT??? You can't possibly be serious!!!"

Could anyone just explain to me PLEASE why those sudden outbreaks of hooliganism by Allen beating up everybody everytime outside the pub without any reason and doing innocent small talk during and after the act are supposed to be funny????That's not even weird, it's just stupid, silly, idiotic.....

Dear Fellow-Firthies, I know we all want to know every movie of ODB but I sincerely recommend to leave it to the very last, when there is no other Firth-movie left to watch (which I pray will never be!).

If curiosity overcomes you and you have to watch it before nevertheless be prepared and do have some good ODB-moments at hand to soothe the stale aftertaste....

I never really understood these kinds of films. What we have here are a group of people attracted to one another, and going through the throws of success, sex and life in some kind of hapless social foray. One that really doesn't produce any kind of result. No happy endings here, and for all of the attempt at humor, there isn't too much that's funny here.

In this sense it's sort of an old fashioned comedy; i.e. stuff that's not really funny to begin with, but is presented with a kind of humorous attitude. Beyond that, there isn't too much to be made of this film.

Mariel Hemingway is gorgeous as ever, and Colin Firth attempts to save a struggling film with superior thesping. The others hold their own in the acting department. Camera angles are fairly plain. There's nothing really inspiring about this film. It promised to be a sex comedy, but doesn't do much for either promise.

Watch at your own risk.