ThisFilmIsOn

To date I have watched more than what would be considered a ‘fair share’ of Soviet Montage Cinema. Yet, until yesterday, I had never found myself so completely at a loss as to exactly what was the point of a movie. The trailer may have pimped out newbie director William Monahan as the ‘Oscar winning writer of The Departed’ but as anyone with more than a passing interest in cinema will tell you, that story was really written by Alan Mak and Felix Chong (Infernal Affairs). Thus, when you tot up his remaining credits, i.e. Kingdom of Heaven, Body of Lies and Edge of Darkness you begin to wonder how Monahan actually scored such a sweet gig.

Based on a novel by Ken Bruen, London Boulevard is, when you’ve trimmed off all the gristle, a story about two people attempting to change when the world around them wants them to stay the same. Farrell’s ex-con ‘Mitchell’, intent on going straight, takes a job as body guard for hounded starlet ‘Char’ (Keira Knightley). Desperate to escape their respective pasts Mitchell and Char plan a new life but before he can fully disappear Mitchell must shake off the attentions of firm figure head ‘Gant’ (Ray Winstone).
Whilst the main premise is seemingly interesting enough, it is sadly, barely touched upon throughout the film. Trite subplots involving out of control paparazzi, footballers run amuck and happy slapping appear to have distracted Monahan from what is the real story. Of course, we all know adapting novels is a tricky business; you could probably count on two hands the number of adaptations that have really found the right balance. Though I’ll confess, I am not familiar with the noir-ish source material the film struggles to maintain its many, many subplots and thus, fails to deliver on any of them.

However, the film’s biggest failing is that of setting, both historical and geographical. If you subtract the word ‘London’ from the title and ignore an arsenal of ‘cockney accents’, you’re left with two very generic locals i.e. city and countryside. This coupled with Colin Farrell’s … interesting accent could leave you scrambling for an ordinance survey. On top of this there’s the time in which the film is set. Whilst there seems to be some kind of deranged intention of timeliness, a sixties inspired soundtrack, whilst good for the most part, seems at odds with the contemporary plot.

As for the performances, they are all but phoned in with the exception of one brief flash of genuine intensity between Farrell and Winstone. On top of which some of the country’s best acting talent, David Thewlis, Stephen Graham and Eddie Marsan are completely wasted in nothing roles. Ben Chaplin, I can only assume, wandered onto set one day and no one had the heart to tell him to fuck off.

With Monahan at the helm you’d be forgiven for thinking the script might be half descent but you’d be wrong. Though it contain more ‘cunts’ than an Apprentice after show party it lacks any kind of wit and feels like it was written using a thesaurus rather than a dictionary. Resultantly it’s nowhere near as clever as it tries to be.

Take for example the scene in which Keira Knightley’s Char condemns the role of the Hollywood leading lady as merely a foil for the leading man. It’s a bold, meta-textual statement, and it’s probably on the money. But when the monologue comes fifteen or so minutes after an all too gratuitous arse shot of Anna Friel you can’t quite shake the feeling of hypocrisy.

All this adds up to the fact that London Boulevard is over stylised, over done and over indulgent. Not only does this mean that it’s a chore to watch but also that it’s inadvertently become part of the world which it’s supposed to be critiquing (in at least two of its many story lines).

If you have any sense you’ll stay home and watch In Bruges instead.

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