The Grotesque

If you have been itching to see more Sting on film here's your chance! You'll get to see all of him and often. As some other reviews point out this is not the standard American thriller, it requires a lot more attention to innuendos and symbolism. Anyone who is familiar with English country life will know that the understated aversive actions of the characters are dictated by the unspoken societal rules of such a setting. With his wife on and off the screen Trudy Styler,Sting puts on one of his most erotic, and intriguing performances. (For the boys and the girls!)

This movie was more boring than church. All they did was yak yak yak and didn't even shoot anybody. The sex scenes were okay, but it was all that "dialogue" and "plot" between the sex that really ruined this film.

Decidedly unpredictable but overly eccentric (you could say "overly British", but apparently the film was as much a failure there as everywhere else) black comedy, that strains to be whimsical at the expense of everything else (including laughs). The best thing in the picture is by far the bright young actress Lena Headey (wonderful also in "Gossip"), who lights up the screen every time she appears. Her sardonic smiles and the occasional gleams of dirty fun in her eyes are priceless; I don't think there's any other actress who can pronounce the phrase "how horrid!" (and mean exactly the opposite) quite like she does. (**)

It's very difficult to dramatize novels hinging on an unreliable narrator without losing their essence. David Cronenburg did a brilliant job with Patrick McGrath's "Spider," in part by turning the narrator's garrulous on-page viewpoint almost entirely visual. But this adaptation of another excellent McGrath novel (my favorite) doesn't work remotely as well.

Where the book is a fiendishly misleading quasi-Gothic that turns out to be quite something else, the movie plays like a routine naughty costume intrigue, part "romp," part Agatha Christie. Despite the very interesting cast no one is particularly good (and Theresa Russell gives one of her really bad performances, which unfortunately by now outnumber her few very good ones). The story's original macabre psychological intricacy is lost in favor of something much more broad, and the book's key revelation simply gets lost in the uninspired shuffle.

It's watchable enough if you're not expecting much, and should you care, on a couple occasions Russell and Sting bare nearly all. But you're much better off reading McGrath's slim, sardonic, nasty little novel, which is both a subtle parody of Gothic literature and a great piece of perverse unreliable-narrator gamesmanship.

P.S. You know a movie has misfired when despite such notable actors it goes through so many desperate name changes: Debuting as "The Grotesque" (its source name), barely released to theaters as ""Gentlemen Don't Eat Poets," then to video as "Grave Indiscretions."

I like the premise of this film, a butler worming his way into the family to gain their inheritance, but the execution lacks any excitement, tension or even passion that it should.

Sting fails to capture any real nastiness about himself, the cinematography is DULL and the really leaden script doesn't do any justice to the fine Patrick McGrath novel.