Seule la mort peut m'arrêter

You'll sleep while it's on

As you might guess, I'm not Clive Owen's biggest fan, having suffered through his woodenly monotonous performances, but I forced myself to see this because Mike Hodges has made some good films in the past (as well as cack like MORONS FROM OUTER SPACE). Sadly, this manages to be even worse than MORONS, a numbingly tedious movie where the semi-comatose leads are at least three hours behind the audience in guessing the plot. The shock revelation was obvious from the start and Hodges never makes you interested in getting there. He's not helped by his cast. They're either overacting like McDowell or Meyers or totally incapable of showing signs of life, like Rampling and Owen. Even before it was invented Rampling has always looked like she's had too much botox, but inexperienced filmgoers might think she'd OD'd here she's so stiff. Her expression doesn't change from its deathmask once. Owen is more hopeless than usual, shuffling through like a zombie from a cheap George Romero ripoff. He still can't act and his vocal performance is still like a bored photocopier salesman demonstrating some clapped out machine with one eye on the clock for the pub's opening.

Contrary to other posters, it's not thoughtful or atmospheric. The plot is obvious, the characters infantile. There's no depth, no ideas, just a dragging running time to fill out. And it is achingly slow in the doing it. From a first-timer this picture would have been laughed out of the office at script stage it's so empty and predictable.

British audiences shunned the film (as they did CROUPIER) but Americans might just mistake his accent for a performance. But for the rest of us, it's another pitiful performance in the dullest British gangster film of the past twenty years. That's quite an achievement, but it's the film's only one.

If you really want to see a good new British revenge movie, check out Dead Man's Shoes instead - that really is the business. This is just a photocopy of a photocopy.

First the locations. This is London as it has not been seen since The Long Good Friday, Brixton; Holland Park near where I live. The camera loves these locations at night, a London where only the bad guys come out. The beach at the beginning and the end of the film is Newport Sands in Pembrokeshire where I spent many childhood holidays. There is even a shot of Fishguard with the Royal Oak pub in the background.

A plot that is deceptively simple, but is it. Does the Clive Owen character really want revenge or is he out of all that now? He doesn't know and he certainly isn't going to tell the audience, we have to do the work and think, something many cinemagoers do not like doing these days. His ambivelence is shown when he goes to kill Malcolm McDowall (in his best role since Gangster No.1.).

The acting is superb and realistic especially Ken Stott as the rival gang leader who can't tell his left from right. The dialogue is often elliptical leaving us to fill in the gaps, a bit like real life. Owen fills the screen, even when not speaking, he is the smouldering heart of the film with only Charlotte Rampling his equal when both are in shot.

And thank goodness no tidy endings. I am sure this will go down well in the states who had to show us how good Croupier was. I think its on in about five cinemas in the UK.

This is an old master's film, in which an aged director goes back to revisit the kind of story he excelled at when young, with dubious results. A more satisfying example of this kind of nostalgia would be John Frankenheimer's "Ronin," and if you had trouble with that one, you'll hate this one.

What Mike Hodges gives us here is a great wind-up and no pitch. London at night, endless shots of almost-human cars under the street lamps, a threatening bunch of thugs who never really thump each other, it all adds up to considerably less than a whole film.

Much has been made in these reviews about the film's ambiguity. I disagree. All the characters, and I mean all, are painfully aware and articulate about their motivations. Gloomy predictions are made about inevitable conflicts that never materialize, action is either cut short or cut away from. The whole thing is like a Michael Mann thriller with all the thrills scrupulously removed. Or perhaps Hodges is trying to reclaim the genre from Guy Ritchie's jokiness.

The script for this film must really have looked threadbare on the page. The dialog is obvious and arthritic. What works is the acting, the cinematography and the director's depressed atmospherics. Clive Owen demonstrates his considerable presence in a part that is intended to be a deliberate let-down. Charlotte Rampling is fascinating as always, more so than her lines. The rest of the cast ranges from good down to OK.

But in his determination to avoid clichés, the director has also managed to avoid incident, pace and interest. So a nice wind-up, but no pitch, no runs, no hits, and some calculated, deliberate errors.

Will Graham (Clive Owen)is a former gangster boss who gave it all up out of disgust at wasting his life in crime, he now lives out of the back of a van and fleets from one anonymous job to the next, sometimes not speaking to another person for weeks on end. After losing his latest job as a forestry worker, he decides to ring his younger brother Davey (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) whom he left in London three years previous, but when he is unable to contact him, he heads for home. On arrival he finds that Davey has committed suicide, but Will is unconvinced and orders a separate independent autopsy, which reveals the shocking truth behind his death. After his success with Croupier, Hodges again returned to the crime genre, and again called on Owen as well as a host of familiar faces, not least Charlotte Rampling as the former love interest of Owen and Malcolm Mc Dowell as a car salesman with a penchant for rape. In a film that is light on dialogue, a strong acting style is required and Owen delivers in spades in a very downbeat role. Hodges even with a meagre budget manages to instill a fine sense of Noir and he manages to keep a tight grip on his actors who never resort to the histrionics that have marred other contemporary Brit Crime films. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead on the face of it has a lot in common with its directors debut, Get Carter, in that they both have their hero going home to find out what happened to their brother and the resulting revenge plot line, but they are quite different films, if anything this latest offering is even darker. Will Graham is a troubled man, coming to terms with his demons, he doesn't want to return to his former violent lifestyle, a lifestyle it must be said that is never alluded to, but the viewer is left in no doubt as fear of him is quite apparent from the faces and demeanour of other criminals who knew him. Some would argue the films ambiguous ending is a let down, I see it as a triumph, its rare to find films this brave, Hodges despite his checkered past is back on top form.

Not predictable like most revenge dramas. Nice to see Clive Owen's character actually in love with someone his own age. Interesting music, if a little distracting. Very dark. Not a family flick. Not a date flick. Well written. Great acting by most characters. It was too short. It was a big build up to a very short denouement, but I guess that suits the tone and the theme of the film. Not sure why people gave this such low marks. I guess they were expecting Lock stock or snatch seeing as its kind of in the British gangster genre. If you go in expecting that, then you will be disappointed. What was great about this movie was that we slowly got to know the characters without much of significance being said about them outright. It was slow in creating a mood without ever being boring.