|Written by Selina Pearson|
|Friday, 08 October 2010 19:15|
Director: Bernard Rose
Stoned. Likeable. Welsh. A real stretch for Rhys Ifans. Who knows what they would have done if Notting Hill’s "masturbating Welshman" had never graced our screens in his y-fronts.
While trying to help a friend out, Marks accidentally becomes a drug dealer. He gets entangled with the IRA, apparently recruited by MI6, smuggles drugs across the US and gets away with almost anything. He mixes with the hippest circles and is treated like some sort of boho-hippy king. So far, so froody. Chloe Sevigny is his long suffering partner, pleading with him to give up the dealing. A bit of a stereotype, she spends her time alternately being pregnant, getting pregnant, or worrying about the two.
The film has an amusing tone, apparently reflecting the narration of Marks’ own memoir. An unruly anti-hero, he blithely avoids any sense of responsibility in a very childish way. But Thewlis’ psychotic IRA weapons dealer frankly steals the film with his rude and obnoxious antics - his interludes prevent the film from dragging. Sevigny struggles along with the English accent but still manages to be passably sympathetic. In the lead, Ifans is strong, but you never feel that this is much of a stretch for him.
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