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Home Reviews LFF 2010 LFF: Brighton Rock
LFF: Brighton Rock Print E-mail
Written by Ivan Radford   
Sunday, 24 October 2010 23:44
Director: Rowan Joffe
Cast: Sam Riley, Andrea Riseborough, Phil Davis, Helen Mirren, John Hurt

After last year's controversial Surprise Film, the LFF had to come good with something really special. And so they came up with Brighton Rock. Which is special. But not altogether in a good way.

A remake of the 1947 British cinema classic, Rowan Joffe at least has a respect for Graham Greene's brilliant novel and his subsequent screenplay - even if he does ruin them completely. Pinkie (Riley) is a sociopathic upstart gangster, determined to take over the titular town, pier and all. Innocent young Rose (Riseborough) witnesses his gang bumping off Fred Hale, so Pinkie puts on the charm (read: violence) to keep her mouth shut.

Pinning her down and demanding her devotion, Pinkie is repulsed by Rose's doting naïvety but depends on it to survive. Following on from his stellar turn in Control, Sam Riley runs around rasping like a chain smoker and staring through windows. He's actually not too bad. As the conflicted Catholic, Andrea Riseborough is the best of the bunch. Timid and tragic, she's too busy quivering to see the mess she's in - the film, that is, not her abusive marriage.

The rest of the acting is decent enough. Phil Davis does his trademark geezer act and Helen Mirren has a whale of a time playing the beefed-up role of feisty female cafe-owner Ida. And just for good measure, Andy Serkis goes all Gollumfather for 10 minutes as slimy Brighton kingpin Colleoni.

So if the cast is alright, where does Brighton Rock go wrong? To put it politely: IT'S ALL ROWAN JOFFE'S FAULT. Imbuing the whole thing with a depressing, leaden pace, Joffe turns Greene's noir thriller into something bloated and boring. It's so dull even the flipping sea moves in slow motion. Yes, there are pretty shots of piers, mods and blokes on scooters, but there's no sense of subtlety to go with the period production. Instead, Joffe takes away any moral undertones and replaces them with big fat religious overtones, ruining Riseborough's fragile presence. Then he shoves choral music on top of everything. By the overblown ending, you'll be stabbing your eyes out with pink sticks of rock until the pain goes away.


It's stylish and well shot, but this Brighton Rock is almost as pointless as Michael Bay's Pearl Harbor.


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