Winning an Oscar affords the otherwise lowly screenwriter a whole new level of Hollywood clout. Some choose to use said influence to realize a dream project or increase their script doctoring rates. Others run right to the inevitability of directing, trying to prove once and for all that their vision is more than just words on paper. In the case of William Monahan, the path from Ridley Scott's under-appreciated Kingdom of Heaven to the current London Boulevard is paved with the accolades received for reconfiguring the Hong Kong hit Infernal Affairs into The Departed. For his directing debut, the scribe has decided to bring the tantalizing novel by Irish noir expert Ken Bruen to the big screen, and clearly, the material was more than he could handle. Scattered and stagnate at times, it plays more like a half-realized idea than a full blown feature.
Mitchel (a decent Colin Farrell) has just been released from prison and is trying to stay on the up and up. Of course, his former cronies in the London crime scene want him back in action, especially former partner Billy (Ben Chaplin) and his skanky sister Briony (Anna Friel). The former still works for a low level loan shark and thinks Mitchel will be perfect as mandated muscle. In order to avoid their pressures, our lead takes a job as a bodyguard for a retired actress named Charlotte (Keira Knightley). She wants him to keep the tabloids at bay and he eventually starts to fall in love with her and her sedentary, secluded ways. After Mitchel rejects the advances of local mob boss Gant (Ray Winstone), he winds up witnessing something he can't forget. This forces him reluctantly back into the life, bringing the fading star along for the violent, vicious ride.
With a cast consisting of some major league British thesps and a narrative carved out of the black and white wonders of '50s Hollywood, one expects a lot more from London Boulevard. When it works, it sense shivers up one's spine. When it doesn't it drags like a dead carp. Clearly out of his element and frequently falling off his learning curve, Monahan doesn't have the artistic acumen of those who he's worked for. There are hints of Scott and Scorsese here, but there's also a nasty novice sheen which renders tension and drama as tepid and dreary. While someone like Guy Ritchie can get away with being vacant (all he does is amp up the stylistic twists), Monahan has no such flair.
We like Mitchel, support his desire to leave the life of crime, and can understand why he might have to succumb to the various elements around him. And since Farrell is so winning here, using a wise working class accent to get us behind his underdog status, the situation is ripe for something really special. But Monahan doesn't have the panache to pull it off. Instead, he spends too much time on details and not enough on the basic atmospheres of the bigger picture. We never really feel the threat, rarely get the attraction between our two leads, and watch as the ending stumbles through incomplete plot threads and unrealized subplots.
It's almost as if Monahan believes that action and gunplay can cover up incompleteness on all levels. There is also a stink of studio inference which explains what appears to be a heavy hand in the editing room. We're not looking for something epic, however, just effective, and London Boulevard is not that film. First time directors usually show some level of promise, less they never be allowed behind a lens again. In Monahan's case, the possibilities are there -and so are the problems.
With a cast consisting of some major league British thesps and a narrative carved out of the black and white wonders of '50s Hollywood, one expects a lot more from London Boulevard. When it works, it sense shivers up one's spine. When it doesn't it drags like a dead carp. Clearly out of his element and frequently falling off his learning curve, Monahan doesn't have the artistic acumen of those who he's worked for. There are hints of Scott and Scorsese here, but there's also a nasty novice sheen which renders tension and drama as tepid and dreary. While someone like Guy Ritchie can get away with being vacant (all he does is amp up the stylistic twists), Monahan has no such flair.
We like Mitchel, support his desire to leave the life of crime, and can understand why he might have to succumb to the various elements around him. And since Farrell is so winning here, using a wise working class accent to get us behind his underdog status, the situation is ripe for something really special. But Monahan doesn't have the panache to pull it off. Instead, he spends too much time on details and not enough on the basic atmospheres of the bigger picture. We never really feel the threat, rarely get the attraction between our two leads, and watch as the ending stumbles through incomplete plot threads and unrealized subplots.
It's almost as if Monahan believes that action and gunplay can cover up incompleteness on all levels. There is also a stink of studio inference which explains what appears to be a heavy hand in the editing room. We're not looking for something epic, however, just effective, and London Boulevard is not that film. First time directors usually show some level of promise, less they never be allowed behind a lens again. In Monahan's case, the possibilities are there -and so are the problems.
