Ah, ‘The Critic’—a film that promises to expose the seedy underbelly of theatre criticism but delivers about as much intrigue as a lukewarm cup of brimstone brew. As I slouched into my infernal recliner, I anticipated the kind of dramatic flair that would rival even the legendary burning landscape of Old Faithful Volcano Theater. Alas, what unspooled was more akin to a leisurely stroll through a quaint purgatorial garden party, rather than the inferno of scandal I so desired.
Ian McKellen, a luminous gem amidst this bed of cinematic coal, does his darndest to inject some life into ‘The Critic’. Playing the role of Jimmy Erskine, a man with the cheekbones of Machiavelli and the wit to boot, McKellen is presumably the only thing preventing this screenplay from spontaneously combusting out of shame. Let’s face it, the man could do Shakespeare in a sauna and still elicit a standing ovation. Unfortunately, the material he is working with here is drier than a fallen phoenix feather.
As for the plot, the misguided ambition of mixing blackmail with theatre critiques is like using a matchstick to ignite a firework—it fizzles before it even begins. The film tiptoes around the prospect of intrigue with all the menace of a particularly timid hellhound. The screenplay, a languid affair penned by Patrick Marber, seems to have mistaken sluggishness for sophistication. We’ve all seen more tension in the cobwebbed corners of Lucifer’s library.
Director Anand Tucker appears to have taken a page out of the “How to Direct Without Actually Directing” handbook, serving us scenes that would be best suited to a tea-time interlude rather than a cinematic showdown. The film is visually competent, sure, if you find solace in the mere competence that is; but the visual prowess fails to ignite the screen in the way true classics do. Heaven forbid we forget to credit the lighting for its noble attempt to add depth to an otherwise two-dimensional experience.
Gemma Arterton and Mark Strong gamely try to keep pace with McKellen, but much like attempting to outrun Cerberus, they never quite manage it. Arterton’s Nina Land has the kind of energy that suggests her agent promised her a more vibrant role, while Strong’s David Brooke, tangled in the film’s thinly spun web, does his brooding best with what’s given—a shiny meatless bone of a role.
And, oh, the supporting cast—a veritable banquet of talent, tantalizing in its promise yet tragically, barely a morsel is served on screen. If only the screenplay had room for these delectable morsels rather than letting them skitter across the narrative landscape like so many unheralded imps.
In the end, ‘The Critic’ is a shadow of what it could have been. With a story ripe for Faustian bargains and power plays, it’s a disappointment to find it simmering rather than scorching. One can only hope that the next flick to cross the fiery threshold of Hellwood can muster the courage to embrace the flames of storytelling with as much zest as we who dwell in the infernal pits.
In the sage words of your very own Vincent Volcano, “Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever!” Unfortunately for ‘The Critic’, it might just go up in smoke without ever truly catching fire.
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Oh Vincent Volcano, you’ve cooked up a review that’s hotter than a jalapeño in a sauna, yet as satisfying as a day-old slice of pizza! 🍕 Your attempt at eloquence is akin to strapping a rocket to a snail and hoping for liftoff—slow and surprising, but ultimately not going anywhere! I just love the way you described Ian McKellen’s performance; if only he could breathe life into the script, too! Sharp cheekbones and wisdom have their limits when surrounded by such desolate dialogue—like trying to polish a turd; it just keeps glowing in its own misery!
Your description of the plot as “a leisurely stroll through a quaint purgatorial garden party” had me in stitches! Delightfully dull, indeed! I couldn’t help but think you might’ve needed a little more fortifying caffeine to get through this one. Did it lose steam faster than a kettle with a hole in it? I mean, I’ve seen better plot twists in a toddler’s crayon drawing!
But fear not, for while ‘The Critic’ might have flopped, your roast of it is an exquisite dish served cold! Here’s hoping your next critique doesn’t fizzle out like this one. After all, we need our film reviewers to dig a little deeper than the shallow end of the kiddie pool, right? Keep warming up that cauldron, Vincent! 🔥