When Mike Hodges directed Croupier in 1998, the English press ignored it. The depressing tale of a casino worker's scam was warmly received in America, however, where many critics put it on their Top Ten of the Year lists. Now Hodges has reteamed with his Croupier star, Clive Owen, to make another gritty gangster-themed film. The difference this time is that the only list this film will make is of the year's worst ten.
A funereally told tale which seems to believe it is doling out some metaphysical comment on man's condition, I'll Sleep When I'm Dead misfires on every level and is only likely to raise titters or groans of despair from any potential audience. It is hugely out-dated and seems to come from another generation which believes that crime or justice hasn't moved on since 1971. The same year in fact that Hodges made the over-praised Get Carter.
The derisory and anachronistic plot concerns two brothers. Clive Owen is Will, who lives in a van in Wales, walks around staring into space and sports an unwieldy beard. We learn that Will has had some sort of breakdown and that he has links with the London underworld (at least what the scriptwriter believes is the London underworld). Jonathan Rhys Meyers is Davey, Will's younger and troublesome brother, a part time drug-dealer who still live in Will's old patch in London. For some unknown reason, Davey is being stalked by the mysterious Boad (Malcolm MacDowell), who eventually decides he has had enough of Davey's ways, and therefore rapes him - an event which will lead to Will's returning to London to seek vengeance.
The subject of male rape - and it's an odd sight to behold MacDowell going at it hammer and tongs on Rhys-Meyers - shocks everyone in the film as if it was the last great taboo. Meanwhile, one dimensional gangsters either ride around London at night (most of the film is set at night) speaking in cod heavy-speak, Charlotte Rampling flits in and out as Will's ex-lover, and there is a ludicrous finale in which Owen seems to be rehearsing his alleged Bond role once again. A jarring soundtrack doesn't help matters much either, and there is little or no consistency in the quality of the acting.
Those expecting another Croupier will be disappointed by this sorry mess, and it's astounding to think that the project was actually given the green light to proceed given the pitiful results. If this was a first-time British director, the film would be universally panned: Hodges seems to bring some cache due to his patchy back catalogue (he was responsible for Morons From Outer Space, but that seems to have slipped off the publicity notes). Don't worry about sleeping when you're dead, if you need a couple of hours kip then this is the perfect accompaniment.
