TMS Movie Review: Marlowe
(Open Road Films / Storyboard Media)
When I recently discovered we were getting a new Phillip Marlowe flick, Neil Jordan’s Marlowe, I instantly knew it would flop. No one under the age of 60 cares about Detective Phillip Marlowe and younger fans of traditional film noir are now an incredibly niche market. No, not young movie fans who like modern crime thrillers or cyberpunk with noirish qualities. But a murder-mystery set in the 1930s-1960s, shot in B&W, with a gritty city like LA, NYC or Chicago. When you narrow the genre down to those specific qualifications, the only people who probably care about film noir are old Hollywood fans. Another issue is how bland the title Marlowe is. Despite original author Raymond Chandler’s name appearing all over the posters and trailers, the script for Marlowe is actually adapted from John Banville’s 2014 novel The Black-Eyed Blonde, which borrows Chandler’s iconic character for a new story. I understand the title The Black-Eyed Blonde might sound like a turn-off to modern viewers, but surely Jordan or co-screenwriter William Monahan could have come up with something a little more memorable than just a character surname. [And by the way, there are no black-eyed blondes in the film.]
You might be thinking, “Well, this doesn’t mean the movie itself is bad. It could just have a couple disadvantages working against it.” But unfortunately, that isn’t the case with Marlowe either. Liam Neeson plays our gumshoe in 1939 California, Diane Kruger is the femme fatale, Jessica Lange is the cougar-ish mother of the fatale, François Arnaud is the missing victim, Danny Huston is the underground crime lord, Alan Cumming is the well-spoken shady crook. This is the most paint-by-numbers crime noir in a long while. On top of a stale mystery plot you can sense unfolding a mile away, there’s laughably bad ‘witty’ dialogue that sounds like it’s written by a first year film student, out of place modern slang, and lazy exposition. Some scenes also glaringly rip off Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974) and John Huston’s The Maltese Falcon (1941); with even the latter directly name-dropped in Marlowe’s final sequence [and yes, Danny is John’s son, if you weren’t aware].
(Open Road Films / Storyboard Media)
My third problem before, even watching the movie, is Neeson as the lead. The man is 70 and still playing rugged characters who can easily kick butt and light a smoke afterwards. I’m sorry, but who really buys this? Most detectives would be retired by that age in the real 1930s. While there is an attempt to acknowledge the factor in Marlowe, I instinctively rolled my eyes right as the detective literally mutters, “I’m getting too old for this sh*t,” after a fight scene. I enjoy Neeson as an actor, but I think it’s getting ridiculous at this point. Humphrey Bogart was 46 when he coined the most recognizable portrayal of Marlowe in Howard Hawks’ The Big Sleep (1946). 34-year-old Elliott Gould was in Robert Altman’s then modernized take of The Long Goodbye (1973). I think the famous detective works best closer to these age brackets, since he’s supposed to be experienced, sardonic and very quick. Even Robert Mitchum—one of the legendary, original noir male leads—was looking a bit too weathered by the time he was starring in Dick Richards’ Farewell, My Lovely (1975) and Michael Winner’s The Big Sleep (1978).
The thing is, I don’t actually hate the concept of Marlowe in theory. The rest of the actors fits right in with the neo-noir setting, and I was even fine with Danny Huston’s on-the-nose casting. Jordan, most famous for his hits Mona Lisa (1986), The Crying Game (1992) and Interview with the Vampire (1994), still has a good eye for direction; and Monahan won Best Adapted Screenplay at the Oscars for Martin Scorsese’s The Departed (2005). The retro cinematography, art direction and costumes look great, and I dig the noir genre vibe. Something just went wrong with either the script or Banville’s initial book to make me cringe anytime a character spoke. Sadly, you would be better off watching The Big Sleep (’46) or Chinatown again.