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| Cassandra's Dream * * |
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| Written by Ivan Radford |
| Friday, 23 May 2008 00:00 |
 Director: Woody AllenAs critics gathered round, faulting his every move, it became hard to imagine that Woody would ever get out of the woods. After the entertaining Melina and Melina came Match Point – a gripping, class-driven Crime and Punishment. It had a clever concept and a beautiful tone, but was let down by truly shoddy dialogue. The light-hearted Scoop never even got a UK release, the stigma of Scarlett Johansson proving too strong for British distributors. With Cassandra’s Dream, Woody returns to tragedy – hardly surprising given his age, disposition and love of Ingmar Bergman. Cassandra concerns two brothers, Ian (McGregor) and Terry (Farrell). They’re your average Londoners. Except one’s from Scotland and the other’s from Ireland, giving them both terrible accents. They find themselves in a spot of financial bother - Terry eyebrow-deep in gambling debts and Ian desperate to get off with a money-gobbling actress – and therefore beg big shot Uncle Howard (Wilkinson) for money. He consents. On one condition. They kill Martin Burns (Phil Davis), a colleague who knows too much about uncle’s dodgy dealings. After some soul-searching, they seal their fate on Woody’s grand moral scale and agree to bump him off. Tagging along for the ride are their respective partners; Farrell’s Kate (Hawkins) and Ewan’s Lucy. McGregor’s one is eclipsed by the other, as saucepot actress Angela (Atwell) unwittingly lures him into a life of murder with her high expectations and scant ethics. Delivering her lines with a cool authority, she elicits a decent turn from Ewan without stealing the show. Away from Angela, McGregor makes mistakes. So does Farrell. They both invest their archetypes with emotional depth, but still manage to fluff their lines; the chemistry between the two keeps the exchanges from becoming laughable. Luckily Sally Hawkins and Tom Wilkinson provide stable support, the former somehow avoiding the vocal plague that even ensnares the latter in a pivotal, rain-drenched scene. Behind the camera, Woody shoots things straight, with a low-key style that suits his material. Keeping the tension taut till the deliberately abrupt end, he still has the knack of structuring – a fine achievement given his penchant to pause and ponder on fate, death and other depressing subjects. The premise is only slightly similar to Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, i.e. it’s about two brothers, but Woody is confident enough to avoid unnecessary flashbacks and allow the weighty content to mark out the piece as his own. The problem comes in the pace of production; rapidly reeling off the film results in hasty takes, poor delivery and flawed performances. There’s nothing wrong with a serious film, but you’ve got to take the time to do it properly. Life may be over much too quickly, but not everything should be treated like a swift one-liner. VERDICT Another flawed entry in Woody’s twilight era. Gripping and simple, Cassandra’s blemishes ruin its unique complexion. Roll on Vicky Cristina Barcelona. |
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