The Brothers Bloom
Directed by Rian Johnson
Runtime: 109 min.
If there were any justice in the universe, The Brothers Bloom, writer/director Rian Johnson’s follow-up to the punchy high school noir Brick, would be met with the derision that Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales unjustly attracted. Unlike Tales, a film brimming with ambition and attitude, The Brothers Bloom is the quintessential sophomore jinx flick. Johnson presents an intolerably glossy and emotionless exercise in style; he’s so in thrall with his skill at blank pastiche that he only half-heartedly tries to make us care about the film’s characters. It’s a fatal mistake since Johnson can’t afford to rely on the cockiness and intricacy of The Brothers Bloom’s story about comic book con men. Unlike in Brick, we actually have to give a damn about who’s conning whom.
With a plot that suggests an unholy marriage of Wes Anderson quirkiness with Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven panache, The Brothers Bloom starts off on the wrong foot and keeps going in the misguided hopes that its oddness complements its cool posture. Brothers Stephen (Mark Ruffalo) and Bloom (Adrien Brody) are con men and rivals that are respectively interested in creating their own adventures and living “an unscripted life.” They fall out briefly with one another, but then come together again over the promise of “one last job,” whereby they set out to con Penelope (Rachel Weisz), a bored New Jersey heiress. Penelope, however, has more weirdness than they bargained for—She collects hobbies! She loves pinhole photography! She gets turned on by lightning!—and Stephen falls head-over-heels for her. It might work if the characters were endearingly overconfident, instead of being overbearingly smug.
Therein lies the problem: The world of The Brothers Bloom relies so much on its plot’s restless motion that it gets too wrapped up in intimations of clever intrigue to slow down long enough to deliver more Brick could be enjoyed for its density and pacing without sympathizing with its pint-sized shamus protagonist. But guessing whether or not Stephen, a sniveling wet blanket, is being tricked when he thinks he’s tricking Penelope, a bored dilettante, demands more than just the suggestion of character that Johnson supplies. Audiences may not need deep psychological complexity, but they deserve more than this thin pretext for being barraged by stultifying slick visuals of pretty people in exotic locales.
Johnson’s slack material doesn’t demand much from his stacked cast—including Rinko Kikuchi as a mute dynamite expert and Robbie Coltrane doing an appropriately hammy Peter Ustinov impersonation. Instead, they grow more and more irritating as the film reaches its painfully protracted conclusion. Given the right material, Weisz’s pout and Brody’s signature glass-eyed expression can do wonders. What a shame Johnson’s so in love with his style, he didn’t have the ability to exploit them.
Directed by Rian Johnson
Runtime: 109 min.
If there were any justice in the universe, The Brothers Bloom, writer/director Rian Johnson’s follow-up to the punchy high school noir Brick, would be met with the derision that Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales unjustly attracted. Unlike Tales, a film brimming with ambition and attitude, The Brothers Bloom is the quintessential sophomore jinx flick. Johnson presents an intolerably glossy and emotionless exercise in style; he’s so in thrall with his skill at blank pastiche that he only half-heartedly tries to make us care about the film’s characters. It’s a fatal mistake since Johnson can’t afford to rely on the cockiness and intricacy of The Brothers Bloom’s story about comic book con men. Unlike in Brick, we actually have to give a damn about who’s conning whom.
With a plot that suggests an unholy marriage of Wes Anderson quirkiness with Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven panache, The Brothers Bloom starts off on the wrong foot and keeps going in the misguided hopes that its oddness complements its cool posture. Brothers Stephen (Mark Ruffalo) and Bloom (Adrien Brody) are con men and rivals that are respectively interested in creating their own adventures and living “an unscripted life.” They fall out briefly with one another, but then come together again over the promise of “one last job,” whereby they set out to con Penelope (Rachel Weisz), a bored New Jersey heiress. Penelope, however, has more weirdness than they bargained for—She collects hobbies! She loves pinhole photography! She gets turned on by lightning!—and Stephen falls head-over-heels for her. It might work if the characters were endearingly overconfident, instead of being overbearingly smug.
Therein lies the problem: The world of The Brothers Bloom relies so much on its plot’s restless motion that it gets too wrapped up in intimations of clever intrigue to slow down long enough to deliver more Brick could be enjoyed for its density and pacing without sympathizing with its pint-sized shamus protagonist. But guessing whether or not Stephen, a sniveling wet blanket, is being tricked when he thinks he’s tricking Penelope, a bored dilettante, demands more than just the suggestion of character that Johnson supplies. Audiences may not need deep psychological complexity, but they deserve more than this thin pretext for being barraged by stultifying slick visuals of pretty people in exotic locales.
Johnson’s slack material doesn’t demand much from his stacked cast—including Rinko Kikuchi as a mute dynamite expert and Robbie Coltrane doing an appropriately hammy Peter Ustinov impersonation. Instead, they grow more and more irritating as the film reaches its painfully protracted conclusion. Given the right material, Weisz’s pout and Brody’s signature glass-eyed expression can do wonders. What a shame Johnson’s so in love with his style, he didn’t have the ability to exploit them.
pepto
