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 Mr.
Nice
Starring: Rhys Ifans, Chloe Sevigny
Directed/written by: Bernard Rose
Mr. Nice
– who one assumes is named for this drug dealer’s
rather mellow and congenial manner as his drug trade life style
flourishes - should be called, Mr. Boring.
Though star
Rhys Ifans
is one of my favorite actors, here he is as bland as white bean
pate with no herbs or seasonings, thrust upon a salt-free white
wheat saltine, and served to us on a non-biodegradable bleached
napkin sold by the thousands at some off-brand dollar store.
Story goes…It’s
the late 1960s and soon-to-be notorious British drug-dealer Howard
Marks (Rhys) is just turned on and tuned in to the world of hash
– and the fine art of herb dealership. Yet, Howard seems
so casual with his profession, you wonder if perhaps the drug
he's pushing (and sampling) is not hashish, but high quality valium.
Sadly, for
both the film, and its viewers, the story seems to be over dosing
on lethargic scenes looped together with ugly-men-in-orgies (with
gorgeous gals naturally) and free-for-all bad acting.
Speaking of
bad acting, Chloe
Sevigny shows up complete with some affected phoney accent
and fighting within a wet paper bag-like thespian attempts. Why
is this girl anyone? I have yet to see what she does. Fashion?
Um, that “talent” does not translate onto the big
screen. Too mean? Get your own review. Comedian Drew
Droege - who has web-fame for his drag-queenish Chloe videos
- is much more fun to watch!
Though Chloe can’t be blamed for what is just an off Rhys
though. He mumbles, and drones on, meandering about in his cute
self thrown into a film train wreck way. Perhaps attempting to
be stoned?
The film's
only saving grace (as far as this reviewer was concerned) is that
Rhys is very 1970s John
Lennon-esque in the film; that delightfully unexpected idiosyncrasy
was the sole intriguing factor that got this viewer through the
film.
That's not entirely
true. The set's ambience (Anna Lynch-Robinson, Sonia Aranzabal and
Tim Dickel) and costume work (Caroline Harris) is excellent. Both
of these unsung sections of the film's weave are an art. And, here,
they were mastered.
Bottom line
is Mr. Nice is really not what to watch if you consider
Mr. Ifans a fine actor. Every actor – even some of the finest
- have this role fart in their portfolio; maybe the faux pas of
undertaking the work was due to the old "a favor for a friend,"
or the dreaded pre-fame "pay-the-rent-until" role, or
the too many martini buddy-dinner-promise-can’t-back-out-now
misjudgment. Think K-Pax,
The
Avengers, or The
Beaver as other examples of when extremely good actors
do very bad things.
Skip this.
It’s terribly slow and uneventful; even for a drug kingpin’s
bio. It was indeed an express train to Snooze Valley in the Yawning
Mountain region by Wasthebookthisdull gully. Have I made my point?
Ms. Blunt disliked Mr. Nice very much.
Snack
recommendation: Strong black coffee.
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