A clever, economical play founders and collapses in its author's adaptation, in the most obvious way-- Butterworth indulges a character's psychotic eccentricities until a viewer cringes each time he re-enters the picture. Too bad he knocks the film so badly out of whack-- the two stooges whose interplay so delighted NY stage critics become spear-carriers in this rewrite. Harold Pinter has a talent for playing creeps, but the films one redeeming feature is Ian Hart, a good actor who here has gravity and authority, but he can scarcely keep the camera, so inclined is Butterworth to let the nutcase role to show off some more.
Review of Mojo
