The mist, the neon, the reflections- Roger Deakins could make snot shine. What a great looking movie.
And that's it. There's almost nothing else to distinguish Stormy Monday, which marches to its inexorable conclusion with measured indifference. Coincidences rule the day, while little things like character and consistency are passed over in favor of atmosphere and (perfunctory) symbolism.
Figgis can maintain a tone, but style alone just leaves me detached. The script is so tight, the story seems artificial; it succeeds mainly in assuring that none of the characters are worth giving a damn about. It's all breath, no blood.
In art, such aloofness has probably always been fashionable. It's also terribly juvenile, like a teenager who thinks that cigarette smoking makes him look grown-up. Stormy Monday is a poster child for going through the motions.
And that's it. There's almost nothing else to distinguish Stormy Monday, which marches to its inexorable conclusion with measured indifference. Coincidences rule the day, while little things like character and consistency are passed over in favor of atmosphere and (perfunctory) symbolism.
Figgis can maintain a tone, but style alone just leaves me detached. The script is so tight, the story seems artificial; it succeeds mainly in assuring that none of the characters are worth giving a damn about. It's all breath, no blood.
In art, such aloofness has probably always been fashionable. It's also terribly juvenile, like a teenager who thinks that cigarette smoking makes him look grown-up. Stormy Monday is a poster child for going through the motions.