Customer Reviews

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

5 star:		(3)
4 star:		(12)
3 star:		(9)
2 star:		(14)
1 star:		(15)

 

 

Is "moody thriller" synonymous with "goes nowhere"? I'd really hoped to like this movie, I like Clive Owen a great deal, enjoy Charlotte Rampling, and love both Malcolm McDowell and Jonathan Rhys-Myers, but there's nothing to hold onto in this movie. Nothing that engages you. None of the characters gave me any reason to care about them (except Rhys-Myers, but he dies in the first five-ten minutes. And I cared about his death. But not about any of the people it "affected").

It seems like it's trying to build for something, and, ultimately, yes, Will gets his revenge, but, really, motivation? Why did anyone in this movie do anything? McDowell's character (whose name I didn't even care enough to remember) had no motivation to bugger the boy, and there's an entire side-sub-plot involving guys that don't want Will in town that remains useless.

Overall, a huge disappointment.

One of the most luckluster and spineless entries into the British gangster genre made, ironically enough, by a filmmaker who defined it all several decades ago. See Get Carter, the original version, if you want to see stylish grace executed with poisonous aplomb and bitter vigor. Not a great film, but if you like this kind of stuff, you can't beat Michael Caine.

Clive Owen may be the first actor in cinema history to embark through an entire film project utilizing a single facial expression. Then again, he doesn't have much to go on; here's the basic plot: (if you think I might spoil something, then don't read ahead, although we find out all this stuff in the first 20 minutes or so).

Bad evil former gangster now retired hides in woods doing manual labor. He is evil, but now out of the lifestyle, and you can tell this because he's bearded, doesn't talk much, and has a glassy-eyed expression.

Bad gangster's younger brother is a man-about-town drugrunner, midlevel scumbag, who gets pulled into a warehouse and raped by Malcolm McDowell. Younger brother, dazed, startled, wanders home, and fittingly, commits suicide. Wouldn't you? He's one of the lucky ones.

Then we watch slowly, relentlessly, as Clive returns from hiding, finds out all this stuff that we already know, is given bare patchy explanatory mumbo-jumbo from other characters, and then kills who he needs to kill.

Visually dull, completely un-stylish, and utterly pointless. Everyone involved clearly wasn't sleeping enough, or was sleeping way too much. What else can I say? Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who I usually like, is wasted here, as is McDowell, who looks a bit put out to be involved in this at all. Even Charlotte Rampling turns up, in another absurdly superfluous character.

Sorry guys, really wanted to like this one. Didn't.

"I'll Sleep When I'm Dead " is a moody, atmospheric revenge film that takes place among the trainspotters and swank bosses of the criminal underworld. Will Graham (Clive Owen) is a reclusive ex-con who feels impelled to resume his old ways to avenge his brother David's (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) violent death. "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" has more style than substance. Clive Owen is always charismatic, but here he is less so than usual. The audience simply doesn't know enough about Will to wrap it's mind around. Charlotte Rampling and Malcolm McDowell round out a talented cast, but their roles are too small to provide anything but glimpses of their characters. The film takes an awfully long time to arrive at the main story, and once it does, produces very little of substance in its characters or themes. It seems cursory, as if a better film might be found below the surface of this one. -Perhaps if the dialogue were improved and more time were spent on character development instead of the lead-in. "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" isn't altogether bad. It has some intriguing moments. But even for Clive Owen fans, this film's a bit flat. There are no bonus features on the DVD. Subtitles are available in English.

Hard to understand why people are not getting this terrific movie. In Croupier, also starring Owens, Mike Hodges evoked a brooding, existential London sub-culture where motives were always unclear and character was never divided between good and evil. Croupier was slow, wonderful to watch, and oozed irrational malice. It drew viewers in just as the unholy lure of gambling draws in prospective addicts.

In I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, Hodges weaves the same gossamer spell. There is little story, plenty of characters, but very little character development. These people don't follow a traditional formula; they bump into each other like boats in a harbor - just like real life. The cinematography, music, and overall vibe create a classic modern noir sensibility, and like the best noir, there is no underpinning of justice or rationality to make us feel good about how things turn out. Admittedly, these characters are sketched, not painted, but it is amazing how much we can surmise from just a few carefully selected details.

Most wonderful of all, this is a cynical gangster picture with almost no violence. (Lesser practitioners of moviemaking please take note!) The sense of dread, of impending doom, is where it should be, inside the viewer's imagination. Unlike other reviewers who were dissatisfied with McDowell's motivation, I thought it was inspired - so frequently the most hideous injustices are dished out for reasons no nobler than personal insecurities and jealousy.

Owen is always worth watching, regardless. Here he is surrounded by major talent, Malcolm McDowell and Charlotte Rampling. Both are under-utilized, shall we say, but it's always nice to see them. Rampling, nearly 60, looks amazing, still a real beauty with a fragile yet compelling persona. If you'd like to see her tear the scenery apart, check out The Night Porter.

When Will gets his shave and suits up for the hit, was anybody else reminded of that wonderful scene in Cat Ballou when Lee Marvin puts on his best gunslinger outfit (with scarf!) to take on the man with a tin nose?

Davey Graham (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is a charming young opportunist who deals a bit in drugs, beds the socialites he sells to and takes money from their purses. He seems to be leading a happy, careless London life until late one night, leaving the bed and the apartment of a wealthy young woman, he is grabbed by two men and hustled into an alley. There, a third man, older and contemptuous (Malcolm McDowell), tears down Davey's' trousers. While the two goons hold Davey over some tires, the man inexplicably rapes him. Davey staggers back to his apartment, fills the tub with cold water and sinks into it fully dressed. Ten hours later, still in the tub, Davey cuts his throat. The rest of this stylish, glum noir tells the story of Davey's older brother Will (Clive Owen). Will had been a feared enforcer for the London mobs but had dropped out three years before and disappeared, living in a camper and doing manual labor. He feels he has wasted his life and now lives alone. When he learns of his brother's death, and learns of the rape, Will is determined to find the man responsible and wreak his own form of justice. And when he returns to London, he finds the gang leaders don't like it.

Mike Hodges directed the great Get Carter with Michael Caine and the near great Croupier, also with Owen. He does a fine job here. Hodges doesn't waste a lot of time on narrative, so you have to pay attention. You also need to fill in a little background on your own, which keeps the movie interesting. The story line is all about revenge. The film sets its own pace and moves relentlessly. The look of the movie is first-rate. It's neo-noir, all dark shadows, sullen, tough or sad characters and barely repressed violence. When violence does happen, it's startling. Clive Owen has little to say in the movie. He acts with his eyes. Malcolm McDowell has a hammer-lock on contemptuous disdain; he doesn't have much time on screen, but what there is, is noteworthy.

I liked the movie a lot, even though it sets a deliberate pace. Stay with it and you'll be rewarded. The DVD presentation is excellent. There are no extras.

Beautifully photographed, moodily and hiply scored, dripping with charisma and sex appeal from Clive Owen and Charlotte Rampling, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" nonetheless fails to inspire anything but bewilderment: with all this talent and these superior production values...what happened?
Clive Owen plays Will, an exiled criminal that returns home to solve the death, supposedly suicide, of his younger brother Davey: a spiffy, low level drug dealer and Babe magnet. Director Mike Hodges ("Croupier") wants to have it all and he throws everything but the kitchen sink at us: there is an extended discussion of suicide that is better left for an educational film, there are old grudges thrown at Will from all sides none of which are resolved nor explained and then there is the character of Boad (Malcolm MacDowell) whose motivations are at best silly and at worst, empty-headed and ill-conceived.
"ISWID" is beautiful to look at then, but on closer inspection it's empty and illogical and more importantly a huge waste of talent and money.

I must admit that I missed parts of this wretched movie because I slept during the middle, but (sadly) it seems that I missed nothing. Indeed, it is one of those movies best left running when you go to the kitchen, bathroom, mall, etc. Unless you are out of Sominex and desperately need a two-hour nap, leave this snooze-fest on the shelf.

Here is the entire plot: a cocky drug-dealing punk gets sodomized and, understandably distressed but overreacting a bit, commits suicide. His older brother avenges this by murdering the sodomizer (and, unfortunately, his dog...which was the only scene that affected me in any way). The whole plot in two brief sentences, but this god-awful exercise in cinematic slow-motion (no-motion ?) drags on for what seems like hours.

It could well have been told in 5 minutes, but that would have required an editor who was more conscious and energetic than I (and most of the cast).

Clive Owen (uninspiring at his best) is definitely at his worst here...with a level of energy and animation barely rising above that of the background scenery. From this point on, he will always be a dog-murdering sonambulist in my book.

The dialog reminds me of the droning of cicadas in the summertime, except that cicadas generally have more spirited and meaningful exchanges.

As this glacial bore-a-rama neared completion, I found myself rooting for the sodomizer, Malcom McDowell, who does confer some energy, albeit of the "ham" variety, to his character....God knows, he was the only actor who earned his pay, and there are waaaay too many cocky drug dealing punks in the world.

You could be forgiven after watching this movie, to think it is a pilot movie for an English style "Soprano's", and be keenly awaiting the next installment after the end credits roll. The thrust of the story revolves around the seedier side of the London underworld, and is atmospheric, and at times a gritty urban drama. Clive Owen plays a former gangland boss who has (for some reason that is only ever hinted at) disappeared into obscurity, small time menial jobs, and living in a converted panel van, in the rural countryside. His friend (left behind, along with girlfriend, and former associates) seek him out, after his younger playboy brother is found dead, apparently having commited suicide, after being raped (yes you heard me , raped). Mr Owen, must revisit his old ways we assume, to find the reason behind the death, and bring the villians to justice, London mobster style. Sounds like a great drama, but what we get is a long and plodding build up with many questions unanswered. The film begins to deliver on the promise of it's opening hour or so in the last 5 minutes of running time, but then leaves everything unanswered, and the viewer hanging. Owen is believable as the brooding "Kray Twins" style gangster in contemporary London, and there is a good supporting cast. But most will agree that the talent on display is wasted. This is a compelling film, and fairly good story, spoilt by some wayward directing, and a long slow build up to a nothing ending. That may sound harsh, and other professional "Critics" as usual have raved about this - I must have missed the point - very disappointing.

We figured that with Clive Owen and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers headlining this film, it was a sure-fire good rental. Given the U.K. gangster subtext, even catching a bit of the oomph contained in the comet that was 'Sexy Beast'...well, who could pass that up?

Too bad, then, this film was such a letdown. It's certainly not due to either Owen or Rhys-Meyers, who have little to work with, frankly, in terms of a compelling narrative. And one can't blame Charlotte Rampling or Malcolm McDowell either - Rampling's role is smallish, hazily drawn. McDowell plays a pivotal part, but I never figured out what drove him to do the shocking act around which the film revolves. I figured it was due to some deep-seated resentment or long-sheathed act of revenge. In fact, it's explained as nothing of the sort. In fact, it seems petty more than anything else. And that makes the whole concept of the film downright perplexing.

I'm still scratching my head trying to figure out how this one went awry. The US box office certainly wasn't interested in figuring it out either: it brought in only $360,759 during its run here according to Box Office Mojo.

As you might guess, I'm not Clive Owen's biggest fan, having suffered through his woodenly monotonous performances, but I forced myself to see this because Mike Hodges has made some good films in the past (as well as cack like MORONS FROM OUTER SPACE). Sadly, this manages to be even worse than MORONS, a numbingly tedious movie where the semi-comatose leads are at least three hours behind the audience in guessing the plot. The shock revelation was obvious from the start and Hodges never makes you interested in getting there. He's not helped by his cast. They're either overacting like McDowell or Meyers or totally incapable of showing signs of life, like Rampling and Owen. Even before it was invented Rampling has always looked like she's had too much botox, but inexperienced filmgoers might think she'd OD'd here she's so stiff. Her expression doesn't change from its deathmask once. Owen is more hopeless than usual, shuffling through like a zombie from a cheap George Romero ripoff. He still can't act and his vocal performance is still like a bored photocopier salesman demonstrating some clapped out machine with one eye on the clock for the pub's opening.

Contrary to other posters, it's not thoughtful or atmospheric. The plot is obvious, the characters infantile. There's no depth, no ideas, just a dragging running time to fill out. And it is achingly slow in the doing it. From a first-timer this picture would have been laughed out of the office at script stage it's so empty and predictable.

British audiences shunned the film (as they did CROUPIER) but Americans might just mistake his accent for a performance. But for the rest of us, it's another pitiful performance in the dullest British gangster film of the past twenty years. That's quite an achievement, but it's the film's only one.

If you really want to see a good new British revenge movie, check out Dead Man's Shoes instead - that really is the business. This is just a photocopy of a photocopy.