Category: Europe

Welcome to the layer cake, son.

Disgruntled supporters of mutantkind, take heart: X3 is in very good hands. I caught Matthew Vaughn’s Layer Cake this afternoon, and it’s a smart, stylish, and sublimely smooth British crime film that does Guy Ritchie’s Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch one better. Well, ok, Layer Cake isn’t as laugh-out-loud funny as Lock Stock can be at times, but it’s much cleverer than Snatch and, frankly, better-made. And, for that matter, it takes less joy in violence for its own sake than Ritchie’s oeuvre (one grisly scene set to Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” notwithstanding.) In fact, in terms of tone, Cake is probably more akin to Jonathan Glazer’s Sexy Beast.

Layer Cake centers on cocaine dealer Daniel Craig (burnishing his possible Bond credentials), a consummate smooth operator who treats his criminal enterprise like a business and, as per the usual, is just looking forward to an early retirement around the corner. But his best-laid plans are interrupted by two ugly developments: 1) His boss Jimmy (Kenneth Cranham) enlists him to track down the junkie daughter of even bigger crime-lord Eddie Temple (Michael Gambon, relishing the dark side), and 2) a loose cannon flunky known as the Duke (Jamie Foreman of I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead and Roman Polanski’s forthcoming Oliver Twist) has just rolled in from Amsterdam trying to unload a million doses of Ecstasy (a drug haul with a nefarious history of its own.)

The rest of the movie consists of Craig trying to navigate the increasingly narrow straits between these two troubles, with the occasional aid of muscle Colm Meaney, middle-man George Harris, and a host of other ne’er-do-wells. Essentially, you know the drill — this is a puzzle film in which you’ll have to listen carefully and learn to distinguish between various delinquents with names like Tiptoes, Kinky, Slasher and Shanks. And, while the final few grifts just get a bit too big to be believable, for the most part the story holds together with intelligence and verve, in no small part to Daniel Craig, who’s a magnetic presence here, and Matthew Vaughn, who displays a crisp, confident direction that’s all the more impressive for being showy without ever seeming flashy. To him, his X-Men.

All’s Blair.

Upon Tony Blair’s third election victory (albeit one that may well lead to his ousting), the WP‘s Dan Balz makes the case that the Dems could learn much from Labor “Blairism”. I don’t think simply moving to the center is the right answer for the wayward Dems — We need to focus less on that type of protective camouflage and more on articulating our own principles, particularly as they differ from those of the GOP, who routinely and as a matter of pride put corporate profits before the American people. Still, there is some food for thought here.

One intriguing passage: “Where Blair, Brown and Labor cannot help the Democrats is on the social issues or the intersection of religion and politics. There is nothing comparable in British politics. Howard tried to make abortion an issue at one point but quickly abandoned it under pressure from all parts of the spectrum. When Blair proposed using the words ‘God bless’ in a speech before the Iraq war, his advisers hooted him down.”

English Cheddar.

Another Smoking Gun? Casino Jack‘s credit card (and that of another prominent DeLay-connected lobbyist, Edwin A. Buckham), apparently paid for Boss DeLay’s recent boondoggles to Britain, contradicting what the Hammer has earlier said about them being covered by non-profit organizations. The situation being what it is, this likely won’t knock DeLay out by any means, despite its obvious and flagrant illegality…but it will add fuel to the fire? Inquiring minds want to know…

Ain’t Gonna Work on Maggie’s Farm No More.

“[F]or many investors Thatcher’s plan has fallen flat. Many investment funds charged huge commissions and fees, leaving contributors worse off than they would have been in the state system. The stock market collapse four years ago compounded their losses. Meanwhile, many private pension plans have gone bust, after companies drained those plans to pay off rising debts.” As England’s experience since Margaret Thatcher suggests, Dubya’s desired privatization of Social Security will likely cause more problems than it solves. (Somebody tell the nation’s business associations.)

Don’t Mention the War.

Despite inducing peals of laughter with his “ridiculous” doublespeak on Iran, Dubya’s “We’re Team Players” European tour continues to generate mostly good international press for the administration. Along those lines, I particularly liked this gem from the LA Times: “Talk of Bush is often imbued with suspicion. But unlike two years ago, German critics are less likely to compare him to Hitler.” Hey now, that’s progress.

Wardrobe Malfunction.

“Auschwitz, great…are the Packers playing?” By all that is good and holy, what was Dick Cheney thinking? It’s the 60th anniversary of liberation from that Hell on Earth, and our veep, as the Post wryly put it, “was dressed in the kind of attire one typically wears to operate a snow blower.” Even at occasions where it seems well nigh impossible to make the US role in world affairs look bad, this administration plays the Ugly American to the hilt. For shame.

Twelve Goofy Men.

Nonsensical, self-indulgent, and occasionally even a tad smarmy, Steven Soderbergh’s much-hyped Ocean’s Twelve is also, I’m happy to report, just plain fun. While Eleven was an intricately designed (and quickly forgettable) clockwork caper flick, this sequel turns out to be a rather silly, rambling affair that reeks of inside-baseball, and I mean that in the best way possible. In fact, I’d say Twelve turned out to be what Soderbergh tried and failed to do with Full Frontal…As much a riff on stars and stardom as the heist movie we were all expecting, it’s probably the most sheerly pleasurable film experience you’re going to find this side of The Incredibles.

That’s not to say there aren’t problems here. The film starts slow, reintroducing every character from the first movie as if they were the reuniting Beatles. The plot…well, the plot doesn’t make much sense at all — this isn’t the type of heist movie where you can put the jigsaw pieces together yourself. A lot of the scenes are probably a beat or two too long, and the movie’s got more endings than Return of the King. But, y’know, in the final analysis, none of that really matters. Right about the time Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt) goes to check in on imploding (i.e. “going all Frankie Muniz”) TV star Topher Grace (“I just phoned in that Dennis Quaid movie!”), Ocean’s 12 starts to show its true colors: Forget the crime and just have a good time.

And have a good time I did, although admittedly all the Hollywood in-jokes and cameos on display here are my cuppa joe. Sure, the movie could probably have used more Clooney and more Bernie Mac, but there’s a lot of characters to keep in play here, and, besides, it got the cowbell just right. I won’t say Ocean’s Twelve is a great film, but it is a well-made, entertaining film, and it kept a smile on my face for most of its running time. So, if there’s an Ocean’s Thirteen in the works, deal me in.