It is a murky new case of the classic pulp gumshoe, Raymond Chandler, with its necessary seedy characters but paper-thin thrills. Marlowe has every element of noir but for some reason it lacks a pulse. Dyed-blonde dames, gruff cops in fedoras, barrels of whiskey and enough cigarettes to start a tobacco plantation abound to no avail. The mystery never grabs you despite leaving a fair amount of carnage in its wake. A venerated cast does an able job but fails to resonate. The film is a textbook example of style trumping substance.
In 1939 Los Angeles, detective Philip Marlowe was approached by an appealing visitor. Beautiful oil heiress Clare Cavendish (Diane Kruger) needs help finding her missing boyfriend-nico Peterson (François Arnaud), an actor known for his womanizing ways who went missing several weeks ago; Clare Cavendish (Diane Kruger), famous for being the daughter of movie star Dorothy Quinn Cannon (Jessica Lange) warns that if someone looks into her affair then they will most likely find out she comes from a lineage related to cinema.
Marlow’s investigation seems open and shut. An answer is provided when he visits the elite Corbata Club. Nico died in a hit-and-run accident outside the club according to Floyd Hanson (Danny Huston), the manager. Nico wasn’t connected to the place officially but he used to hang out with them.
Marlowe goes through the police report at LAPD as ex-detective himself. Joe Green (Ian Hart), his former partner thinks he’s wasting his time. Nico lost his head under one of their tires; his sister mournfully identified him by clothes and wallet while he was unrecognizable on face value due to deformities resulting from tire crush injuries inflicted on him before death; later, Marlowe delivers this information to Clare inside her luxurious dwelling where he first encounters her fierce mother. Marlowe, however, doesn’t consider Nico dead but someone else has been killed to conceal a deeper conspiracy.
Oscar-winning Neil Jordan (The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire) directs the film adaptation of “The Black-Eyed Blonde,” by Irish novelist John Banville under a script that was written by The Departed’s scribe William Monahan. Hang in there… There’s method to this name-dropping madness. It’s hard to believe that such heavyweight talents on either side of the camera would produce such an insipid film. Marlowe possesses every element for greatness. It just never gels dramatically. The scenes all blur together in a story that never really grabs you.
One significant flaw is apparent here. He has uncovered something that could cost him his life and it puts his life at risk. Neeson takes plenty of shots but delivers far more than he gets back; you’re not fooled into thinking for one minute that he might be in any real danger at all; bad guys do horrible things to other people who appear momentarily; Marlowe walks around town like an invincible godhead; instead Jordan should have learned from Jack Nicholson’s Chinatown and Denzel Washington’s Devil in a Blue Dress where these private eyes took beatings early on then realized how serious it was before they evened things up again later – having more vulnerability would’ve helped make him seem less invulnerable.
Lange steals the show with little screen time. The twisted relationship between Clare and her mother warranted further exploration. Neeson works as Marlowe despite the film’s flaws. Honestly, I would give him, Jordan, and Monahan another crack at the character.A second effort would make up for this missed opportunity
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