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Starring Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly and Kate Winslet and Christoph Waltz
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The hot topic around London town right now is that famed astrophysicist and former Ecstasy-chugger Brian Cox’s pet hates are rape and stage-to-screen adaptations, with a particular focus on rape because of all the evil. In a recent interview for fictional magazine ‘COCKS’ Cox was quoted as saying; ‘If you’re going to transpose a play script to film then at least make sure your dialogue’s up to snuff. There’s an inherent lack of naturalism in theatre that doesn’t lend itself well to film, unless you’re Baz Luhrman or deaf, and if your words aren’t all non-stop zingers or heart-wrenching parables for the human condition then it’s not really worth the stilted over-emoting that’s going to dribble out of your actor’s mouths. Comets are really, really brilliant.’
Cox are always right. Despite the talent on hand here the central conceit just doesn’t work; whereas on stage it might be a delight to watch the four characters socially immolate themselves, here, trapped in the confines of Polanski’s flat, it just feels like you’re spending an hour and a half with people you desperately want to punch in the face whilst they react to harsh words in ways that’d never pass muster in real life. Winslet plays a game drunk and Foster flexes her neck muscles to breaking point, but it’s Waltz who’s the most out of place here, seemingly believing that everything he does has to echo the camp villainy of Hans Lander regardless of setting, space or time. He glowers in the corner, chewing over his lines with an ill-defined accent, swooping in occasionally like a big grey bat to suck homo-erotically at John C. Reilly’s neck on a metaphorical level. It’s ridiculous. Reilly comes out best by at least attempting to bring some reality to the party, but ultimately the endeavour fails because the characters are hateful, the script ain’t entertaining enough, the setting’s too contrived, and nobody likes Roman Polanski because he used to be a rapist.
Stupid title too, even if it would be great to have this cheery fellow ring the doorbell halfway through and proceed to tear everyone a new set of nostrils. On their arses.
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