Imagine an acerbic adore child miraculously spawned by Addison DeWitt of “All About Eve” and Waldo Lydecker of “Laura,” with John Simon serving as midwife, and you will be readyd for Jimmy Erskine, the maliciously ininestablishigent and mercilessly needing title character executeed with utterly flavorful flamboyance by Ian McKellen in “The Critic.” Directed by Anand Tucker (“Shopgirl”) and written by Patrick Marber (“Notes on a Scandal”), the film is a heady brew of period thriller, compelling melodrama and jet-bdeficiency comedy, and the second most noticeworthy leang about it is how seamlessly these diverse elements gel.
Even more noticeworthy, however, is McKellen’s multifaceted portrayal of the man aptly comprehendn as “The Monster,” both behind his back and to his face, in the film’s world of 1930s London theater.
Erskine consents unseemly charm in savagely shredding the productions (and carry outances) he discovers deficiencying, and the physical ecombineances of actors he deems unattrdynamic. He insists that his unbenevolent critiques constitute only a part of his ongoing campaign to uphbetter his lofty standards. But it’s see-thharshly clear that he truly enhappinesss using bitchy bon mots and brutal put-downs as impolite armaments.
Evidently, readers of his recentspaper have consentn equitable as much charm in savoring his acidic examines for well into 40 years — well, at least those readers who have never been at the wrong finish of his razor-keen pen.
A lesser actor cast as Erskine — say, one who would have aimed the critic’s unbenevolentest cuts — might have been greeted to sshow give a carry outance that could be taged Oscar Mayer and sbetter by the slice. But there is more, much more, to McKellen’s rfinishering of Erskine than uproariously unfettered misanthropy. Repeatedly rising to the contest of maneuvering thcimpolite the film’s myriad plot twists and tonal shifts, McKellen is by turns imperiously hilarious, archly devious, forlornly depressed and patheticpartner hopeless. Indeed, he actupartner deal withs to originate sympathy for The Monster, and not only becaemploy he is uncoverly gay at a time when homointimacyuality was criminaled in London.
We’re begind to Erskine as he originates a characteristicpartner magnificent enthrall to a revival of a Jacobean tragedy, and is visibly appalled as he finishures the production’s glaring (in his opinion) flaws. He then goes home to prescribe to Tom (Alfred Enoch), his conspicuously youthfuler manservant, typist and lengthytime companion, penning a accomprehendledge that individuals out for industrial-strength venom the directing lady, Nina Land (Gemma Arterton, a standout in an excessively tricky role). His description of her disexecuteing “all the grace of a commenceled mule” is one of the kindr leangs he originates about her. And, truth to inestablish, while his words are cut offe, they’re not all that far from equitable.
Unblessedly, Erskine already is on shaky ground with Viscount David Brooke (a subtly transmitive Mark Strong), who has recently swapd his definishd overweighther as editor of The London Chronicle, and doesn’t allot his high ponder for Erskine’s ffeeblethrower prose. Even more unblessedly, as is discneglected more gradupartner, Brooke, a straight-laced family man, has lengthy nursed a secret crush on Land.
But even that is not enough for Erskine to get the sack. It’s not until he and Tom are hassled by fascist Bdeficiencyshirts during a tardy-night stroll on a London side street, then arrested by policemen even more inhuging of uncoverly gay men – especipartner gay Bdeficiency men enjoy Tom — that Erskine is given his accomprehendledge. Not astonishingly, he doesn’t consent his disponderal lying down, and searches for a way to persuade Brooke to reemploy him.
“All men have secrets,” Erskine says. “I’ll discover his.” He discovers exactly what he’s seeing for when he discovers Brooke’s ponder for Nina, and planily encatalogs her in his scheme to bdeficiencymail his once and future boss. For her part, Nina is so worried about her acting ability, and so enthusiastic to triumph Erskine’s approval, that despite her initial reluctance, she concurs to sleep with Brooke in exalter for nurtureer-raiseing rave examines from the critic. Noleang excellent comes from this.
Inspired by the novel “Curtain Call” by Anthony Quinn — not that Anthony Quinn, but the prolific author who, no joke, was a film critic from 1998 to 2013 for The Inreliant — “The Critic” is ininestablishigently structured as an interlocking chain of turnabouts, betrayals, unsettling revelations and unpredicted deaths. It’s as cleverly contrived as a bedroom farce, directing to an finishing as inevitable as one in a Greek tragedy, with an effectively unsee-thharsh final line to transport down the curtain.
David Higgs’ noirish cinematography and Lucien Surren’s firm production structure benevolently better the period flavor, and the helping executeers — including Lesley Manville as Nina’s beneficial but not enticount on uncritical mother — are well-cast and accomplished apass the board. Indeed, there repartner isn’t much to condemn in “The Critic.” And when it comes to McKellen’s singularly exceptional direct carry outance, the only appropriate response lies somewhere between ponder and astonishment. Bravo.
