MORTDECAI
DIRECTOR: David Koepp
CAST: Johnny Depp, Paul Bettany, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ewan McGregor
CLASSIFICATION: 10-12 PG LSV
RUNNING TIME: 107 minutes
RATING: **
Any film credited with its own “moustache wrangler” really should have been more fun than Depp’s latest misfiring action-comedy.
Mortdecai is based on the first in a series of irreverent comic novels by Kyril Bonfiglioli. Published in the 1970s, the books chronicle the amoral antics of British art dealer Lord Charlie Mortdecai (Depp, pictured), who is aided on his drink-sodden adventures by his manservant, Jock Strapp (Bettany).
Depp plays Mortdecai as a human Looney Tunes character, a snobbish playboy narcissist so enamoured of his comically absurd new moustache that he risks driving his disapproving wife Johanna (Paltrow) to divorce. Teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, the rogue spots a chance to escape financial ruin when a rare Goya canvas goes missing. Recruited for his art-world expertise by MI5 agent and love rival, Alistair Martland (McGregor), Mortdecai jets off to find the stolen painting and exploit the priceless secret rumoured to be hidden on its reverse side.
In his accent and mannerisms, Charlie Mortdecai appears to owe a heavy debt to the small-screen creations of Depp’s friend, the British TV comedian Paul Whitehouse. Depp has guested on his sketch comedy The Fast Show, and offers him supporting roles in his film projects, including this one. Here he plays Mortdecai’s foul-mouthed car mechanic, who also has a sideline fencing stolen artworks.
Mortdecai is stuffed with star names and classic farce ingredients, but its fatal flaw is a lack of jokes. The main players spend almost every scene mugging desperately for the camera, milking every lowbrow sexual innuendo in the thin script.
While Depp’s English accent is palatable enough, McGregor’s smarmy approximation sounds forced. Only Paltrow emerges from this farrago with any real acting credit.
On the page, Mortdecai and Strapp are clearly uncouth cousins of PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster. On screen, their boorish mannerisms and retro attitudes owe more to Austin Powers. But while Mike Myers found rich humour in the gap between a chauvinistic past and politically correct present, much of the laboured comedy in Mortdecai relies on dated stereotypes unredeemed by any hint of post-modern irony. Women are insatiable nymphomaniacs who enjoy being groped, Americans vulgar materialists, Brits upper-class dimwits and so on.
The final set piece, which takes place at an upmarket London art auction house, brings all the characters and subplots together in an orgy of cartoonish violence and triple-cross deceptions that quickly becomes tiresome. For all its minor offenses against taste and decency, the unforgivable sin that Mortdecai commits is one that would leave its rakish anti-hero aghast. Because the film that bears his name is ultimately a frightful bore. – The Hollywood Reporter
If you liked Kingsman: The Secret Service, this might work for you.