Everything in this movie is failed (well, ok, except Jessica Lange). There is an stiffness to it, a strange feeling of old in the bad way. There's not the charming, the enchant of good old Hollywood. It just feels old. It's not a matter of the story not being predictable, or the dialogues being too theatrical, or the direction being punchless. Or Nesson being as stiff as the rest of it. It's something else, a somber patina of ochre that really keeps the whole thing from shinning all along the way. I was just bored at the theatre. Uninterested. Like watching something I've already seen before a hundred years ago.
Review of Marlowe
