the prestige

June 28th, 2007

This is the review I sent to the Cambridge Film Festival Daily hoping that they would let me write for them.  I saw “The Prestige” at the drive-in with my sweetheart. We couldn’t get the radio tuned in for the first fifteen minutes or so, and by the time we could hear the film there was still an undeniable tree blocking our view. I wanted to test myself by reviewing something at random, and to a deadline. The finished product made me feel like a twat, but then again all reviews sound a bit smug. If you want to see my practice review, read on. Remember – I didn’t actually see half of the fucker.

The story of “Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde” holds a twist that is so well known that one often forgets that it is a twist and not the principal conceit. “The Prestige” almost wants to be a Tale Of The Expected. Two duelling illusionists, their sleeves firmly rolled up and their cards held close to their chests, sacrifice moral and artistic integrity in their hunger for prestige. The two male leads, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, have both portrayed superheroes (Batman and Wolverine respectively), and so are well versed in themes of duality, tragedy and obsession.
Sadly, Christopher Priest’s elegant work of speculative fiction has been wrought into a script too shallow to honour either the author or his muse, H.G. Wells. In theory, Christopher Nolan is the ideal conductor of smoke and mirrors. Editor Lee Smith creates a scattergun rhythm that is as baffling as Nolan’s excellent “Memento”, but lacks its guyropes – character depth and intrigue. The potential counterweight of two powerful female characters goes unrealised; the story begs to be handed over to Orson Welles for fattening, or even to Paul Verhoeven for flattening.
Production designer Nathan Crowley’s fanciful showmanship is too straight for steampunk; the direction too glamorous for true romance. Stylish imagery such as top hats clustered in a copse gives way to B-movie mummery and electrickery. Caine (as Cutter, quartermaster/butler) might in his youth have given a better bit as Borden, the earnest cockney diamond. Jackman bores even himself as Angier, only to shine in the role of his character’s hired double, a drunken British arse. Twists loiter in the wings as blatantly as the Dundreary whiskers favoured by the protagonists when they go incognito. Where is the poise, the flirtation and caprice? A game of 52 card pickup – don’t fall for it.