Films > Film Reviews

Mortdecai

17/12/14

What do British heroes James Bond and Sherlock Holmes have in common? The answer is quite a lot, actually. Both started as literary characters with a hefty back catalogue of adventures, both have a certain British demeanour and both have a wide reaching cinematic popularity.

Unfortunately, it appears that fans of either will be in for a bit of a wait. So whose stiff upper lip can we get to fill the void? Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Lord Charles Mortdecai. Based on a series of novels written by Kyril Bonfiglioli and starring Johnny Depp, Mortdecai is a moustachioed English aristocrat and art dealer who, at the behest of the police, sets out to hunt down a stolen Goya painting whilst hilarity ensues. Sounds good, right? Wrong.

This film looks piss dreadful. Part Pink Panther, part Dapper Laughs, Depps’ bumbling, sexually aggressive aristo-twat makes Sid James look like a spokesperson for gender equality. The whole ‘anachronistic hero’ shtick has been done much better by Austin Powers. Unfortunately, this movie attempts it without the self-aware charm. Full of outdated slapstick bullshit, this film couldn’t be more Carry-On if Bernard Bresslaw walked on in a fucking dress - his faithful man-servant (Paul Bettany) is called ‘Jock Strapp’. For fuck’s sake.

This is nostalgia for a comedy style that’s better off dead. The books may have been a hit back in ‘the day’, but so was burning witches and we soon fucked that off. Honestly, if this movie was a horse, I’d shoot it, run around its graveside, chase some scantily clad ladies, stop to slap the bald vicar on the head, then re-load the gun and shoot it again. Sorry Johnny, but we don’t need another hero. At least not this one anyway.

Smiley