44 Inch Chest

Before it falls apart in its last third, 44 Inch Chest primarily comes off as an uneven yet engrossing drama that benefits substantially from the efforts of its unusually impressive roster of performers. The movie, which transpires primarily within a seedy apartment, follows four friends (Stephen Dillane’s Mal, Tom Wilkinson’s Archie, John Hurt’s Old Man Peanut, and Ian McShane’s Meredith) as they agree to help Ray Winstone’s Colin kidnap the man who slept with his wife, with the initial plan to torture and kill said man inevitably falling to the wayside as Colin begins to have second thoughts. The decidedly stagy nature of 44 Inch Chest‘s premise is initially not as problematic as one might’ve anticipated, as the viewer’s interest is piqued right from the get-go by the all-star cast’s admittedly irresistible efforts – with Winstone’s expectedly intense turn matched by his top-notch costars (and as good as Dillane, Wilkinson, and Hurt are here, it’s McShane’s ridiculously charismatic work that stands as the film’s most entertaining aspect). The less-than-consistent atmosphere is tempered by the inclusion of a few utterly hypnotic stretches – ie Hurt’s character regales the others with a retelling of the Samson and Delilah myth – with the movie’s downward spiral ultimately triggered by screenwriters Louis Mellis and David Scinto’s head-scratching decision to separate the characters and place an increasingly pronounced emphasis on Colin’s progressively deranged mindset (complete with utterly needless dream sequences). It’s consequently not surprising to note that one’s enthusiasm for the proceedings slowly but surely evaporates as 44 Inch Chest limps towards its oddly anticlimactic finish, yet despite its deficiencies, the film is effectively redeemed by the strength of its opening hour and by the marvelous performances held within.

**1/2 out of ****