Brighton Rock

Brighton Rock is the second film to be made from the novel by Graham Greene. I have neither read the novel nor seen the first film, but the second is a fine, gritty example of British noir.

Set in the seaside English resort of Brighton in 1964 (Greene's novel was written in the '30s), the film concerns the world of gangsters running protection rackets. The opening scene shows the shadowy murder of a gang leader by his rival gang. A young hoodlum in that gang, Pinkie Brown (Sam Riley) sees his opportunity to move up the ladder.

He eventually kills the man who killed his former boss, but a mousy young waitress (Andrea Riseborough) could be a witness against him. Like the recent film The Town, Riley seduces her to get a photograph that could incriminate the gang, but Riseborough, who is afraid of her own shadow, is so taken by him that she falls in love with him. Unlike The Town, the feeling is not reciprocated. Or, at least, not in any way a normal person could consider "love."

Directed by Rowan Joffe (the son of Roland), Brighton Rock has an abundance of great nighttime shots and images of the seedy pier of Brighton. Also appearing in the film are Helen Mirren, as her boss, who tries to convince of her Riley's villainy, and John Hurt, as an old bookie who carries a torch for Mirren. Andy Serkis appears briefly as the rival gang leader.

But the film belongs to Riley and Riseborough. He's quite good as the psychopathic killer, although his resemblance to comedian Bill Hader had me thinking inappropriately funny thoughts. Riseborough, who also played the Duchess of Windsor in Madonna's W/E, does a 180 here, as a woman with absolutely no self confidence who would fall in love with any man who looked her way. The closing scene, featuring her listening to a skipping phonograph record, is pathetically chilling.

Being based on a Graham Greene novel, there is all sorts of commentary on the nature of good and evil as it relates to the beliefs of Catholicism. Both leads are Roman (that's how Riley puts in when he sees that Riseborough is wearing a Madonna around her neck) and there are frequent shots of crucifixes.

That might work in the book, but it seems like overkill here. In fact, my only real complaint about the film is that Joffe has over-directed it. He has taken a small crime story and tried to give it epic status. Sometimes less is more. However, I found the transfer of the film to 1964, amid the youth riots between mods and rockers, to be an interesting juxtaposition.