Jonathan Rhys-Meyers Books

**1/2 2003. Directed by British born director Mike Hodges. A former mob boss comes back to London when his brother commits suicide. Nothing new under the sun even if there are some great actors involved. Already forgotten.

I assume that the title of this movie is taken from the Warren Zevon tune--a song, I might point out, that is about five thousand times more exciting than this dull, pedantic, pathetic, shiftless, soulless, sleep inducing film (I had to watch it over two nights as it lulled me to sleep after thirty minutes on the first viewing). How in the world do you make a Clive Owen, Malcom McDowell, Charlotte Rampling flick SO flat and pointless that it induces drowsiness? The acting is so deadpan and emotionless that it HAS to be good, right? Wow, and count those crime noir cliches in the script--is that a deep, meaningful commentary on the whole genre I smell? And what about all of those plot points (about half of the screen time in the film) that not only DON'T add to the main story but actually distract and detract the viewer's attention to confuse him or her as to what is actually going on--surely this is the sign of a truly meaningful movie experience, right? And let's not forget the lack of resolution for every single one of these meaningless sub-plots, including the old flame with a gun to her head. Oh, wait, I guess that was done so intelligent movie watchers, like myself, can inject a little thought and speculation into this, obviously, interactive experience. Maybe it is all meant to help solidify my strong homophobic worries and fears (just watch the movie and think about that comment). Is this a student art-for-arts-sake film disguised as crime noir? Or is this really just a flat, dull, dumb crime noir film? You be the judge--if you can stay awake.
Hey, in quick response to one of the other "glowing" reviewers--if the movie they DON'T show you is more interesting than the movie they DO show you--that's a pretty good indication it's a bad movie.

Clive Owen has come into his own as an actor. His roles in GOSFORD PARK, INSIDE MAN, and CHILDREN OF MEN have proven him to be an excellent casting choice. And here in I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD, director Mike Hodges made the very wise decision to feature Mr. Owen in the prime role as Will Graham, a "retired" gangster returned to the madness after the apparent suicide of his only brother.

Building on the fairly weak relationship of Will Graham with his brother Davey (Jonathan Rhys Meyers, MATCH POINT), the story begins just as it ends, with the arrival and ultimate departure of Will. Interesting in a sort of nonlinear scripting way, the story's ambling nature and unaffecting characters are impossible to empathize with. When Davey (Meyers) is brutally sodomized by a ruthless man, we care very little because we simply don't know anything about them. Nor do we know (or are ever told) why Davey was raped in the first place. There is a simple speech given by the rapist (played by Malcolm McDowell) in an attempt at an explanation, but this is neither believable nor seemingly coherent with the script itself.

Which leads us to bigger and better problems. Since this is the crux of the story -- and what brings Will (Owen) out of retirement -- this leaves the entire film feeling very hollow. The connections between thugs, coroners/cops, and family are thinly developed (if at all) and given so little screen-time as to leave most watchers scratching their heads.

The ending, as stated earlier, mirrors the film's beginnings in that Will appears standing on the same beach monologuing the same lines. The assumption that the viewer is supposed to make is that this has happened before (i.e., Will has come out of "retirement" in the past for important things), but it comes off feeling stilted and out of place.

Clive Owen does an admirable acting job, but the script given him here is too weak to make this a positive movie-going experience.

This is a terrible movie. I equate it to trying to start your car after the battery has died. It "ain't" gonna start, no how no way. This movie has no "heart" whatsoever and can be best described as pointless nonsense. The "killer" in this movie gives the most mundane, stupid reasons for his crime imageable. Laughably predictable. The movie is a BORE. Please keep this one "across the pond". In America, we don't want it.

I like this movie for a lot of reasons. It is visually very stylish and interesting. There are some very good performances, and the contrast between Clive Owen's character, Will Graham, and everyone else from the old neighborhood is fascinating. Will Graham is a character who has left his old life, not to start a new one, but to cut himself off completely from any life. He returns to find out why his younger brother killed himself. The ending, before he seeks his revenge, has a strange ritualistic quality that heightens the tension. In the final analysis, however, I didn't think that the story of Will's search for the reason for his brother's death was nearly as interesting as the story that takes place before the film begins - what happened to Will that led him to abandon everything and begin aimless travels in a beatup camper, spending most of his time by himself. His ex-lover, played by Charlotte Rampling, says he "had a breakdown," but that doesn't provide any insight into what caused this stark, dramatic, and ultimately solitary disappearance from life. Without any understanding of this change, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" is interesting , but emotionally unsatisfying.