An actor famous for clapping back at critics, Ian McKellen’s latest role as [checks notes] a critic sounds like cinematic kismet. Directed by Anand Tucker, The Critic delivers on this tantalising premise.
Immersed in the London theatre scene since his twenties, critic Jimmy Erskine (played by Ian McKellen) is now looking at the tail-end of his career. Lauded as an authority on contemporary theatre, Erskine has become a taste-maker: his gleefully malicious reviews can break a production. He lives with his assistant Tom (Alfred Enoch) on an expenses account that allows him to live “like a king”. The film begins with a summary of Jimmy’s life: every piece on the board seems perfectly in place. Tucker has great fun surveying the landscape in which Erskine finds himself: late to rise, a luxurious bath drawn by Tom; a boozy lunch at somewhere expensive. But this is 1936, and Erskine’s sexual proclivity for rough trade (we follow him on a night-time excursion through a nearby park) has begun to draw unwanted attention. The newspaper Erskine writes for has had a change of management: the owner’s son, Viscount Brooke (Mark Strong), is now in charge and wants to steer the paper towards “family values”. His sister, Cora, a perfectly icy Romola Garai, articulates more clearly what this actually means. Jimmy, and his Black assistant / lover do not fit the corporate mould. Patrick Marber’s screenplay is careful to depict this as part of a wider change occurring throughout Britain. There is a particularly chilling scene where a drunk Erskine walks past some lairy Blackshirts. Erskine’s ability to incisively measure up what he sees on stage is in direct contrast to his almost naively-hewn view of the world. He has not noticed how quickly it has changed.
The Critic starts off conventionally. The snapshot of Jimmy’s gilded life then steers us through the repercussions of his thorny reviews. A production of The Duchess of Malfi has Erskine wielding the poison pen, most notably for its leading lady, Nina (Gemma Arterton). She is now in her thirties, and hasn’t secured that breakthrough role. She may be living in a grimy bedsit, but she still has fans: an admirer has been leaving her a bouquet of white roses on opening nights for years. Her mum, Annabel (Lesley Manville), asks whether Nina should cut her losses and retire from acting? But Nina refuses to give up: she instead seeks an apology from Erskine for his damning review of her performance.
As Nina tracks Erskine down, a chance encounter reveals Erskine’s sexual identity. Nina now has a bargaining chip. She isn’t interested in exposing the critic, but she does want his help. If he can break a talent, surely he can raise one. This neat quid pro quo works well: Nina’s star begins to climb. But Erskine cannot be satisfied with this: after accidentally discovering the identity of Nina’s secret admirer, Erskine begins to scheme. He cannot imagine where it will take him.
The Critic is very much a film of two halves: the first half is the more successful – McKellen revels in the role of Queen Bee among London’s coterie of critics and more time could have been spent here – McKellen is visibly enjoying himself. The film is based on a murder mystery novel, Curtain Call, and while Patrick Marber does borrow from the shape of the novel, The Critic pitches itself awkwardly between Agatha Christie-style intrigue, and social commentary. The latter half of the film is scattered in focus: it is not quite sure where it wants us to look. Erskine’s motives become more obscured as the film moves forward, it becomes less clear where our sympathies should lie.
What does work in the film’s favour is its casting. McKellen is excellent as the rheumy-eyed critic, whose scorn and bile for the theatrical community keeps his reputation treading a fine line between admiration and fear (just the way he likes it). Gemma Arterton gets the chance to step out from some of the ‘classic beauty’ roles she has previously played and gives Nina’s sense of desperation a real tension and edge.
The Critic skilfully evokes the claustrophobia of life in 1930’s Britain – a persistent, cloying fog obscures many of London’s landmarks – it is home, but not recognisably so. The uneasy atmosphere of The Critic is enough to convince us of the very real danger Erskine is in, even if he does not fully recognise it himself. But it is the execution of the murder mystery element of the story that fails: there are too many moving parts for us to keep track of: the narrative needed to be simpler, cleaner. The film also plays with big ideas around prejudice and fascism, but neglects to fully explore them. The faults are not enough to write off the film completely, but it is undoubtedly the efforts of the cast that save The Critic from a far worse panning. McKellen’s Erskine is probably better than the film deserves. Acerbic, sour and spoiled. Superb. No notes.
The Critic is screening at Plymouth Arts Cinema from Friday 11th – Thursday 17th October.
Reviewed by Helen Tope
