There are two Steven Soderberghs. One is the director of off-beat low-budget movies such as his first film, Sex, Lies and Videotape, and the subsequent Kafka; the other is the expert craftsman of more mainstream outings such as the George Clooney thriller Out of Sight and the recent Julia Roberts blockbuster Erin Brockovich.
The Limey is one of Soderbergh’s more personal projects. It is rather ironic that it is released here so soon after Erin Brockovich, when its total costs were probably less than Roberts’s salary alone. It is quirky, unusual and altogether brilliant.
Terence Stamp, still looking good, and sporting a Cockney accent (”Tryin’ to catch him wiv annuvver bird?”), plays a British ”tea leaf” – a thief in rhyming slang – who has ”just got out of the joint”. He has come to the United States to find out what happened to his recently deceased daughter. His investigations focus on his daughter’s last lover, a rich record producer played by Peter Fonda. To say more than that would be to spoil the fun of this low-key but insistently compelling thriller.
Stamp brings to his role a wonderful stillness and calm reminiscent of the character he played in Stephen Frears’s The Hit, which was serendipitously on TV a week or two ago. His characterisation of this quietly determined man is perfect. Fonda brings, too, echoes of his past roles and personal mythology to his performance, as well as a gummy smile that is just right for the superficial charm of a rather slimy executive. This is highly intelligent casting.
Soderbergh creates a distinctive style for the film, one that has something in common with the French new wave innovations of, say, Jean-Luc Godard’s À Bout de Souffle, but with its own individual flavour. He deftly makes use of the flash-forward, a difficult and often confusing narrative technique that is seldom used, as well as moments where the image and the sound don’t quite coincide, creating a subtle level of disturbance and disquiet throughout the movie.
Lem Dobbs’s script is witty and understated, tweaking the absurdities of what people so often say into a kind of Pinteresque oddness. Standing on a high terrace, peering at Los Angeles smog, one character says, ”You’d see the sea out there if you could see it.”
With little fanfare and no sense of self-importance, but rather a sly, quiet confidence, The Limey makes a stunning contemporary film noir. Or, given the Californian colouration of the movie, perhaps that should be a film beige.
