Rendező:
Josh TrankForgatókönyvíró:
Josh TrankOperatőr:
Peter DemingZeneszerző:
El-PSzereplők:
Tom Hardy, Linda Cardellini, Matt Dillon, Kyle MacLachlan, Gino Cafarelli, Noel Fisher, Al Sapienza, Jack Lowden, Kathrine Narducci, Mason Guccione (több)Tartalmak(1)
Tíz éves börtönbüntetése után AICapone (Tom Hardy) szabadlábra kerül és egykori hatalmától megfosztva Floridaibirtokára vonul önkéntes száműzetésbe. Miután elvesztette minden barátját és szövetségesét, felidézi bűnözői múltját és az ó parancsára elkövetett brutális bűncselekményeket, melyek egykor Chicago utcáit mocskolták be. (VodafoneTV)
(több)Videók (1)
Recenziók (5)
I don't envy Trank. After becoming one of the few filmmakers who proved incapable of letting the studio collar him, and despite getting the money for his challenging auteur project, he was forced to finally send it to the living rooms of apathetic VOD viewers who only care about the star in the lead role and tagging the film a gangster flick. Capone, on the other hand, is far closer to Sokurov's Taurus (a once prominent, strong persona irreversibly withers in mind, body, and influence while being manipulated by those around him) or Zeller's The Father (a subjective depiction of the protagonist's damaged mind). While Trank's direction isn't anything particularly distinctive, and Hardy already pushes the role imo unnecessarily beyond the point of funny grotesqueness, I think in an era of overblown egos and ambition, the reminder is quite apt that the more convinced of ourselves we are during our lives, the more pitiful a caricature of ourselves we become in the end. Plus, it teeters on the edge of sympathizing with an utter monster, which always earns points.
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An eccentric creative view of the last year of Al Capone’s life. Hardy feels at home with the bizarre and his transformation into a doubly incontinent, syphilitic wreck is perfection itself. The screenplay is more a series of hallucinations created by his failing brain (trying desperately to remember where he buried those ten million bucks) mixed with reality and memories of torture and killing. It is both shocking and surprising (gouging eyes out), but also lacking any prominent storyline. Calling him Fonzo does more harm than good, because it makes everyone expect a classic mafia movie. Krusty the Clown with a golden Tommy gun just won’t cut it.
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This hurts. Capone sits and grumps, is incontinent and chomps a carrot instead of a cigar, and everything is so spectacularly uninteresting that it was hard to believe. Greyness and boredom only interrupted by a violent darkness and Tom Hardy, who once again manages to perfectly blend into the character and keep the viewer awake with his words. Trank is slowly moving towards TV and he can be grateful that the coronavirus spared him of another failure in the cinema. 40%
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A dilapidated Al Capone, afflicted with worsening dementia and struggling with the effects of heart attacks and venereal disease, is living the last year of his life, dependent on the care of relatives, while in numerous hallucinations he is confronted with his ancient sins and brutal past. Despite the unattractive sounding theme, it could have been at least an interesting and remarkably conceived contemplative biographical drama, but its implementation is very unfortunate. Repetitive motifs and Capone's delusional visions have virtually no point, and the whole film is somehow about nothing and it disintegrates just like the main character's mind. Thanks to the actors, at least the film is not embarrassing and unintentionally ridiculous. The film could be summed up as an unsatisfactory wait for Capone to finally remember where he hid his stashed millions, but a far greater mystery is how he managed to persuade Tom Hardy to accept a role in which, as the most famous gangster in history, he just shits in diapers, mumbles Italian swears, sucks a carrot and looks repulsive.
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The final minute of Alphonse Gabriel Capone’s decline... Hardy revives moments when, as the drooling Bronson, he staggered through realms of hallucination and incompetence and, exchanging the cigar for a carrot, he shuffles his way to the final scene, which works in its own way. With a few action moments, it’s as if Josh Trank is mocking the audience, who should have known in advance that they were entering only and solely a fading world where holding on to one’s bladder is no easier than once holding power. The demystification is like Chicago. Those doomed to die of neurosyphilis won’t be shot...
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