Certain ideas for films tend to be best kept hypothetical, for a number of reasons. Whether it be that many of them work better in theory than they do in practice, or that it is sometimes impossible to live up to the impossibly high expectations that are packaged with some very ambitious concepts, we occasionally find examples of disappointing works derived from very strong ideas. In the case of Marlowe, there were few films that had as much potential when they were announced, but turned out to be nearly as mediocre as this one, especially since there were many strong elements that could have considerably elevated the material. The idea of Neil Jordan, one of the most fascinating filmmakers of his generation, making his first film in nearly half a decade (which is a result of his work being far less frequent in recent years), directing a throwback to the heyday of film noir, working closely with screenwriter William Monahan to bring to life a new iteration of Phillip Marlowe, arguably the most famous detective in the history of pulp fiction, seemed like a perfect opportunity to remind us of the merits of not only Jordan’s impeccable directorial prowess, but the exceptional qualities that defined the genre as a whole. Unfortunately, every bit of potential was eventually found to be fleeting, restricted to the expositionary components of the film, which are dismissed quite early on, leaving us with an uneven and unfortunately flaccid attempt at reviving a mostly dormant genre, with the exception of a few efforts to revisit these ideas – and unfortunately, Marlowe joins the canon of hopelessly flawed, deeply mediocre projects that take aim at such an ambitious idea, but falls apart at the seams almost immediately, proving that some genres are correctly left in the past, not because they are sacred, but rather due to the fact that very few contemporary filmmakers can capture the same elements that made them so successful, and every attempt to do so falls flat almost immediately, which is undeniably the case with this film.

It is certainly not difficult to imagine the appeal of a story like Marlowe, for both those involved in the film’s creation and the audiences that would soon come to learn of its existence. There is something so captivating about these early detective stories – hard-boiled narratives focused on gruff but intelligent characters and their interactions with a variety of unsavoury individuals in the process of solving a mystery, which usually has more twists and turns than any of us can predict. Considering Jordan has peddled in the crime drama on a few occasions himself, and because he is someone with a diverse set of skills, we seemed to be in good hands as he set out to adapt the novel The Black-Eyed Blonde by John Banville (a terrific writer in his own right), which is a modern addition to Raymond Chandler’s iconic books that focused on the titular character. With a strong writer at the helm, and a gifted cast signing on, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to revisit a genre that seems to be contained to a specific moment in the past, both because audiences grew weary of these stories in their purist form, and because we saw the rise of other styles of crime-based fiction, with classic private eyes now being replaced by more distinct renegades. The challenge with Marlowe is that it strives too hard to be a throwback, and eventually becomes stifled by it – Jordan is a terrific filmmaker, but his work needs some narrative direction or else it becomes a bundle of images, but even using the source material as a guideline is a challenge, especially since the novel is deeply flawed as it stands, being written to mimic the original style of the author, rather than being a homage, which quickly limits just how far this film can go before it begins to show signs of weakness itself – and as we see quite consistently throughout Marlowe, that is not something that we have to wait to encounter, since we come to learn the reality of the restrictions from which this film was working from essentially its first moments, when its shortcomings are not only evident, but seem to be directly on display.  

The important distinction that ultimately needs to be made is that film noir may be a genre, but it is only one that can work in conjunction with other genres that occur alongside it, or else it will feel more stylistic than substantial. Marlowe excels in neither, which is likely a result of this being a film that is never sure of what it wants to be. On one hand, it is aiming to be a dark and deceptive throwback to the classical era of detective fiction, focusing on the smoke-filled offices and twisting corridors that made them so enigmatic. On the other hand, it is a modern staging that needs to adopt that same mentality, rather than just depending on what worked in the past. Jordan may be fond of this story, but he doesn’t have the same commitment to the material as perhaps the person in charge of bringing this story to the screen ought to have possessed. Marlowe oscillates between harsh, gritty authenticity and abstract, off-the-wall absurdity, and while this is not uncommon in film noir (just consider works like Kiss Me Deadly and Chinatown, both of which blend realism with gonzo sensibilities to exceptional effect), it needs to be accompanied by something meaningful, which is simply not the case with this film. It also feels like Marlowe is trying to add a message to a genre that didn’t ever require much meaning to be worth our time, which is another unfortunate aspect of genre homages, since they usually are accompanied by some social or cultural commentary that is often misplaced – and to make it even more bewildering, this is a film that wanted to say something, but never quite gets to the point of making its intentions clear. A social message is appropriate, granted it is clear, or at least integrated into the plot in a way that makes sense. The entire third act of Marlowe is about focusing on subjects such as the role of women in Hollywood during its early days, coupled with stories of immigration, the drug trade and politics. Any one of these would have been a fascinating subject to explore, but throwing them together into a space in which they exist in such proximity is an immediate cause for concern, which Jordan does very little to pacify, instead just amplifying their peculiarities to the point of being deeply disconcerting on a narrative level.

Around the time he signed on to play the titular role in Marlowe, there was a substantial amount of attention placed on the film, since it was revealed to be the one-hundredth film in which Liam Neeson had starred, which is an impressive achievement for any actor, even if a lot of his recent work has been deeply questionable. This film served to be a reunion for compatriots Neeson and Jordan, who have done solid work together in the past, each bringing out the best in the other. In theory, Neeson seems like a perfect choice for Marlowe, especially since the version Banville wrote is an older, more grizzled iteration of the character, but one who is still driven by his gruff masculinity and quiet intensity. However, in practice we find that the actor is not any better in this film than he has been in most of his recent productions – he puts in some effort, but he mostly glides through the film in a way that almost suggests that he is not fully interested in the character, for whom he does very little to match the likes of Humphrey Bogart and Robert Mitchum, who had played the part before in far superior stories revolving around the character. The supporting cast is impressive in scope and diversity, but limited in the role they play in the narrative – the process of casting the likes of Jessica Lange, Danny Huston and Alan Cumming but giving them very little to do is concerning, since these are terrific actors that are both capable of forming a bond with any of their fellow actors, but also strong enough to define the characters as their own, carving away at their exterior to reveal the complex depths within, which seemed to be barely a priority with this film. There haven’t been many examples of recent projects that so feverishly waste such a high-calibre cast, but yet we have one of the most brutal offenders, which is made doubly worse considering we can see every moment that could have been considerably elevated and made out to be a lot more worthy of our time than we expected.

The problem with Marlowe is not that it is a bad film, but rather one that is remarkably dull and something of a bore. All the components of a great film are present, they’re just presented in an order that doesn’t make much sense, or doesn’t utilise their full potential in the way that we may have expected or even hoped to see. This is a noir that wants to fool us into thinking it is profound and intelligent, but is not nuanced enough to even masquerade as something worth our time. It is undeniably well-made, but it feels so soulless and lacking in vivacity, which is usually a very important element in these films. The atmosphere that drives Marlowe is weak and unconvincing, and the mood is not even vaguely palpable, leaving us to wander around the world with this character who sets out to solve a mystery that we fail to connect with, since it is truly uninteresting and perhaps even quite boring, which is the reason the film feels like it is twice as long as it is, both because the story moves along at a glacial pace, and because the stakes are low and the tension is non-existent, meaning that we have no interest in seeing the case solved, since it isn’t all that interesting to begin with. There isn’t much to say about this film outside of acknowledging what a missed opportunity it presented itself as being, especially since there was so much potential to be found peppered liberally throughout this film, but none of it is ever realized, and all we are left with is a bundle of missed opportunities and a film that is never compelling nor interesting enough to even earn a moment of our attention, let alone maintain it for possibly the longest two hours any of us may expect from a detective story of this nature.