Cassandra’s Dream
If I had seen Cassandra’s Dream in the cinema I would have walked out. As it was I got half an hour in on the DVD and then flung across the room in disgust. (And then cleaned it and hoped no-one at LoveFilm would notice).
I like Woody Allen. No-one is a bigger Woody Allen apologist than me. But Cassandra’s Dream was like pulling teeth. No-one comes out of the mess of Cassandra’s Dream with any credit. Ewan MacGregor and Colin Farrell do not convince as siblings, or as Londoners. Tom Wilkinson can do menacing, but decides not to here instead swopping acting for a set of harsh vowels and fake tan. The conceit of ambitious brothers wanting more from life could have been ripped from a five year old morality play. Again show me a man who is winning on the dogs in the first ten minutes of a film, and I’ll show you a man in hock to gangsters for 50 grand at twenty. Show me a man with a dream of running a big hotel in California (said like El Dorado) at the start of a film, and I’ll show you a man in tears at the end of it. Throw in some glamorous dolly birds and a stupid murder plot you have a film which was too painful to watch.
The reviews said as much and its brief spell in the cinema meant I missed it. For which I feel grateful. Toe curlingly awful but should not be here, cos I didn’t see it in the cinema. The real number one I’ll tell you this afternoon. But in the meantime you can get a load of those terrible accents and the cookie cutter plot from this ropey trailer.