Mr Nice is a biopic about convicted drug dealer Howard Marks and his
wife Judy. Since it is based on their dueling autobiographies, you would
expect it to be at least somewhat self-glorifying and self-justifying, and
you would be right, but you probably would not guess the extent to which
that is true. As Howard tells it, he only dealt in cannabis, a virtually
harmless substance that should be legalized, and he therefore did nothing
really wrong, even if it was illegal. While he was dealing, he never
carried a weapon or committed a violent act, yet almost single-handedly
wiped out Irish terrorism and organized crime. While in prison, he helped
all the innocent men get released, and helped all the guilty men get
rehabilitated and educated. He was braver than Sgt. York and smarter than
Socrates, was irresistible to women, and was a better husband and father
than Dr. Cliff Huxtable. Everyone who knew him loved him.
Although purportedly a true story, it is less credible than most
fiction. Hell, it is less credible than most Road Runner cartoons. It
makes Watchmen seem like gritty realism. On the other hand, maybe some of
it is true, or at least reasonably close to the truth. I hope so, because
Marks is a funny and entertaining storyteller. Frankly, I'm not going to
look up any of the details, because if I were to research the story and
find out that all his claims have been debunked, I'd be disappointed. I
enjoyed it so much and learned so much from it that I want it to be true.
The one element that really makes the story entertaining is the film's
portrayal of Jim McCann, a batshit crazy IRA captain who called himself
the Shamrock Pimpernel. When McCann isn't threatening to shoot people's
kneecaps, he's painting funny faces on his penis, watching barnyard porno
in public, and just generally being completely out of control. At one
point he is completely surrounded by police offers and manages to get away
by blasting away wildly with an automatic weapon while setting off several
green smoke bombs and disappearing in the mist. Yes, that particular
incident seems utterly impossible and I doubt whether anything like that
ever happened, but I have heard that
the real Jim McCann ("My name is Mr Nobody. My
address is The World.") was actually even crazier than the
character in this film.
The Welsh comic Rhys Ifans, a favorite of mine, is cool and funny and
immensely likeable as Howard Marks, but the real star performance of the
film is turned in by David Thewlis, who delivers a brilliantly demented
interpretation of McCann. The only weak performance resulted from the
inexplicable casting of an American, Chloe Sevigny, as Marks' English
wife. She's a solid performer in general, but she has a different accent
in every scene, and her characterization seems too weak and wimpy to have
done all the things Judy Marks did. I don't get it. Why not just hire a
stronger and comparably sexy English actress? Oh, well. Maybe that's just
me being persnickety, because it isn't important enough to spoil the film.
Bernard Rose, the director of this film, has had a curiously eclectic
career. He wrote and directed a popular horror film named Candyman, which
was adapted from a Clive Barker story. He wrote and directed a romantic
Beethoven biopic called Immortal Beloved, which was an original
screenplay. He wrote and directed a "Hollywood Insider" film called
Ivansxtc, which was a modern interpretation of a Tolstoy story. I've seen
all three of those films plus Mr Nice and I liked them all, but without
IMDb at my fingertips I never would have guessed that they were all
created by the same man. He's also created several others that I haven't
seen, and it is almost impossible to find any common thread running
through them. Bernard Rose is a very complicated man.
But also a competent one.
