Clive Owen Film Synopses

From the TV Guide Movie Data Base

Croupier

A punchy, ultimately frustrating entry into the erratic but always interesting oeuvre of British director Mike Hodges (GET CARTER, FLASH GORDON). Jack Manfred (Clive Owen) is struggling to become a writer, but gambling is in his blood — he was even born in a casino back home in South Africa. But Jack is no risk-taking punter. He's a croupier, a voyeuristic and utterly impassive spinner of the wheel and dealer of the cards who can never lose because he's not really in the game — he only controls it. Jack's gambling father (Nicholas Ball) sets him up with a job at London's Golden Lion Casino, and while the late hours and excessive drinking put a strain on his relationship with girlfriend Marion (Gina McKee), Jack finds his life filling up with all the elements for a new novel, including a sticky-fingered fellow croupier (Paul Reynolds) and a mysterious South African woman (Alex Kingston) with a black eye and a dangerous proposition. Paul Mayersberg's script tortures the obvious life-is-a-gamble metaphor and milks the figure of the croupier — "the still center of the spinning wheel of misfortune" — for all its existential worth. But he has a sharp ear for crackling dialogue and Hodges knows exactly how get the blood pumping. The intricately staged scenes inside the overlit Golden Lion teem with a desperate, claustrophobic atmosphere (the production design is all about smoky mirrors and cheap glitz) but the film fires off too many intriguing plot possibilities that remain nothing more than that. The payoff does come as a surprise, but once the dust clears, there are an awful lot of discarded bits of plot left lying around. In a film that's all about mood and intrigue, Hodges gets about half of it exactly right. — Ken Fox

Croupier - My Review

Clive Owen gives such a strong, controlled performance in this film. He is the center of it just as surely as Russell Crowe is of Gladiator. You can't take your eyes off him. My husband says he is a mixture of Nicholas Cage and Robert Mitchum. High praise, I thought!

The twisty plot and sudden flashes of violence keep you on the edge of your seat. After seeing this film, you will never have the urge to become a croupier in a gambling casino!

Hope it has a wider showing. It deserves it.

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Bent

Time has been less than kind to Bent, Martin Sherman's 1979 landmark play about gay men sent to work and die in a Nazi concentration camp. Director Sean Mathais's stylish film version, based on Sherman's own adaptation, manages to enhance whatever power the original still holds, but too many crucial elements now seem badly dated. Max (Clive Owen) is a young gay man swept up in the divine sexual decadence of 1930s Berlin. When the Gestapo begins to target homosexuals as part of their campaign of terror, Max unsuccessfully tries to secure emigration papers for himself and his lover Rudy (Brian Webber). They make a run for it but are soon caught and put on a train to Dachau, where Max ultimately learns that in order to become truly free, one must first come to terms with oneself. Nowadays it's difficult to consider a moment of sexual freedom followed by a time of holocaust without immediately thinking of AIDS. And it's tragically ironic that what once worked as a tidy historical example of one thing would, 18 years later, become a much more fitting metaphor for something else entirely. Sherman's play -- and consequently Mathais's film -- simply can't bear the weight recent history has heaped upon its narrow shoulders. Neatly divided into two parts, the first half still stands as a valuable dramatization of an aspect of the Holocaust that's still in sore need of illumination. As such, it's stunningly designed, expertly acted (particularly by Owen and, in a brief cameo, Mick Jagger) and emotionally shattering. The second half, with its austere, Brechtian staging and highly symbolic dialogue, fares less well. It's telling that the play's centerpiece -- an erotically charged dialogue between two prisoners who are forbidden to touch -- is now more likely to arouse titters than anything else. At a time when sexual contact has become increasingly dicey, the scene plays more like a thumping round of phone sex than any previously intended metaphor. -- Ken Fox

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Rich Man's Wife

A sleazy, direct-to-video psycho-thriller, inexplicably playing theaters under Disney's auspices. Pretty Josie Potenza (Halle Berry) is unhappily married to a wealthy older man. A chance encounter with a homicidal nut (Peter Greene) turns her life upside down: He kills her husband and tries to blackmail her, as the police begin to suspect that she murdered her old man for his money. Writer-director Amy Holden Jones got her start with Roger Corman, for whom she once helmed a bloody bit of fluff called THE SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE. She's spent the last decade crafting mainstream screenplays like MYSTIC PIZZA and INDECENT PROPOSAL, but she hasn't lost touch with her exploitation roots. Until the silly last-minute twist that makes a mockery of everything that's gone before, this mean little thriller delivers the unpretentious goods, gussying them up with some rather nice, tough-minded touches.

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Century

This turn-of-the-century medical drama with sociopolitical underpinnings pays attention to period detail, but bogs down in a slow pace and bland characters. CENTURY begins on New Year's Eve, 1899. Paul Reisner (Clive Owen), a doctor and son of Jewish immigrants, leaves Scotland for a position in a new medical research institute in London. Paul's dedication to medicine is established early on, as he argues over discredited treatments and quickly becomes the most highly-regarded researcher at the institute. However, after he disagrees with Professor Mandry (Charles Dance), head of the institute, over a friend's new discovery--insulin--Dr. Reisner is suspended. Paul turns for help to Clara (Miranda Richardson), a lab worker he has been seeing. They begin an affair as he tries to get back his position. Paul soon discovers that Mandry has been sterilizing poor women in order to control the population and sets out to expose this unauthorized exercise in eugenics. As a result the institute is closed. The film ends on New Year's Eve, 1900 with Mandry disgraced and Paul about to open his own practice with Clara. CENTURY looks good. Much effort went into making the period-accurate sets, but similar care should have been spent paring down the verbose script by playwright-turned-filmmaker Stephen Poliakoff (CLOSE MY EYES). While the actors attempt to breathe life into it, there are too many solemn lectures about medical breakthroughs and the wonders the future will bring. Much of the surgical jargon comes across as too technical for mainstream audiences (the description of insulin is so convoluted that a voiceover tries to clear it up). Of the actors, Charles Dance stands out in his portrayal of Mandry, a man who even at his worst inspires admiration in Paul. Clive Owen, on the other hand, takes the script's solemnity to heart and his portrayal of a second-generation-immigrant maverick healer never stands out from the turgid material. (Nudity, sexual situations.)

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Class of '61

"A plot divided against itself cannot stand." That's how Abe Lincoln might have summed up CLASS OF '61, an ambitious but ultimately disappointing TV feature from Steven Spielberg's company. Taking more than a little inspiration from Ken Burns' popular PBS documentary series "The Civil War" (and utilizing input from Burns's star historian Shelby Foote), CLASS OF '61 purports to span the diary entries of Shelby Peyton (Dan Futterman), a West Point cadet from 1860s Virginia. When cannon fire at Fort Sumter signals open hostility between the Union and Confederate states, Shelby and other Southern cadets enlist with the Rebel army. Yet he maintains a close friendship with West Point comrade Devin O'Neil (Clive Owen), a proud Union lieutenant whose sister Shannen (Sophie Ward) is Shelby's fiancee. There's greater division in O'Neil's Baltimore household. While father is a firm Union supporter, his other son sees in Washington all the hallmarks of tyranny his family faced back in Ireland; he agitates for the Confederate cause as an act of protest and eventually dies in battle carrying the flag of Dixie. Meanwhile, back in Virginia, Shelby Peyton has another boyhood friend, favored family slave Lucius (Andre Braugher), whose wife is about to give birth. To celebrate, the Peytons grant Lucius his freedom, but, having just killed a white slave-hunter, that's not enough protection for Lucius. He heads north via the Underground Railroad. Shelby and Devin finally meet again at the first Battle of Bull Run, where Confederate cunning leads overconfident Union troops into a trap. When Shelby recognizes his West Point classmates among the defenders, however, he gives an order to cease fire, sparing their lives--temporarily, anyway. An abrupt epilogue states that Devin and Shelby both perished later at Gettysburg, leaving behind Shannen and her baby, Shelby's out-of-wedlock son. The suddenness of that curtain close effectively cuts CLASS OF '61 off at the knees, just when the viewer has begun to really care for these people after spending the first hour or so trying to sort them out. The truncated tale seems uncertain whether it wants to be a mighty family saga or history lesson, never fully satisfying in either mode. Dialogue is especially academic, with one flirty Southern belle riposting, "Any man who would suspend habeas corpus without the consent of Congress is not only an enemy of the people but of the Constitution as well!" The names of Matthew Brady and George Armstrong Custer are frequently dropped, and to keep transitions and establishing shots cheap, director Gregory Hoblit inserts monochrome stock footage, drawings, and maps, all contributing to the classroom-filmstrip flavor and a low-budget ambiance. Uniformly fine acting and glowing cinematography by Janusz Kaminski (SCHINDLER'S LIST) can't wholly offset these faults. The feature scores points in delineating the dilemma of first-generation Irish-Americans, an oppressed minority now ordered to take up arms and defend their adopted home. CLASS OF '61 does a more compelling job than did Ron Howard's epic FAR AND AWAY with similar material, even if the O'Neil trait of speaking in Celtic aphorisms ("Poetry ... piss and vinegar is the trinity of the Irish soul") grows wearisome. In defiance of 1990s political correctness, CLASS OF '61 depicts the slavery issue with an even hand, asserting that some Southern blacks preferred the security of plantation servitude to a life as wage slaves among Northerners, who could preach equality and tolerance yet lynch any freedmen who violated the color barrier. Lucius himself proves to be no mere token character but a member of the class of '61 in his own right; the ex-slave survives the Civil War in the 54th Massachusetts, the all-black Union regiment dramatized in the theatrical film GLORY. Despite its pedigree, CLASS OF '61 premiered to indifferent critical notice on cable TV in 1993, and graduated to the home video class of '95. (Violence.)

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Doomsday Gun

Based on an actual news event in Canada, DOOMSDAY GUN features a scientist with a genius for producing the ultimate weapon of destruction at the center of a complicated story of international espionage and betrayal. Dr. Gerald Bull (Frank Langella) once invented wonderful weapons for Uncle Sam until a downsizing Pentagon withdrew its funding. Without the means of perfecting his armament dreams, Bull's shipment of war materials to South Africa lands him in prison. The disillusioned Bull now decides to sell to the highest bidder, and with his right-hand man Chris (Michael Kitchen) and a think-tank staff, he begins building a great gun with a 1000 mile range for Sadaam Hussein. While an international situation develops over the making of the gun, Bull blindly soldiers on unaware of the impending treachery of his employers, stepping up production on his brainchild in 26 different sections, and solving its firing stress problems. The US short-sightedly does nothing to squash the project, fearing the Iranians more than the Iraqis. Hussein's commanders murder Chris and pressure Bull to make a smaller version of the super gun fully operational. Caught in the hair-trigger sights of a monster of his own making, Bull is assassinated when the weapon is only eight segments from completion; his records disappear and his murder remains unsolved. Although the direction is competent without being eye-openingly fresh, it cannot override flaws in the script which make the film a dull experience. To truly frighten us with Bull's scientific megalomania, the movie needed a riskier way of disseminating the basics of its cautionary tale. Played in a low-key manner by Langella, Bull registers not as a man who might have plunged the world into chaos but as a grousing science teacher frustrated with lab cutbacks. If he had been a messianic madman, the film could have worked. If the film had showcased his mistreatment by the democratic nations, then his repayment of their dirty deals would have had some impact. But Bull is portrayed as neither hero nor villain, just a self-centered absent-minded professor who got in over his head with Hussein's military machine. Played straight, DOOMSDAY GUN does not scare or stir a debate; instead, it fades into insignificance as it relates the story of an overgrown child who wanted a bigger weapon-building allowance and threw a potentially deadly tantrum when he did not get it. (Extreme profanity, violence, adult situations.)

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Return of the Native

A Hallmark Hall of Fame production of Thomas Hardy's classic novel, handsomely staged and faithfully adapted, THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE concerns the tragic fate of a woman whose dreams outreach her destiny. Eustacia Vye (Catherine Zeta Jones) lives with her grandfather in rustic Egdon Heath. She dreams of escaping the desolate moor and the townspeople who spurn her. Her dalliance with the roguish Damon Wildeve (Clive Owen) leads to scandal when Wildeve leaves his intended bride Thomasin (Claire Skinner) at the altar. Wildeve wants to run off with Eustacia, but returning native Clym Yeobright (Ray Stevenson) captures her fancy. Clym has been living in Paris and working in the diamond business. Eustacia sets out to win Clym's heart and succeeds easily. Clym plans to remain in Egdon Heath and open a school for underprivileged children. Eustacia is convinced Clym will tire of Egdon Heath and take her back with him to Paris. Clym and Eustacia marry, despite the vehement objections of Mrs. Yeobright (Joan Plowright). Eustacia's dreams are dashed when Clym partially loses his sight. Unable to continue his studies, Clym toils in the fields. Living in a small cottage, the wife of a furze cutter, is not the life Eustacia had envisioned for herself. She is once again tempted by Wildeve's attentions. The death of Mrs. Yeobright brings further conflict between Clym and Eustacia. They part, Eustacia returning to live with her grandfather. Months later, Clym writes a letter to Eustacia begging her to come back, but it arrives too late. Eustacia has decided to run off with Wildeve. Waiting for Wildeve in a storm, the distraught Eustacia jumps into the river and drowns. Both Wildeve and Clym try to save her, and Wildeve loses his life in the attempt. After the tragedy, Clym remains in Egdon Heath, teaching and preaching about love, life, beauty, and truth, forever haunted by visions of his wife. First published in 1878, The Return of the Native had never been filmed until this 1994 made-for-TV production. The all-British cast is uniformly fine. Jones is beautiful and beguiling as Hardy's doomed heroine. The story hinges upon the lure of the men she loves, and both Stevenson and Owen measure up to the intensity and magnetism of their literary counterparts. To US audiences, the only familiar cast member is Plowright, who is splendid as Clym's mother. Filmed on location in the windswept countryside of Exmoor, England, the production boasts exquisite photography and production design.

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Close My Eyes

A superb British film, set during a summer heat wave in late-1980s London, CLOSE MY EYES examines the unorthodox relationship between a brother, his sister and her husband. Since leaving home, Richard Gillespie (Clive Owen) has given up a well-paid job for one in the government monitoring rampant urban real estate development, while his sister Natalie (Saskia Reeves), whom he sees only occisionaly, has drifted from job to job, finally marrying the rich but stuffy Sinclair Bryant (Alan Rickman), who has made a fortune in, as he puts it, "trends and analysis," and lives in an opulent mansion on the Thames. Meeting Natalie and Sinclair for lunch, Richard is struck by the attractiveness and maturity of his sister, who has always flirted with him, and their natural affection for each other inadvertently develops into overt lovemaking. Although nearly as ardent, Natalie attempts to end the affair, which Sinclair suspects, throwing Richard into a depression that culminates in a failed suicide attempt. His frustration boils over into anger: he accuses Natalie of using him. But by film's end, he appears to accept the end of his obsessive love: the final image has Natalie and Sinclair walking off together, followed a few paces behind by Richard, into the season's first cool weather. British writer-director Stephen Poliakoff (better known as a prolific playwright although he directed 1987's HIDDEN CITY) uses his incest theme absolutely without prurience (unlike, say, BUTTERFLY or Bertolucci's LA LUNA), as a forceful metaphor for the irresponsible, success-without-thought 80s, which is symbolized by the new gleaming glass and steel commercial buildings in London's Dockside redevelopment. The buildings also seem largely empty, with their interiors underlit, as if hiding their occupants from the glaring sunlight outside. Poliakoff's characters are exceptionally well written, developing the movie's themes in expert detail, and the three performances by Owen, Reeves and especially Rickman (a British stage veteran who takes welcome leave from his delightfully sinister villains in films like DIE HARD and ROBIN HOOD: PRINCE OF THIEVES) are exceptional. Only occasionally overloading the dice (Richard's boss is dying of AIDS) and belying his limited screen experience, Poliakoff directs with nuance, sustaining the subtle air of tension and often surreal menace of his tale. Well mounted by producer Therese Pickard, the movie features exquisite production design by Luciana Arrighi and cinematography by Witold Stok. (Sexual situations, nudity.)

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