Architecturally,
there are two Londons of note. There is the Old England of Big Ben and
Buckingham Palace and the glass and steel London of Norman Foster and the
Barbican. The latter is becoming increasingly more recognizable, thanks to
structures like “The Gherkin.” This is the world Anna Miller and DCI Bernie
Reid uncomfortably inhabit in Barnaby Southcombe’s moody noir, I, Anna (trailer here), which releases
today on DVD, from Icarus Films.
Anna
Welles is a divorced grandmother with misgivings—about the fractured union, not
her granddaughter or her single-mother grown-daughter Emmy. In fact, all three
live together, with Welles sleeping in the living room New York studio style,
while the two younger generations share her one bedroom. Encouraged by Emmy to
do a spot of speed-dating, Welles winds up accompanying a mature player named
George Stone to his tony flat. Things get a bit haywire from there, especially
for Stone, whose noggin is bashed in by a blunt object.
To
viewers, Welles looks like an excellent suspect, who even returns to the
building to retrieve her umbrella from the lift. However, that is not how DCI
Reid initially sees her, but he definitely notices the stylish woman. Stone’s
resentful stepson with extensive drug debts seems like a far more likely perp.
Of course, the investigation will inevitably turn toward Welles just as she and
Reid make an unusually deep emotional connection.
Southcombe
adapted Elsa Lewin’s one-hit wonder mystery novel, which was also inspired the
late 1990s German film, Solo for Clarinet.
Presumably, the clarinet was a bit of German seasoning. In its present screen
incarnation, the narrative sort of resembles Looking for Mr. Goodbar, as if
James M. Cain had rewritten it. Yet, first and foremost, Southcombe clearly
conceived the film as a star vehicle-character study for Charlotte Rampling,
who also happens to be his mother.
It
should also be immediately conceded Rampling and her co-lead Gabriel Byrne do
not look anywhere near the seventy and sixty-six years their Wikipedia pages admit
to. Still, they are indeed mature adults, which makes their romantic
relationship rather refreshing, even though it is obviously doomed. Together, their
chemistry smolders, while individually Rampling implodes spectacularly and
Byrne absolutely personifies rumpled angst. Bond and Avengers fans will also enjoy seeing Honor Blackman kill it with a
tart-tongued extended cameo. Similarly, Eddie Marsan gives the film additional
mystery cred playing DI Frank Towers (frankly, it is about time somebody
programmed a Marsan retrospective).
In
all likelihood, Southcombe probably did not intend I,A as a commentary on contemporary architecture, but it is baked
in nonetheless—and more successfully than in Wheatley’s artlessly didactic High-Rise. They both orbit ultra-modern neighborhoods
like Canary Wharf, but they are uneasy in their navigation. Reid seems to be a
respected guv’nor (or at least he was), but he prefers to patrol the streets at
5:00 rather than spend time in his fishbowl office with floor-to-ceiling
internal windows. Likewise, Rampling’s ageless sophistication looks out of
place traversing the endless external concrete stairways of Stone’s complex.
