Mortdecai

I’m starting to sour on Johnny Depp. Hear me out; I give this guy a lot of rope because there are few, if any, folks more interesting on celluloid, but since I started this blog, I’ve had to endure The Rum Diary, Dark Shadows, The Lone Ranger, Transcendence and now this mess, Mortdecai. All of these are bad films. At some point, one has to accept that Depp is part of that; and he was certainly the key ingredient that destroyed Mortdecai. Under the direction of David Koepp and the genius artistry of Johnny Depp, the titular Charlie Mortdecai is a fully fledged, fully developed, fully realized, fully complete piece of shit character. Kudos, Mr. Depp. Kudos.

Charlie Mortdecai is a classic movie creation [read: fabrication] – nobody in real life meets a peripheral British royal, and the few peripherals one might meet probably aren’t taken to art swindles in order to restore a squandered family fortune. Mortdecai has decidedly unique characteristics; you very likely won’t mistake his silly moustache, his cowardice, his pomposity, or his sympathetic gag reflex for somebody in another film. In snippets, like, say, a trailer, Mortdecai might prove endearing, but the truth is following this man’s excesses, vanity, and absurd egotism is an exercise in low grade masochism. I’m sure Depp deliberately chose to display an obtuseness in this character that he intended come off as charming. Without a moral center, however, the moron routine becomes just another brick in the wall built between actor and audience.

Built on a ridiculous title character and an absurdly hyperbolic investigation, Mortdecai comes off at times much like Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, except the part where it’s almost completely devoid of charm or humor.

After unsuccessfully pawning off a family heirloom, Mortdecai is enlisted by MI5 to investigate a missing Goya. I’m pretty sure this is the only way you can get Mortdecai to get into a relatable world of any kind; I get the feeling his entire life is being chauffeured in between his castle and the auction house. Say, why is wife Johanna (Gwyneth Paltrow) surprised to see him in a moustache? Did it sprout up overnight? How could he have been away so long? The film is about the collection of this painting and the colorful collection of idiots following this particular McGuffin.

One of the few bright spots in Mortdecai is the manservant, Jock (Paul Bettany). Why Jock puts up with Mortdecai runs along the same lines as why Cato puts up with Inspector Clouseau. Getting shot by his boss is an occupational hazard for Jock, who compensates by scoring with every woman in the immediate vicinity. One notable moment has Jock emerging from a plane cabin lavatory having reestablished his membership in the Mile High Club. The camera follows the lady who returns to a husband and an infant!

Jock’s scoring jokes? Yes, those seem funny to me. Jock’s getting shot jokes? Umm, less. Jock’s being hung out to dry because his employer is an asshole jokes? And the car-battery-to-the-balls torture jokes? And, oh yes, the omnipresent sympathetic gag reflex jokes? Well, those all stimulate my most unsympathetic gag reflex.

An art world agog with whimsical theft
Authorities lean on the talent bereft
The spotlit man
Hasn’t a plan
And his decency is lacking Deppth

Rated R, 106 Minutes
D: David Koepp
W: Eric Aronson
Genre: The fascinating world of people who don’t understand employment.
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Fops, I imagine
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Worker bees