Bob Hoskins makes this London crime thriller funny, frightening and worth the occasional struggle with its plot. John Mackenzie’s film has plenty to say about ambition and money, and Helen Mirren gives us another good reason to watch.
John Mackenzie’s The Long Good Friday understands the appeal of a criminal who considers himself an enterprising businessman. It is a forceful, darkly funny thriller, and we recommend it with a small warning about its tangled plotting. Bob Hoskins plays London gangland boss Harold Shand with such conviction that his confidence can briefly seem reasonable. Barrie Keeffe’s script gives Harold the language to make his ambitions sound respectable, even when the violence makes that a difficult proposition.
Hoskins makes the pleasure Harold takes in talking almost as important as what he says. His grand manner is funny, but there is enough aggression in the performance to prevent the humour becoming comfortable. We laughed at Harold’s talk, then felt uneasy about enjoying his company. Hoskins makes that unease sharper by allowing hope into the performance: Harold believes in his future, and the belief gives him something more interesting to defend than his standing among other criminals.
Helen Mirren’s Victoria provides a welcome change of pace without seeming to belong to a gentler film. Mirren has the composure to hold our attention beside Hoskins, whose forcefulness could easily make everyone around him seem incidental. Her performance gives us room to consider Harold without merely waiting for his next eruption. Keeffe’s writing is particularly effective in this company, where the dialogue can be enjoyed for its wit while the actors keep its aggression in view.
Phil Meheux’s photography makes good use of the crumbling London locations. The worn buildings give Harold’s ambitions a practical setting: this is a place in which somebody might see an opportunity to make money, rather than merely somewhere to commit a crime. Some of the images are rather stiff, and Mackenzie does not always find a visual response as lively as the dialogue. The locations nevertheless make the connection between criminal enterprise and a changing city persuasive without requiring a lecture.
Mike Taylor’s editing keeps the densely plotted story moving, though movement does not always bring clarity. There are stretches where the effort of sorting out the criminal business competes with the more absorbing question of what Harold thinks he can achieve. Some loose ends remain, and a little more explanation would have helped without spoiling the pace. Across 114 minutes, however, the film rarely feels idle; even its awkward passages have the benefit of Hoskins making confusion look personally offensive.
Francis Monkman’s synthesiser score supplies a useful restlessness. Its emphatic sound suits the film’s aggression, and gives the comparatively stolid images some extra urgency. There is nothing apologetic about the music, which is appropriate for a story so occupied with confidence and power. It also helps Mackenzie sustain the thriller’s momentum without making every exchange of dialogue carry the entire burden of keeping us alert.
The pleasure of a gangster film like this depends on being drawn towards someone whose behaviour ought to repel us. Mackenzie and Keeffe allow Harold to be entertaining without making his violence seem a qualification for admiration. That judgement, and the space Hoskins finds for contradictory feelings, justify the attention the plotting sometimes demands. Give it an uninterrupted evening, especially if complicated criminal business is not usually your pleasure.
