IN THE DARK/Jonathan Richards
DIRTY PRETTY THINGS
Directed by Stephen Frears
Rated R, 107 minutes
Jacques Perrin, the French actor/producer whose documentary "Winged Migration" is currently enchanting movie audiences in Santa Fe, made another fascinating nature study in 1996 called "Microcosmos". The earlier picture examined, in exquisite detail, the life of the crawly creatures who exist at ground level, the little ants and spiders and beetles that make up the bulk of the world's animate population, but of which we seldom take notice.
In "Dirty Pretty Things", Stephen Frears ("My Beautiful Laundrette", "The Grifters") does something similar. He paints us a sociological thriller set in London, but he shoots it from that ground level perspective that shows us only London's polyethnic stew of immigrants. They come from all over the world in search of a better life, they clean our toilets and scrub our floors and collect our garbage, and most of us never see them.
Okwe (Chiwetel Ejiofor) works as the night desk man in a London hotel, the sort of place where the wood is dark and polished, the brass gleams, the uniforms are richly understated, and questions are not asked. They are not asked of the immigrants, some of them illegal, who make up the hotel's staff, and they are certainly not asked of the customers – some of whom leave curious things, like human organs, behind in their rooms.
Okwe works a day job as well, driving a minicab. At the beginning of the movie he's at the airport trolling for travelers whose limo may have failed to show up. "I'm here to rescue those who've been let down by the system," he says cheerfully to a couple of stranded businessmen.
Those two businessmen are just about the only white Englishmen we're going to see for the next hour and a half. Some of the immigrants, like Turkish hotel maid Senay (Audrey Tatou of "Amelie"), are just desperate people trying to stay off the radar screen and earn some money, and maybe someday have a stable life free of the constant fear of deportation (even the Immigration Service enforcers are immigrants.) Some are trained, educated people forced to work at jobs well below their qualifications. Okwe was a respected doctor back home in Nigeria, forced to flee the country for dark reasons we don't learn until later. "It's an African story," he says cryptically. His best friend Guo Yi, with whom he plays chess in a hospital morgue, is a Chinese surgeon getting by in the West doing autopsies.
When Okwe stumbles upon the grisly evidence of foul play in the stopped-up toilet of one of the rooms at his hotel, he reports it to the manager, Sneaky (Sergi Lopez of "With a Friend Like Harry"), a villain with the friendly grin of a hyena and morals to match. "You have to notify the police," he insists. Sneaky has no problem with this. He dials the number, pointing out to Okwe the difficulties he will open himself up to if he gets involved with the police. When the station answers, he hands the phone to Okwe. Okwe has to admit defeat, and hangs up the phone.
Not much can be elaborated about the plot without giving away things better discovered on the screen. The noirish screenplay is by Stephen Knight, one of the creators of the TV phenomenon "Who Wants to Be a Milllionaire," who here evidences more serious talents. The story moves along crisply and deviously, painting the characters into corners and then delivering twists.
The acting is wonderful. Tatou sheds her "Amelie" sparkle for the downcast eyes and invisible carriage of a lost soul, but her appeal manages to shine through. Lopez is charismatically reptilian as the soulless Sneaky. The soul of this movie is provided by Ejiofor, a stage actor who is here making his movie debut as Okwe. He's a handsome, magnetic actor who holds the screen with easy authority. Chewing narcotic leaves to stay awake, he works virtually around the clock, taking care of his two jobs and of his friend Senay, who is constantly in danger of deportation. Senay dreams of one day being able to get to New York. One suspects that would be a case of leaving the frying pan for the fire, but the movie doesn't delve too deeply into those waters.
As long as his choices involve nothing more morally disreputable than treating his taxi fleet boss for the clap by stealing drugs from the hospital, Okwe can make do with his bruised conscience. But when Sneaky presents him with a dilemma that demands a profound betrayal of his basic decency, he finds himself painted into one of those desperate corners where it seems the only way to do good is by doing evil.
In its winding-down after the plot climax the movie droops a bit into obviousness and sentimentality. "We are the ones you do not see," Okwe says portentously to one of the rare Englishmen who appear on screen. But the movie's lot has been cast by then, and the effect isn't very damaging. Frears, who seems to be able to move successfully between the worlds of low-budget British realism and Hollywood dash (if you forgive him "Mary Reilly"), here returns to the gritty world he knows well. He delivers atmosphere, tension, and substantial fodder for thought, and does it with a mastery that loses nothing in the suspense department for being low key.
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