Terence Stamp, Peter Fonda
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In the past four years, with The Underneath, Out of Sight and now The Limey, director Steven Soderbergh has perfected what might be termed a lighter, gentler film noir. These are fairly typical tales of hoods and lowlifes, crime and betrayal, but told with a cool, unruffled elegance. Even though the characters may be thugs, their psychological nuances are worked out with crystalline precision. If Fred Astaire had ever wanted to pursue a life of crime, he could have done it in a Soderbergh film.
Stamp, his eyes so deeply set they could be looking out directly from some recess of his mind, is a career crook who comes to Los Angeles from London after his transplanted daughter—she seems to have dreamed of an acting career—dies under suspicious circumstances. He is sure her last lover, a record producer (Fonda), is responsible. He now intends to kill him. The story moves to its conclusion swiftly (a mere 89 minutes) and ends on a quiet but deeply striking note of revelation. The Limey is not really about a father's revenge but a daughter's love. (R)
Bottom Line: Perfect thriller about crooks and crooked hearts
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