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"Is my [redacted] exquisite," is the first line Law's Dom Hemingway utters, referring to a particularly beloved appendage of his while standing naked as the day he was born in a prison cell. The soliloquy that follows continues in that, um, vein, and Law delivers it with spittle-dispensing brio whilst building up to a punchline that's as funny as it is genuinely distasteful. Soon enough, Dom is out of prison, having gotten "the call," and he's off to set a few things straight, including a confrontation with the civilian who married his wife, and a sit down with the Russian crime lord he declined to rat on almost a decade and a half earlier. His negotiations do not go so great. As he confesses to his best pal Dickie—played in a marvelous turn by a martini-dry Richard E. Grant, whose sickly pallor is offset by eyewear tinted hepatitis yellow, a remarkably evocative look—Dom has got anger issues. "I tried yoga, the inspirational CDs, but the anger's still there," he says ruefully. But he can't help himself.
On a jaunt to the South of France to meet crime lord Mr. Fontaine (played by Demián Bechir, having some broad fun), Dom takes a shine to the Russian mobster's pneumatically gifted trophy companion Paolina (Madalina Ghenea), which leads to some temporary awkwardness. Although he initially presents himself to Fontaine as "a petty serf, with good hair, and a strong liver," once he's got a few drinks in him, the ace safecracker is apt to start strutting about proclaiming "I'm Dom Hemingway" and making an unspeakably profane scene.
However, Shepard's a writer of pretty distinct cleverness, and he does not take this face-off to any place immediately predictable. Subsequent events at Fontaine's home land Dom, broke and busted up, at the home of his estranged daughter. There, he learns he's got a half-Senegalese grandson, and that, as he expected, his daughter wants nothing to do with him.
Hemingway's bull-in-a-china-shop brashness alternates with a tender side that Law is careful to show hints of from the movie's very beginning. Part of the delight of this episodic movie is seeing how the two sides fight each other in the run up to the movie's climax, in which Dom is forced to examine what it is he really wants out of life while playing a pretty dangerous game with a former criminal associate from whom he wants to cadge some work. I will not lie: while an objective assessment of the movie's ending might conclude that in certain respects it's a little too satisfying, I was happy to let the whole thing have its way with me. I brushed away a tear at a graveyard scene, and pumped my fist grinning after a living character got a particularly well-turned comeuppance. Cool stuff, and Law should get some kind of award in a "Most Shamelessly Enjoyable" acting category.
It’d be giving away too much to say what happens after the
meeting with Mr. Fontaine, but suffice it to say that our hero’s
spiraling remorse eventually starts to get the better of him. And yes,
an estranged daughter is involved, as it ever must be in films about
ex-cons; if you mapped out Dom Hemingway’s plot on a piece of
paper, it’d probably look hopelessly cliché. And yes, we do eventually
see Dom’s safe-cracking expertise, in a wondrous late set piece where
the baroque theatricality of Law’s performance — equal parts lewd
physicality and grandiose verbal flourishes — really shines. If at
times, Dom Hemingway reminds you of Jonathan Glazer’s superior Sexy Beast,
that’s because it’s probably meant to. Both films were produced by the
great Jeremy Thomas, and one can see this new film hitting a lot of the
same Brits-behaving-badly notes as that earlier one.
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Dom Hemingway is an uneven movie, to be sure — plot holes abound, and some of the aforementioned clichés can be distracting — but it’s still hard to resist. Because rarely have an actor and a part been so perfect for each other, and Shepard lets his lead run wild with this offbeat, contradictory character. It’s a chance for Law to display not just his range but his comfort with extremes. This is an actor who is at his best either when wallowing in entitlement or expressing vulnerability. Prior to this, his greatest performance was his supporting part in Gattaca, where he played a rich jerk in a wheelchair. Now, playing a poor lost jerk with a chip on his shoulder and a past full of mistakes, he’s found the role of a lifetime.
Dom's gutter eloquence has a touch of the poetic, and he's a beast with a beating heart. A notorious safecracker, he has just served 12 years after refusing to rat on his boss, and he now wants his reward. So after a three-day bender of hookers and cocaine, he teams up with his old crony Dickie (Richard E. Grant, playing the straight man for once) and drives up to the villa of the sinister Mr. Fontaine (Demian Bichir), who pays his debt to Dom by gifting him with nearly a million pounds. But then, thanks to more drugs and a car accident, Dom loses the money, and this sets up the film's ingeniously karmic, yin-and-yang version of a crime-caper plot.
As Dom attempts to reconnect with his daughter (Emilia Clarke), his luck keeps jerking back and forth, and the movie whiplashes between freedom and violent desperation, with each twist really asking, Does Dom deserve to get what he wants? Law makes Dom a brilliant contradiction. He's a piece of pond scum with a sense of honor, a bad man and a good man. And the question of which side will rule turns Dom Hemingway into the most mesmerizing drama of British lowlifery since Sexy Beast.
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