The Gambler

The Gambler (15)

USA 2014  111 mins  Dir: Rupert Wyatt Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Brie Larson, Jessica Lange, John Goodman, Michael K. Williams, Alvin Ing, George Kennedy

Contraband, Broken City and now The Gambler – all grungy, macho flicks starring a frowny Mark Wahlberg, spawned in the wake of The Fighter, each of which fail to answer the question: why bother? None are complete turkeys, but you wouldn’t beat a path to the nearest cinema to see them. The Gambler has no shortage of talent in front of and behind the camera, but seems more than usually redundant – not least because it’s an unnecessary remake of Karel Reisz’s very seventies, Dostoyevsky-inspired, James Toback-scripted film of the same name, which starred James Caan in the Wahlberg role. William Monaghan of The Departed, Body of Lies and – oh dear – London Boulevard fame gives Toback’s loosely autobiographical script a bit of a polish to make it a tad less bleak than the original, which was not a box office hit, while Brit director Rupert Wyatt makes this an unexpected choice for his follow-up to Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

George Kennedy is one of those screen veterans who, to put it politely, you’re never quite certain is still with us. Actresses regularly – and rightly – claim that there are few decent roles available to women over 40. But for actors approaching 90, the deathbed scene is pretty much all that’s left. So here’s George popping in to pop his clogs as a super-wealthy old coot, but not before telling his screen grandson, Jim Bennett (Wahlberg), that he’ll be getting bugger-all in the will. Not that Jim seems to care. He’s an associate professor of literature who leads a secret double life as a gambling addict, channelling his mysterious streak of self-loathing into behaviour so reckless that he never manages to leave the blackjack table without losing everything. He’s a quarter of a million dollars in hock to casino owner Mr. Lee (Ing), who gives him seven days to pay. So he turns to loan shark Neville (Michael K. Williams) for a further stake; then his wealthy, despairing mother (Lange); and finally menacing underworld figure Frank (Goodman) – predictably blowing every cent that passes through his fingers. Connoisseurs of this stuff will know that it won’t be long until we get to the scene where he’s tied to a chair on a large plastic sheet in the bottom of an empty swimming pool.

But why should we care about glum, jaded, single-mindedly self-destructive and increasingly tiresome Jim, whom one character describes, aptly enough, as “the world’s stupidest asshole”? The film offers no clear answer. He’s obviously had a privileged upbringing, has enjoyed some measure of professional success, and his star pupil (Larson, adrift in a sea of testosterone) is mysteriously drawn to him.

While Jim himself remains profoundly unsympathetic, leaving a hollowness at the film’s core, there’s certain entertainment to be had in watching him squander eye-watering sums at the gaming table. Neville, in particular, seems to enjoy this loser’s downward spiral much as a cat enjoys toying with a mouse before going in for the kill. The film also boasts some excellent supporting performances. Lange radiates withering contempt and tearful concern in equal measure as Jim’s imperious-yet-vulnerable mother, while a shaven-headed, alarmingly shirtless John Goodman not only resembles a hard-boiled Buddha but also proves most adept at handling Monaghan’s cynical aphorisms – notably “A wise man’s life is based around ‘Fuck you!'” Unfortunately, this sage advice does not seem to have been heeded by whoever agreed to ditch Toback’s original downbeat ending in favour of an unconvincing redemptive one.