The Guard. Written and directed by John Michael McDonagh. Starring Brendan Gleeson and Don Cheadle.
Rating: 9 (out of 10)
Gerry Boyle comes across as a racist. On occasion, he hires prostitutes. He curses like a dock worker, back when women didn't curse but dock workers did. And somehow, Brendan Gleeson makes Gerry loveable: just the kind of guy we want to see make a clean getaway.
Sgt. Gerry Boyle, as he's better known, is the self-proclaimed "last of the independents" in Galway.
He has a deep mistrust of his fellow policemen from Dublin, with their fancy cell phones and computers.
So he gets a real shock when he hears that an American - an AfricanAmerican, no less - is heading to his patch of Ireland to investigate a $500 million drug deal that's about to go down in tiny Connemara.
"Did you grow up in the projects?" Gerry asks FBI agent Wendell Everett (Don Cheadle), who's actually from
Wisconsin, was a Rhodes scholar and spent winters skiing in Aspen. "I thought black people couldn't ski," replies Gerry, "or is that swimming?"
Wendell's outrage softens as Gerry's other qualities come to the fore: he's a crack investigator, despite the sloppy work ethic; and he has a surprising history, if it's true.
The men team up to solve one murder, which soon becomes two, and to intercept the drug vessel. They're up against three high-minded criminals (Mark Strong, Liam Cunningham, David Wilmot) who quote Nietzsche and argue the merits of Dylan Thomas, bemoaning the fact that being sociopaths (or is it psychopaths?) doesn't allow them to mix with a better class of people.
When Wendell enlists the help of the big-city cops, Gerry quietly gathers information and does his own thing: he gives a cache of guns back to the local IRA guy (whose disguise includes wearing a straw cowboy hat and driving a bright orange VW Beetle) and receives tips from two friendly prostitutes, presumably after he pays them.
To solve the case and do the right thing puts a great big target on Gerry's back. He's in a sea of crooked cops, and survival means knowing how to swim, figuratively and literally. "I came fourth in the Seoul Olympics," he tells Wendell, who isn't sure it's fact or more of Gerry's dubious Irish craic.
We get glimpses of Gerry's softer side as he deals with his terminally ill mother (Fionnula Flanagan), scenes that could have reeked of melodrama in less capable hands. But writer-director John Michael McDonagh doesn't dish out sentimentality; he also doesn't condescend to North American audiences, so you'd do well to brush up on your brogue before seeing the film.
Every character is a scene-stealer; each actor shares in the great - if playfully profane - script. This is no frivolous white guy-black guy pairing (see Cop Out, Showtime, even Rush Hour). The rapport between Gleeson and Cheadle feels genuine, and the fish-out-of-water device is comically laid bare by one character towards the film's end.
He does the big flicks (Harry Potter, Gangs of New York), but Gleeson picks some gems to fill in the gaps between blockbusters. Films like In Bruges (written and directed by Martin McDonagh, John's brother) and The General remind us of Gleeson's rumpled natural talent, and pairing him with Cheadle as the incredulous straight-man results in dark comedy at its finest.
