May 20, 1988 | Stormy Monday is a sleek, smoky romantic thriller, the sort of atmospheric neo-film noir that even very experienced directors seldom manage to pull off. Surprisingly enough, it is the work of a first-time feature filmmaker, Mike Figgis, a former pop musician (he used to play with Bryan Ferry) who, despite some British TV credits, never made a movie before this one. He doubtless will be making many more.
The basic set-up is classic 1940s film noir: A tarnished hero meets a shady lady, who draws him into dark plots and savage violence. In this case, the Lady With a Past is Kate (Melanie Griffith), an American employed in England as a sexual lure by a ruthless Texas businessman, Cosmo (Tommy Lee Jones). The reluctant hero of the piece is Brendan (Sean Bean), an affable Irish drifter newly employed as a gofer for a Newcastle jazz club owner, Finney (Sting).
Cosmo, a glad-handing sleaze with a smile like a row of kitchen knives, says he wants to bolster U.S./U.K. relations through a massive redevelopment project in Newcastle. Naturally, he has ulterior motives. He also has plans to gain control of Finney’s club, which stands in a spot Cosmo covets. Finney, just as naturally, has other ideas.
Complications arise when Kate and Brendan literally run into each other, and strike a few romantic sparks. Further complications arise when Brendan overhears the plans of two ruffians hired by Cosmo to brutalize Finney. Finney appreciates Brendan’s warning, and deals with the ruffians accordingly. Cosmo, misreading the situation, suspects Brendan is a hired gun from out of town. Worse, he also suspects Kate has betrayed him.
Figgis, working from his own screenplay, has no shame about relying heavily on convenient coincidences. But he handles even the most brazen contrivances with the beaming self-confidence of someone who knows he has a good story to tell. He has a fine eye for amusing cross-cultural juxtapositions — a punk rocker glances at a war-painted Indian, a Cracow Jazz Ensemble mangles “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And, more important, Figgis has a firm grasp for what makes film noir work. Throughout Stormy Monday, the characters are sharply drawn, the dialogue is bracingly hardboiled, and the tension is skillfully sustained.
Cleverly, the plot turns on cultural misunderstandings and mistaken first impressions. Cosmo fancies himself a sharpie who can smooth-talk the Newcastle city fathers into joining his camp. (“We can’t be shooting people around here,” he warns a henchman. “We’re supposed to be improving the quality of life.”) But he’s a bad judge of character: Not only does he take Brendan too seriously, he fails to take Finney seriously enough.
Sting, the pop superstar and occasional actor, speaks softly in his native Newcastle accent, but carries considerable weight as Finney, a tough customer whose bite is much, much worse than his bark. Indeed, Sting actually is so foreboding in his barely contained violence, he’s utterly believable when the script calls for him to stare down the intimidating Tommy Lee Jones.
As Cosmo, Jones hits just the right note of gregarious menace, always indicating a dark threat behind the character’s aggressive heartiness. Melanie Griffith is extremely appealing in her portrayal of the slightly used, slightly bruised Kate, a woman who has seen enough to know when she should look the other way. Sean Bean more than holds his own in this stellar company, playing Brendan as an easygoing fellow who’s driven to desperate measures before he’s fully aware of moving onto dangerous ground.
Cinematographer Roger Deakins (who also photographed White Mischief) and production designer Andrew McAlpine enhance the moody ambiance with muted tones and sudden slashes of neon. The blues and jazz selections on the soundtrack are aptly chosen. (At one point, Sting briefly improvises on a double bass.) Stormy Monday may not be a work of art, but it does bring out the best in the professionals who made it.
