Dir. Michael Mann, US, 2006, 134 mins
Cast: Colin Farrell, Jamie Foxx, Gong Li
Review by Richard Mellor
Some romances just aren’t meant to work. Fun-filled, sun-bleached 80s drama featuring men with questionable dress senses seeks ultra-serious, detail-devoted director for slick makeover? Simply because opposites attract does not mean they should always be allowed to pair up…
This film update of the cult TV show is most notable for bearing almost no relation to its 80s predecessor. Michael Mann’s sleek film is absurdly serious and noirish, rather than playful or tinged with cool – had the names of film and characters not been the same, movie would not be at all easily linked to the small-screen series.
The first sign of this transgression is an alarmingly complex plot. A very rough summary has Colin Farrell’s Crockett and partner Tubbs (Jamie Foxx) posing as drug traffickers in order to catch South American drug smugglers and vicious members of the Aryan Brotherhood. Everything is at stake, of course; exposure would mean inevitable death. Things were never this serious in the 80s.
An illogical and terribly misfiring romance between Crockett and drug dealer’s moll Isabella (a wasted Gong Li), only serves to add abject cliché to the rather unoriginal mix. A claim in the press notes that Miami Vice is “the first postmillennial examination of globalised crime” is highly amusing; if only this same inventive soul had been let loose on the script.
Not that it would have mattered, since most of Miami Vice’s dialogue is entirely out of earshot anyway. Due to the stealthy nature of their undercover or illegal work, each character speaks in an irritatingly quiet monotone that’s generally incomprehensible. Thanks to these incoherent mumbles, it’s mighty difficult to ever have more than an approximate idea what’s going on.
The blame for this perennial confusion should also be shared by an acronym-obsessed script – there are as many FBIs,, ATFs and SWATs as there are reasons for Farrell to lose his silly moustache. Also culpable are a roll call of gadgets that would have Q foaming at the mouth and a quality of light that is positively murky. This last flaw is all the more remarkable for Miami Vice’s proud HD credentials.
Worse still, this picture seems to lack any real notion of character. Incredibly little is offered by way of background on the chief protagonists: Crockett gives a ten-second rundown of his family history post-coitus with Isabella, while Tubbs is limited to a watery love scene in the shower with his girlfriend – fellow agent Trudy (Naomie Harris) – as a summary of his home life. No villain is remotely scary, while supposedly threatening love interest Li is the least fatale femme around.
With so little to go on, Farrell and Foxx understandably fail to make much of an impression. Foxx presents a caring, resolute soul with a penchant for staring off into the distance; Farrell is less convincing as the more maverick Crockett, also fond of gazing on objects far away. Both actors do okay, but neither seems half as charismatic as Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas once were.
Miami itself seemed to possess a charisma back in those halcyon days of Johnson and Thomas. A potent sense of place is also one of Michael Mann’s usual strengths – witness the skilfully metaphorical use of Los Angeles in both Heat and Collateral. But Miami does not come across at all, save for a few dense nightclubs, various dimly lit harbour fronts and the odd glass skyscraper.
For all these flaws, Miami Vice is not terrible and should be able to provide a contented Saturday night. The relentless attention to detail and level of research that have gone into the film are commendable, if alarmingly nerdy. The action scenes – when they finally materialise – succeed in getting the adrenalin pumping, even if their outcomes are all pretty predictable.
But what this movie tellingly does not have are those elements that made the TV series so good – a sense of humour, some panache and no little warmth. The bleak atmosphere and brooding pace of Mann’s usual work just doesn’t work on Miami Vice: this film is ten times more self-conscious than it ought to be. Mission failure, Michael – can you stand aside for the inevitable sequel?
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