The Tailor of Panama
Usually when I write a review, I try to come up with some lead in around which to base the whole piece. Some leads are harder to grasp than others, but none proved to be as impossible to write as the one I needed to start my review of The Tailor of Panama. I had about three weeks from when I actually saw the movie to when I physically sat at my computer to think of something, anything to lead off with. On the surface, there’s a lot to grab for. It’s based on a popular book by John LeCarre, it’s got a talented director, a star spoofing his movie image, and one of my favorite leading ladies naked. Despite all of it, I came up empty every time. It was only as I finally typed out this review that I was able to pinpoint why I think that is.
Set in 1999, before the transfer of control of the Panama Canal from the US to Panama, the film starts out in London as a disgraced British spy (Pierce Brosnan) gets one more chance to redeem himself with a mission to uncover what forces might want to get in the way of said transfer. Our “hero” sets out for South America with no desire to do anything but make money under the table and bed beautiful women, but he has to at least look like he’s working to stay on the payroll, so he hooks up with the one man who can get him into the corridors of Panamanian power—a tailor named Harry, played by Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush. Seems Harry has a bit of a cash crunch and for the right price, he is more than willing to hand over information to the Brits. One problem: The information Harry claims to have is fake. Harry may know people, but the only link he has to the canal is through his American wife (Jamie Lee Curtis) whose loyalty to her bosses prevents Harry from asking her for insider information.
So far, so good, right? Right and wrong. Everyone involved here tries hard to keep your interest, but it just doesn’t work. It’s dead in the water from twenty minutes in, as I struggled to care about anything and anyone in this enterprise. Brosnan spins his 007 image, but since he was the one who actually pursued the James Bond role, what does that say about him? Is he tired of it? Does he think he can do better? Rush struggles to keep the interest level up by hamming it up here even more than in his recent Oscar-nominated turn in Quills, which works in a film about the Marquis de Sade, but not in a film about a mild-mannered tailor who tries to pass himself off as a man of importance. Curtis is just lost and gets naked for all the wrong reasons. Supporting players like Brendan Gleeson (The General, Lake Placid) and Mary McCormick (Braveheart, Shadow of the Vampire) hang as window dressing waiting for something to do. The last half hour is a mad scramble to tie up all the loose ends. Even the opening credits look out of place.
So, what happened? Director John Boorman, best known for films like Deliverance and The General, seems to want to squeeze in all the elements from the book into a film that’s barely two hours long. I have never known this to work in any motion picture in recent memory. Maybe trimming some of the fat would have been a good idea. He also doesn’t seem to know what to make of his cast or his material. Is it a farce? Is it a spoof? Is it serious? By the end, you just don’t care.
Which is why it was so hard to write a lead-in to this review. A good film’s virtues make themselves known so that it’s a struggle to nail down exactly what to say without leaving anything out. A stinker screams out to be crucified. A film you’re ambivilant about gives you nothing from which to work. There’s nothing there worth taking the effort to single out. Sadly, this seems to be the case with The Tailor of Panama, which turns out to be a missed opportunity for all involved, including me.