A secret agent turned hotelier is drawn back into his old life with the
arrival of a sinister guest.
Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Michael Flatley
Starring: Michael Flatley, Eric Roberts, Nicole Evans, Ian
Beattie, Patrick Bergin
Blackbird, dance superstar Michael Flatley's cinematic debut as
writer/director/star, received its first screening back in 2018 at the
Raindance Film Festival in London. At least that's what we're led to
believe, as nobody on Earth has actually confessed to being present at
that screening. In the intervening years we began to worry that
Flatley's film had gone the way of Jerry Lewis's infamous Holocaust
comedy The Day the Clown Cried, and would never see the light of a projector. But here we are, with
the movie receiving a surprising cinema release in the UK and
Ireland.
Since its announcement, Flatley's debut has been dismissed as a "vanity
project." How cruel. Such a label doesn't necessitate a bad film though.
After all, wasn't Citizen Kane a vanity project for Orson
Welles? Come to think of it, Blackbird and
Citizen Kane have much in common. They're both made by a
first-time director who had already established himself as a superstar
in another medium. They both feature egomaniacal villains. They both
tell their stories at 24 frames per second. They both…okay, okay Doctor
Strawman, we get it.
Any fears that Blackbird may not be a vanity project are
dismissed around the 20 minute mark when a supermodel young enough to be
Flatley's grandkid comments on how handsome he is. Said supermodel later
enters his hotel room and strips naked, with Flatley reacting by
covering her up and ushering her into the corridor. "I don’t
understand," she says. Neither do we love, neither do we.
Flatley's former secret agent Victor Blackley, aka The Blackbird, can't
bring himself to be with a woman since his fiancée was brutally slain by
nameless baddies 10 years earlier, a memory no amount of Viagra can
erase. The movie opens with a flashback to the funeral, where somehow
all the characters look slightly older than when we meet them again a
decade later. I'm not sure why Victor's bride-to-be is buried in the
grounds of a lavish Irish country hotel, other than the fact that
Flatley happens to own the place.
I suspect Flatley wouldn't fare well as the subject of Empire
magazine's "How much is a pint of milk?" feature, as he seems to be
under the illusion that every profession pays as well as being the Lord
of the Dance. When Blackley retires from the British secret service
(like Murder She Wrote's Michael Hagarty, Blackley is an improbably Irish MI6 agent) he uses
his retirement money to open a hotel/casino/nightclub in the Bahamas, as
any retired civil service worker would. His former team of crack
operatives – known as The Chieftains, which is also the name of the
Irish folk group Flatley got his first big break with – are now employed
as his hotel staff. With little concession to the temperature of the
current climate, Blackley makes the female member his secretary, the
black guy his manservant and the Irish bloke his drinking buddy.
"Isn't life great?" Blackley asks as he surveys his domain, filled with
surgically enhanced twenty-something women, as though the extras were
cast while on a visit to the Playboy mansion. Well, Blackley's life is
about to get a lot more complicated with the arrival of Blake Molynieux
(Eric Roberts), a member of a secret society of war criminals (so
secret they wear special rings to identify themselves as members of a
secret society of war criminals) accompanied by his trophy girlfriend
Vivian (Nicole Evans). Turns out Blackley and Vivian were once
lovers in the days before his fiancée got fridged, and they begin to
rekindle their romance. When Blackley's staff uncover the truth behind
Molynieux's visit – he's selling a macguffin that will destroy the
world, or something – they tell Blackley he needs to take action. But
Blackley has left that life behind him and just wants to run his hotel
and turn down offers of sex from supermodels young enough to be his
granddaughter while romancing women young enough to be his daughter.
Well Blackley, surely you've seen enough action movies to know that
you'll be pulled back into your old life whether you like it or
not?
What's surprising - and let's be honest, somewhat disappointing for us
fans of camp – about Blackbird is how technically
competent the production is on most levels. Cinematographer
Luke Palmer frames some genuinely nice shots and there's a "oner"
that's surprisingly well staged. Were it not for the presence of Flatley
it could be mistaken for any mid-budget spy thriller. Anyone expecting
the delightfully inept visuals of a Tommy Wiseau or Neil Breen
production will be severely let down.
But of course, Flatley is indeed the star, something no amount of
pretty camerawork can hide. He is, to be blunt, a terrible actor, and
completely miscast as a former tough guy, despite Flatley's real-life
past as a boxer. He delivers his lines with all the enthusiasm of a
hungover postman on New Year's Day and insists on giving himself
close-ups that are so in your face you can almost smell his cologne. One
shot opens with Flatley standing awkwardly as though waiting for the
director to yell "Action!" before remembering that he is the director.
Resembling the new owner of your local upmarket wine shop, he insists on
sporting a variety of hats and even has a secretary on hand to replace
one hat with another when the occasion calls for it. When he utters the
immortal line "Shall we dance?", Blackbird's place in bad movie history is assured.
The famously over-the-top Roberts is the boisterous yang to Flatley's
sleepwalking yin, and it's a real treat to see him on a cinema screen
after decades of being stuck in straight to VOD jail. A poker game
between Flatley and Roberts is one of the movie's highlights, with the
former hilariously commenting on how intelligent and how nice smelling
the latter is. It's the Heat diner scene of cinematic
shite.
Things are left open for a possible sequel, and I for one will be there
on opening day. Blackbird should serve as inspiration for
all budding filmmakers to chase their dreams. If multi-millionaire
global superstar Michael Flatley can do it, why can't you?
