It was in 'The Talented Mr Ripley' that Tom Ripley, the sociopathic literary creation of Patricia Highsmith, was last seen on screen, where he was a young man just embarking on a career of conscience-free, self-serving machinations and murder, and played accordingly by Matt Damon, himself a novice in the world of acting. Now, 'Ripley's Game' sees the return of Ripley as a middle-aged master manipulator, and this time he is played by John Malkovich, who is himself a much more experienced, and better accomplished, actor than Damon.
Wanting some of his business rivals assassinated, criminal Reeves (the brilliant Ray Winstone) turns to his old colleague Ripley. Ripley declines, but suggests, as an amusing experiment in nastiness, that they co-opt for the deed Ripley's neighbour Jonathan (Dougray Scott), who has recently insulted Ripley. Seduced by the promise of a cure for his leukaemia, picture-framer Jonathan soon finds himself in the frame, and forms an unlikely alliance with Ripley, as this odd couple, in their confrontation with the forces of European organised crime, learn what little difference there really is between a family man and a psychopath, and how much that difference counts.
The plot, revolving around an arrogant, amoral aesthete and gourmand lying low in Italy, pursued by criminals intent on revenge, and helped by an innocent whose very innocence is undermined by such complicity, covers territory familiar from 'Hannibal' - and like 'Hannibal', this film is a celebration of high camp, wearing its gay subtext on its clean, frilly sleeve. The cat-like, childless Ripley is handy with a needle and thread and he's better in the kitchen than his own chef, prompting his girlfriend Luisa (Chiara Caselli), who he likes to take from behind, to tell him 'you are the perfect housewife'. While his former 'partner' Reeves shares Ripley's taste for truffles, and also likes to cook, Reeve's fried eggs are no match for Ripley's perfect souffle, and Reeves doesn't know his real Caravaggios from his fake Rembrandts, so Ripley trades in this bit of cockney rough for an altogether classier brand of Englishman. Jonathan may be married and have a son, but lately he's been having sexual problems with his wife Sarah (Lena Headey), and before you know it Ripley is performing furtive, illicit acts with him in a locked toilet (albeit acts involving throttling Ukrainian mobsters with a garotte), making 'mantraps' with him at home, and cooking him breakfast.
So you see, Ripley's game in more ways than one, and although in many ways this is a very ordinary thriller, what gives it an edge over the competition is its determined, almost casual oddness. It seem to take place in another dimension, where Ripley's deranged belief that it is possible to get away with murder simply because other people rarely notice or care seems to be absolutely true, and where, despite the post-communist era setting, everything looks like it's from an Italian artfilm from the 1970s. I don't know whether this grainy visual style was an intended alienation effect, or whether director Liliana Cavani really has not moved on since making 1975's 'The Night Porter'. Either way, it makes for a strange-looking film, as faux-classical in appearance as the baroque Italian villa which Ripley is so lavishly restoring.
'That's the trouble with Ripley', as Jonathan says, 'too much money and not enough taste', and it is this combined quality which makes both man and film seem at once reprehensible, and yet highly watchable.
Wanting some of his business rivals assassinated, criminal Reeves (the brilliant Ray Winstone) turns to his old colleague Ripley. Ripley declines, but suggests, as an amusing experiment in nastiness, that they co-opt for the deed Ripley's neighbour Jonathan (Dougray Scott), who has recently insulted Ripley. Seduced by the promise of a cure for his leukaemia, picture-framer Jonathan soon finds himself in the frame, and forms an unlikely alliance with Ripley, as this odd couple, in their confrontation with the forces of European organised crime, learn what little difference there really is between a family man and a psychopath, and how much that difference counts.
The plot, revolving around an arrogant, amoral aesthete and gourmand lying low in Italy, pursued by criminals intent on revenge, and helped by an innocent whose very innocence is undermined by such complicity, covers territory familiar from 'Hannibal' - and like 'Hannibal', this film is a celebration of high camp, wearing its gay subtext on its clean, frilly sleeve. The cat-like, childless Ripley is handy with a needle and thread and he's better in the kitchen than his own chef, prompting his girlfriend Luisa (Chiara Caselli), who he likes to take from behind, to tell him 'you are the perfect housewife'. While his former 'partner' Reeves shares Ripley's taste for truffles, and also likes to cook, Reeve's fried eggs are no match for Ripley's perfect souffle, and Reeves doesn't know his real Caravaggios from his fake Rembrandts, so Ripley trades in this bit of cockney rough for an altogether classier brand of Englishman. Jonathan may be married and have a son, but lately he's been having sexual problems with his wife Sarah (Lena Headey), and before you know it Ripley is performing furtive, illicit acts with him in a locked toilet (albeit acts involving throttling Ukrainian mobsters with a garotte), making 'mantraps' with him at home, and cooking him breakfast.
So you see, Ripley's game in more ways than one, and although in many ways this is a very ordinary thriller, what gives it an edge over the competition is its determined, almost casual oddness. It seem to take place in another dimension, where Ripley's deranged belief that it is possible to get away with murder simply because other people rarely notice or care seems to be absolutely true, and where, despite the post-communist era setting, everything looks like it's from an Italian artfilm from the 1970s. I don't know whether this grainy visual style was an intended alienation effect, or whether director Liliana Cavani really has not moved on since making 1975's 'The Night Porter'. Either way, it makes for a strange-looking film, as faux-classical in appearance as the baroque Italian villa which Ripley is so lavishly restoring.
'That's the trouble with Ripley', as Jonathan says, 'too much money and not enough taste', and it is this combined quality which makes both man and film seem at once reprehensible, and yet highly watchable.