The Railway Man is uncertain of what it wants to achieve.
Any sense of realism is totally abandoned a payoff lacking any emotional heft, ending in a moment that feels less true of life than awkwardly forced. This forces a resolution and a confrontation that fails to succeed. Any moments of intensity evident earlier-and there are few-get flooded with themes of friendship and forgiveness. These “flashbacks” feel more welcome among the cliched, slot A into slot B programmes evident on television.Īs the film enters its final third, an uncomfortable schmaltzy overcomes the film. Jeremy Irvine truly tries his hardest but his screen time feels almost unwelcome, as if alien amongst the beige mediocrity of the film around it. Teplitzky, in total control of pacing, fails to balance the brake and the throttle, moving at an uncomfortably intense speed before braking hard, halting the film to a sudden, and unwelcome stop. Powerful moments are rare and few but when successful, they stand out, in particular our introduction to Lomax’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Director Jonathan Teplitzky fails to study the horrors Lomax suffers, choosing to sporadically show scenes of torture as Firth yawns through scene to scene. The film is uncertain of what it wants, pushing the horrors Colin Firth’s Lomax suffers to the side for awkward conversations of trains and intense staring. Well intentioned isn’t necessarily a positive thing.
In further absurd casting, Stellan Skarsgard, so qualified at playing dark, twisted roles, doesn’t try and appears not as a character, but as a piece of exposition against the clunky backdrop of tourist board Scotland. The overall product doesn’t try to move, instead it simply exists, dramatically cold and impressively misleading. She can’t simply exist, she has to carry a certain measure of bravado, not a beige handbag and lacklustre brown hair.
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