A smoldering Idris Elba is no match for the preposterousness of this feature-length Netflix continuation of the popular BBC crime thriller.
Movies have never quite figured out what to do with Idris Elba. Imposing, charismatic and dauntingly intelligent, Elba has so far been most memorable on television — his intense, thoughtful style feeding on the intimacy and character-building patience of episodic storytelling.
Over five seasons on the BBC show “Luther” (2010-19), he played the titular London copper as a troubled, morally conflicted genius with an aversion to rules and an ongoing infatuation with a slinky psychopath (brilliantly played by Ruth Wilson). All wounded eyes and wool overcoat, Luther lumbered wearily from one grisly crime scene to another, losing loved ones and nabbing a series of increasingly implausible adversaries. Throughout, the character was a magnetic constant; the show’s problem was always finding villains worthy of him.
And that’s exactly where “Luther: The Fallen Sun” (directed by Jamie Payne and written by the show’s creator and sole writer, Neil Cross) trips, falls and never recovers. The inexplicable choice of a smirking Andy Serkis as the murderous David Robey, a cyber-sicko with limitless resources and incalculable mental issues, elicits more chuckles than chills. Decked out at one point in a velvet blazer and turtleneck, hair teased into the likeness of a dead stoat, Robey is less demented sadist than disco king. The scene where the diminutive devil — hopping and hooded like the killer in “Don’t Look Now” (1973) — fights the towering Luther on a subway platform is nothing less than ludicrous.
Body-mass differential aside, Luther and Robey are further hindered by a plot so dashed-off and indistinct that very little makes sense. Picking up generally where season five ended, with Luther heading to prison for his persistent vigilantism, this feature-length revival (streaming on Netflix) locks him up and gets him out with mystifying, head-spinning ease. Robey, seemingly assisted by a shadowy pod of followers, is busily hacking webcams and smart devices, recording shameful secrets and blackmailing their owners. For those who prefer to die rather than be exposed, Robey stages elaborate kill scenes, live-action tableaus that unfold with a pulpy majesty. In a movie that starts at fever pitch and rarely relents, these grisly interludes, captured by Larry Smith’s glowering camera, offer strangely haunting respites from the plot’s general chaos.
Lacking dialogue to deepen the characters or reinforce their motivations, “Luther: The Fallen Sun” whooshes past in a rush of serial-killer clichés: an underground lair, a torture room, a masked maniac. Anonymous losers sit glued to computer screens, but the movie is so headlong and fragmented it’s unclear exactly what they’re watching or how Robey’s sleazy schemes are realized. It’s as if Netflix has tried to shoehorn an entire season of television into a little over two hours.
The result might be more richly cinematic, but it’s infinitely cruder, with characters so underwritten that their possible demise excites no more than a shrug. Brief sightings of the wonderful Dermot Crowley, who returns as Luther’s melancholic superintendent, have a steadying effect, as does Cynthia Erivo as Luther’s fed-up superior. But it’s Elba himself, huddled miserably inside that overcoat in a rain-soaked Piccadilly Circus, that elicits a nostalgic thrill. Call me a pushover for tormented heroes and soulful tailoring.
Luther: The Fallen Sun
Rated R for flaming bodies, forced suicides and frightful hair. Running time: 2 hours 9 minutes. Watch on Netflix.
Source: Movies - nytimes.com
