Philadelphia Weekly

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There’s a reason so many movies center on con games. The entire art of cinema was founded on the concept of dressing up and playing make-believe, and audiences are natural born suckers. We walk into the auditorium as marks, ready and willing to accept pretty much any reality presented to us by the filmmakers, even if it’s a scam. A movie theater is probably the only place you’ll find folks eagerly anticipating being lied to and tricked. Unfortunately, most of the time we’re just plain gypped.

Writer-director Rian Johnson’s sophomore effort, The Brothers Bloom, can’t really sustain itself for its entire running time. But the film at least earns credit for attempting to explore the gray areas between good story telling and bad grifting, wondering aloud whether sometimes the right kind of lies can be helpful, even therapeutic.

Adrien Brody and Mark Ruffalo star as orphaned brothers. A dazzling prologue writes a check the rest of the film can’t quite cash, showcasing the siblings as they plot their first intricate con game, way back in grammar school. Narrated in droll fashion by actor/magician Ricky Jay, the sequence is a twisty little marvel, with the adolescent brothers outfitted in formalwear and fedoras, espousing a virtue that the film keeps coming back to: “In the best con, everybody gets what they want.”

Cut to 20-odd years later, when the film discovers these two sly devils at the top of their game, working elaborate, globe- trotting scenarios that have been previously plotted out to the letter by Mark Ruffalo’s slick Stephen. He sees himself as more of a novelist than a scam artist, delving deep into the biographies of his marks and peppering his cons with intricate illusions, heavy-duty symbolism and obscure literary references.

Sad-sack brother Bloom, played by Adrien Brody with perhaps a bit too generous a helping of self-pity, is growing weary of the game. Stephen’s omniscient puppeteering has ground him down over time, and confessing his longing for “an unscripted life,” Bloom would much prefer to drink himself to death in Montenegro then ever have to lie to folks again.

But in this kind of movie, there’s always that fateful “one last job.” Her name is Penelope Stamp, and she’s a bored, shut-in billionaire who constantly crashes yellow Lamborghinis and “collects hobbies” as obtuse as chainsaw juggling. Seen through the eyes of Stephen’s mischievous savvy, Penelope is desperately in the need of a little outdoor adventure, and depressed, drunken Bloom needs a reason to get off the sofa. Why not fabricate a foolish little overseas tall-tale about some silly rare black-market antiquity to get everybody out of the house?

The tension hinges upon us never knowing if Stephen is truly on the level. Penelope, played with goofy exuberance and maximum adorability by Rachel Weisz, seems too quick on the draw to be just another mark, and Brody’s Bloom is constantly plagued by worries that this entire venture is one of his brother’s manipulations. The Nabakov in-jokes are a troubling tip-off.

Mark Ruffalo is a brilliant casting choice for Stephen. His naturally cherubic face lends itself to the character’s mock sincerity, always undercut by cunning, unknowable eyes. It’s hard to fathom what kind of gene pool could produce both Ruffalo and the lanky, angular Adrien Brody, but the two actors have a relaxed rapport that suggests a lifetime of sibling rivalries.

Unfortunately, writer-director Rian Johnson is suffering from a fatal case of “the cutes.” His debut feature, Brick, ingenuously applied the dialogue and plotting of 1940s film noir to a contemporary high school setting, starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt as an insouciant, fast-talking Bogart figure solving a murder amid the incongruous trappings of cafeterias and keg parties. Absurd as it may sound, the film was deathly serious, emotionally grounded and a genuine original.

Too much of The Brothers Bloom feels borrowed from other filmmakers. The script feels like something David Mamet might have written back before he calcified into self-parody. More visually and technically accomplished than the rudimentary Brick, the snazzy couture costume design, snarky music cues, slow-motion interludes and widescreen compositions suggest that Johnson has been watching entirely too many Wes Anderson movies. There’s a thin line between skillful artifice and labored affectation. For a movie so concerned with the slight of hand between illusion and reality, a more grounded, less whimsical approach would have sufficed.

But the central questions linger in your mind, even after the movie overstays its welcome with a few too many twists. A nifty thematic bookend to Duplicity, The Brothers Bloom asks us to consider whether sometimes a beautifully crafted lie might be healthier than reality.