The Critic begins with a voice-over in Ian McKellen’s gravelly yet sonorous tones. After defining the term ‘critic’ (‘judge’, according to its Latin and Greek etymology), he declares, ‘The drama critic is feared and reviled for the judgement he must bring, but the truth is imperative, the critic must be cold and perfectly alone. Only the greats are remembered.’ This grandiose statement indicates just how seriously McKellen’s character, theatre critic Jimmy Erskine, takes his craft. Erskine’s megalomaniacal attachment to his vocation, the essence of his identity, is the force that drives him to commit many egregious deeds in this film.

Directed by Anand Tucker (whose films include Hilary and Jackie [1998] and Leap Year [2010]), The Critic is a loose adaptation of Anthony Quinn’s novel Curtain Call (2015) and is set in London in 1934. McKellen’s Erskine, an ageing critic for newspaper The Daily Chronicle, is known for his brutal reviews. which dismantle actors and productions with a colourful waspishness clearly influenced by his idol, Oscar Wilde. Erskine is also known, among those in his circle, as a gay man with a penchant for paying for illicit trysts in city parks at night with young men (or, as they are described in the film, ‘trade’). Among the actors he regularly lambasts in his column is Nina Land (Gemma Arterton), whose brittle self-confidence leads her to confront Erskine about his unrelenting and exaggerated criticism. This leads to a strained but oddly charming rapport between the two – to start with, at least.

Meanwhile, Erskine’s position is threatened when the newspaper’s owner dies. His son, Viscount Brooke (Mark Strong), takes the helm and orders Erskine to rein in the ‘extremity of [his] style’ as well as keep his private life under wraps. Soon after, Erskine and his secretary/lover, Tom Turner (Alfred Enoch), are arrested for indecency. Alhough the paper pull strings for their release, the critic is sacked. Thus cornered, Erskine abuses his relationship with Land, with whom the married Brooke happens to be besotted, to entrap and blackmail the latter in order to maintain his precious role as gatekeeper of theatre standards. From this point on, The Critic becomes a fast-moving, extravagant, occasionally silly affair, indebted to Agatha Christie-esque crime capers and dialling up the melodrama at the expense of plausibility and, at times, viewer engagement.

Ian McKellen in The Critic (courtesy of Transmission Films)

The Critic is never better than when the camera is on McKellen’s eighty-five-year-old face and frame. The much-loved actor appears to delight in his licence to play up this witty and erudite but ultimately wicked character, from the viciousness of his expressive scowling to the annihilating comments that he practically spits out in conversation. McKellen’s most delightful scenes, though, are the brief ones when he sits in a bathtub, splashing around while drinking his liqueur, smoking his cigarettes and yelling in conversation with Turner. There are not enough scenes like this, where McKellen is able to convey his character’s archness and eccentricity in charismatic ways – an opportunity missed.

McKellen’s chemistry with Arterton is lively – particularly in the film’s first half – thanks to some skilful dialogue by Patrick Marber, who adapted Quinn’s novel into a screenplay. There is also an accomplished turn from Strong as the upright but repressed Brooke; indeed, scenes driven by the tension between Erskine’s irascibility and Brooke’s dourness offer some of the film’s most interesting dynamics. Another highlight is the polish and glamour that cinematographer David Higgs brings to the depiction of 1930s London (or at least its privileged class). Also successful are the sub-themes that simmer below the film’s surface. As well as homosexuality, there is racism (Turner is black) and the rise of fascism. This was the time of Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists movement, and a police detective who questions Erskine is seen wearing its badge.

The film unravels, to a degree, in its second half when confusion over tone meets a cluttered plot. Until then, The Critic teeters towards comedy, albeit of the black variety, with little more at stake than characters’ journalistic or theatrical reputations. As the film descends into a tale of blackmail, murder, and abuse, the contrast is a little jarring, to say nothing of the unconvincing and unlikely decisions made by Erskine and especially Land. As it hurtles towards its denouement, the film also lurches between storylines – as well as the main thread involving Erskine, there is that involving an artist, Stephen Wyley (Ben Barnes), who has been carrying on an affair with Land, and who happens to be Brooke’s son-in-law. The circuitry of this plotline is muddled and ultimately stalls the film’s third act.

Beyond the shaky machinations of its plot, it is tempting to draw from the film commentary on the role and value of the arts critic today. For example, one obvious observation is that, compared with Erskine’s world, the power and status of the critic is now diminished to the point of non-existence (a point made more resonant by recent changes at The Sydney Morning Herald). Another is that Erskine’s unyieldingly negative reviews that hold perceived mediocrity to account – undoubtedly a dying genre – are as much a period signifier in this film as the trilbies and smoking pipes. However, The Critic’s melodrama and the waywardness of its story neutralise this stridency; clearly this commentary on the state of art criticism is not Tucker or Marber’s main priority. Despite the film’s opening pronouncement, there is no profound or original point being made here about the role of the critic and their place in the ever-changing arts sector – unlike, say, Dan Gilroy’s Velvet Buzzsaw (2019). Another opportunity missed, you could say.

McKellen’s performance alone is reason to see The Critic, and there are many attractive aspects of the film besides – most notably some sharp, witty dialogue and an atmospheric and warm visual tone. If it is approached without an expectation of meaningful reflection on the arts and media worlds, and with tolerance for a plot that takes flight to some odd places, this is entertaining viewing. Despite Erskine’s elevated view of himself, we should not take him, or the film in which he is the heart, very seriously.

The Critic (Transmission Films) opens nationally on 3 October 2024.