Mr Nice slipped into town like a fugitive, without even a press screening, which is apt, since the story of gentleman drug smuggler Howard Marks is an astonishing story of criminal abandon that, at times, simply defies belief. Directed by Bernard Rose, of Ivansxtc fame, it's a decent biopic with some weird and wonderful moments; slow to start, it captures Marks' rise to notoriety with wit and energy but stumbles a little in the last half hour, when our antihero finally falls foul of the law. Based on Marks's own autobiography, Mr Nice starts rather uncomfortably with black-and-white footage outlining his school days and working-class upbringing in Wales. Rose boldly casts his leading man, Rhy Ifans, as his teenage self, and even with a little photoshopping/make-up/whatever, Ifans still looks like a grown man in a school uniform. After a while, though, this seems to fit with the film's portrayal of Marks the storyteller; Rose goes on to employ a lot more artifice in this movie, using rear projection and green-screen to enable his actor to slip seamlessly (and sometimes not so seamlessly) into genuine archive footage, like a sneaky, subversive Zelig.
In these monochrome scenes, Marks is shown to have been bullied as a child for his fierce intelligence, a gift for learning that gains him a rare scholarship to Oxford University. At Oxford, Marks encounters a group of intellectual bohemians who introduce him to cannabis, at which point the film bursts into full, psychedelic colour. To begin with, Marks's interest in getting stoned is purely recreational, and, for while, he even manages to go straight, giving up drugs altogether to study teacher training. But when a dealer friend is busted, Marks impulsively agrees to take his place, driving a car loaded with cannabis resin from Germany, through France and back to London. Marks has found a new high: risk. And when the money rolls in, he decides to do it again.
This is where the film hits its stride. Moving into distribution full time, Marks finds a way to import cannabis from Afghanistan via Ireland, calling on the services of a crazed IRA terrorist called Jim McCann, played by David Thewlis in a berserk but divisive performance (I loved it) that walks the slender, slender line between genius and goat. Marks doesn't seem to care that McCann is an enforcer for the IRA, and Rose doesn't saddle us with too much guilt about the fact either. Really, one of the more enjoyable things about Mr Nice is how well it takes us into Marks's mindset. Though he comes across as a loveable rogue, he also takes quite a few liberties in his life, making decisions that are hurtful and destructive for his elderly parents, wife and children.
The last half-half, however, becomes much more choppy. Marks gets his collar felt, and his comeuppance begins, but lots of fragmented information comes in ever-smaller bursts that prevent us from really identifying with this character in his darkest hours. Things are mentioned, but not followed up, and Marks's time in a US penitentiary (it's not a spoiler, it's in the book) is disappointing: it certainly looks grim, but there's less emotion (and redemption) here than perhaps there should be.
Still, overall, I liked Mr Nice, especially Ifans' wonderful portrayal of Marks as a sort of legendary highwayman rather than the Robin Hood figure of contemporary lore. Rose's look for the film is impressive too, using slow-motion to particularly gorgeous effect in the closing credits. Thewlis is a force of nature, and there's a pleasingly sizeable role for Crispin Glover as Marks's US contact. It's hard to say how Rose's film will fare with mainstream audiences, but I think, as well as pleasing the obvious stoner crowd, Mr Nice has something that could appeal to fans of Catch Me If You Can and The Informant! too as a stylish celebration of bare-faced cheek and outlandish non-conformism.
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