The Brothers Bloom

Directed by Rian Johnson. Starring Rachel Weisz, Adrien Brody, Mark Ruffalo, Rinko Kikuchi, Maximillian Schell, Robbie Coltrane 12A cert, Queen’s, Belfast; IFI, Dublin, 113 min

RIAN JOHNSON'S Brick, an indie hit from 2005, appeared to offer us a fresh, original cinematic talent. The movie was certainly at home to the odd showy gimmick – it was, after all, a film noir set in high school – but it seemed odd enough to promise many future flourishes from Mr Johnson.

Now, a full year after it US release, we get this underwhelming conman adventure. The Brothers Bloom is not a terrible film. There are many nice vistas to admire, and it features likeable actors. But, for something that thinks itself so eccentric, it seems depressingly, deadeningly familiar.

To be precise, The Brothers Bloomlooks like The Stingremade by Wes Anderson's less talented brother. As in Anderson's films, the story too frequently halts to allow in absurd asides and deranged diversions. Unfortunately, as the action progresses, it becomes clear that there is very little behind these baroque decorations. The film is a hollow shell surrounded by a very busy package.

Of course, that might be the whole point. The Brothers Bloomis keen to stress the slippery nature of reality and the unreliability of such outer facades.

The film begins by introducing us to the titular brothers (Brody and Ruffallo) as, still teenagers, they hustle their way about their posh school. We then zoom forward to Berlin in an altered, slightly antique version of the present day. Now working with a largely mute Japanese woman (Rink Kikuchi), the boys have just completed a mighty scam, but Brody is becoming disillusioned with his domineering brother.

Nonetheless, after a brief sojourn to Montenegro, the doubter is lured back for (what else?) “one last job”. Their mark is Ms Weisz’s eccentric heiress. As the posh young lady gets sucked into their schemes, the plot begins to turn in upon itself, and then to twist manically into appalling knots.

Who is in on the con? Who stands to lose? Who has the marked card? Frankly, who cares? It fast becomes clear that everything in The Brothers Bloomis a dreary pose. The clothes are all fresh from the box.

The actors trade purely in second-hand mannerisms. The locations (a lot of Prague, a snatch of Tokyo, some flashes of Mexico) have, it seems, been chosen purely for decorative reasons. Without any emotional investment, the viewer begins to feel like an uninterested spectator at an overcrowded game of find the lady. What a swizz.