Review of Endgame

Introduction

Rent boy Tom (Daniel Newman), living in an upmarket flat courtesy of his abusive regular john, George Norris (Mark McGann), contemplates his dead-end life and how he will escape his crime-infested existence. You see, George isn’t only a wealthy crime-boss, he’s a self-hating homosexual prone to bursts of violent rage against Tom. During one particularly unrequited bout of rough sex, Tom accidentally kills George and enlists the help of his American neighbors, stock-broker Max (Corey Johnson) and his relentlessly psycho-analyzing wife Nikki (Toni Barry), to escape to the country to ponder his options. Unfortunately, bent cop Dunston was one of Tom’s regular clients, and after blackmail videotapes of Tom’s sessions are uncovered in his apartment, Dunston attempts to hunt him down leading to a desperately unexciting country lodge-set finale.

Video

Muddy 4:3.

Audio

Terrible stereo. Pounding music, indiscernible dialogue, and no subtitles, of course.

Features

You are kidding I presume? A trailer… and a very bad one at that.

Conclusion

Initially, with it’s spare dialogue, minimalist compositions and solemn music, this Queer twist on the British gangster flick suggests a looming existential despair, but the enthusiasm doesn’t last, as this is a crude poseur even by its own, meager estimation. With characterization that mannequins would consider hollow and one-dimensional, the actors don’t stand a chance, which is probably just as well, as they’re all terrible. John Benfield looks and sounds like he’s strayed too far from the set of ‘Eastenders’… actually, not that far; ‘star’ Newman never seems to know which emotion to evoke in any given scene, and can’t even get the wrong ones right. The steady progression of the narrative is leaden and reliable, but a plot this simple shouldn’t sprawl for an ungainly two hours, particularly when the only reason is because writer/director Gary Wicks couldn’t be bothered to construct a proper script.

Wicks clearly fancies ‘endgame’ as a sort of brooding Queer crime-epic, a young man’s quest for identity in a life of squalor, etc. But Wicks stumbles at every hurdle: there’s the homophobic overtones relating homosexuality with sadism, cruelty and maladjustment, and heterosexual normalcy is reflected as a kind of restorative elixir for our troubled gay protagonist. The film postulates itself as a noir, but delivers no twists, no mystery, no hidden desires, nothing but crime film cliches and unpleasant violence.

‘EndGame’ is the kind of pointless exercise we’ve thankfully come to regret from the British film “Industry”. It’s the kind of film that makes hardened film lovers think Alan Parker is being too lenient, it makes you want to ban filmmaking in Britain, maybe the entire world. To wipe it from the face of the Earth and never look back. To be glad it is gone, for no more of this can arrive. You watch it and never want to see a film again, because even a great one will remind you of what film really amounts to. ‘Endgame’ exists only because its creators could make it, not because it should have been made, and there in lies the rub. It’s too bad that financiers don’t have the courage to recognize the difference, or maybe they think they have, and that seems so much more grave.