A Night Like This

I’ll come right to the point about this one: “A Night Like This” is, without a doubt, one of the worst films I have seen in quite some time. Director Liam Calvert’s debut feature follows an overnight tour of London when two lost, discouraged twentysomethings – a gay out-of-work actor (Jack Brett Anderson) and a wealthy but bumbling, sexually ambiguous entrepreneur with big plans that never seem to materialize (Alexander Lincoln) – have a chance (though, for all practical purposes, seemingly implausible) encounter in a corner pub. Their ill-conceived, difficult-to-fathom meeting inexplicably leads them into a series of extended monologues and heavily overwritten conversations about virtually everything but the kitchen sink as they explore the city on a cold winter’s night. Together they talk…and talk…and talk, barely ever stopping to take a breath or to reflect on anything they’ve just said. Simply put, it’s confounding, boring, and, above all, annoying. To be sure, crafting an engaging dialogue-driven narrative like this is indeed possible, as seen in examples like “Mindwalk” (1990) and, to a lesser degree, “My Dinner with Andre” (1981), but doing so calls for having something interesting and meaningful to say to begin with. In this case, the protagonists spend nearly two hours spewing volumes of incoherent, self-indulgent, pretentious, stream of consciousness nonsense, set against a variety of backdrops that bear little connection to the subjects being discussed, making one wonder what might have prompted these dialogues to arise in the first place. Even passing encounters with an array of colorful strangers in the course of their odyssey do little to break the stifling tedium of this overlong exercise in overblown self-loathing, whiny ennui, and rambling, half-baked philosophical prattle. To make matters worse, I never bought the faux chemistry between the two leads, probably because I never bought into the improbable character development ascribed to them, no matter how much the director desperately tries to convince viewers otherwise. And, as the picture played out, I discovered that I wasn’t alone in my impressions about this release: I witnessed viewers getting up and walking out after as little as 20 minutes (often wishing I could have joined them). In addition, as the movie unfolded, there was a noticeable drop-off in vocalized audience responses to the script’s alleged attempts at humor and high drama, and, unlike what typically followed other festival screenings, there was absolutely no applause at film’s end. While this effort admittedly tries somewhat commendably to express the existential disillusionment with life that younger generations are experiencing these days, nothing is effectively resolved as a result of this protracted discourse, leaving one essentially wondering about the intended point of all this. By all means, do yourself a favor and skip this one (unless you need the sleep).