Croupier

I watched Croupier again this evening, and was vaguely disturbed by how young Clive Owen looked. Could a boy of 15 really be working in a casino?

No, not 15. He must have been at least 15 and a half years old.

It's strange, because some of the actors appearing alongside him were most famous from Press Gang or other teenager-dramas on British TV, and they looked haggard and ragged in comparison. But then they haven't been shot by Jason Bourne; that must put years on your face.

Croupier is an odd film. It never made a big splash in cinemas, because for one reason or another Channel 4 decided to bury it. It's not a feelgood piece, and after an hour and a half it's hard to say exactly what happens; there's just mild foreboding, leading up to a resolution where you realise you didn't really know what was going on. All the time, Clive Owen peers out at you, looking rather pleased with himself.

I'm not sure if it's a great film or not. A few years ago I would have said so, but now it feels a little uninvolving; as Marion herself would have pointed out, practically everyone is devoid of sympathy or empathy.

On the other hand, Alex Kingston looks great at playing tennis, and I think I recognise a branch of Waterstones somewhere in Covent Garden.