The title of the review just about says it all. This movie gets off to a bit of a slow start. For the first forty minutes you're watching what seems to be a series of unrelated, unfortunate events. Then, everything falls into place and the pleasantly balanced ensemble cast allows you to fall into London's underbelly for an hour of mystery and intrigue surrounding the suicide of Davey (Rhys-Meyers). His older brother, Will (Clive Owen), once a prominent figure in London's crime community has been in hiding for 3 years from his past and himself. While looking at the reasons his little brother killed himself, Will must decide if he'll give in to vengeance, or continue to rise above what he once was.

Yet, just as the film reaches its climax, the credits start to roll leaving several very important plot points completely unresolved. This is beyond simply having an open ending. It ends so abruptly it feels as if the production simply ran out of money to continue.

Ultimately, it is leaving so much open that causes to me award only three stars to what would have otherwise been an absolutely brilliant piece of cinema.

Is "moody thriller" synonymous with "goes nowhere"? I'd really hoped to like this movie, I like Clive Owen a great deal, enjoy Charlotte Rampling, and love both Malcolm McDowell and Jonathan Rhys-Myers, but there's nothing to hold onto in this movie. Nothing that engages you. None of the characters gave me any reason to care about them (except Rhys-Myers, but he dies in the first five-ten minutes. And I cared about his death. But not about any of the people it "affected").

It seems like it's trying to build for something, and, ultimately, yes, Will gets his revenge, but, really, motivation? Why did anyone in this movie do anything? McDowell's character (whose name I didn't even care enough to remember) had no motivation to bugger the boy, and there's an entire side-sub-plot involving guys that don't want Will in town that remains useless.

Overall, a huge disappointment.

I rented this movie specifically to see another example of Clive Owen's work. His brief impressive appearance in Bourne Identity piqued my interest. Well, he was not disappointing in this, but the film overall sure was. It starts out well enough, drawing you in as you're trying to figure out why a series of events leads to a suicide. But then it goes awry quickly. Director Hodges must be an idiot or he doesn't know quite how to edit. He likes to leave us guessing about a number of details; that's alright as the story unfolds and it heightens the mystery and suspense. But when the film has concluded and we still don't know some crucial facts, it leaves me wondering what he was attempting to do. We're not really told enough about the past of Owen's character or his relationship with the other main characters. Then, the final scenes are both abrupt and inexplicable- a murder and Charlotte Rampling still being held hostage. What the ---? Just as baffling, there are scenes along the way that seem to have no purpose- such as one of those when he's lumber-jacking. Yes, Clive Owen is good enough in this, but I recommend that you pass on it and go on to Croupier instead, another film flawed by Hodges presposterous editing, but a much better movie than this.

Male rape, and drug use are the predominant themes of this dark and somber revenge tale that takes place in the seamy, sordid London underworld. And while there's no doubt that I'll Sleep When I'm Dead looks slick, polished and elegant, the movie is also strangely old fashioned and rather dull. It doesn't really add anything new the genre, and much of what the viewer sees on the screen has all been done before; it's approximately 100 minutes of beautifully lit camera angles but with no actual substance.

The far from original story involves the settling of a score and the retribution of a once-powerful crime figure who returns from exile to investigate the death of his younger brother. But the twist is that the younger man committed suicide after being sadistically raped by a rich, gangland crime boss. Will Graham (Clive Owen) abandoned his career as a tough, no nonsense crime figure in the London underworld some years earlier. He now wonders throughout England scraggly and bearded in a beat up old camper van, taking odd logging jobs wherever he can find them.

Graham left behind his brother Davey (Jonathan Rhys Meyers). Davey has been leading the life of a playboy, seducing beautiful girls and also dabbling in the drug trade. Davey, obsessed with easy sex and easy money, sells ecstasy and coke at yuppie loft parties and blithely takes whatever he wants - cash from a wallet, and a cigarette lighter from a date's purse. One night Boad (Malcolm McDowell), a snarling white haired bully and a car dealer with apparently dark connections, brutally rapes Davey in a dark alley. This later precipitates Davy's suicide.

Sensing something is wrong, Will returns to London and soon learns of Davey's death from their mutual friend Mickser (Jamie Foreman). Will armed with Davey's autopsy reports sets out to discover why he killed himself and who may have perpetrated the rape. In the meantime, Will reconnects with his former girlfriend (Charlotte Rampling), a restaurant owner, who begs him to go to the police rather than seek retribution.

Emphasizing mood over content, I'll Sleep When I'm Dead has very little suspense, and what tension there is doesn't make the movie anymore compelling. The characters wonder around in grim-faced, existential angst, sitting in chauffer- driven cars and walking the subtly lit back streets of London in some kind of subliminal and subconscious daze. The picture is intended to be both opaque and obscure, but this just adds to the narrative confusion and uncertainty.

The players are all passable: Clive Owen does a good job at portraying his trademark tough, hard-hitting blankness, but mostly he just walks through the role. Sylvia Syms is effective in a small cameo as Davey's doddering and foolish landlady, but we're never sure what her relationship to Davey and Will actually is. The criminally underused Charlotte Rampling looks suitably grim and dour, although her character is kind of superfluous and she tends to over-interpret her small role.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead really falls apart when it tries to become a kind of psycho-thriller, attempting to analyze and evaluate the psychological make-up of the male rapist. The movie does, however, effectively portray with a kind of no-nonsense and straightforward truth, London's sad disparity of wealth, and the fog of melancholy and menace that often seeps into many of its streets. Mike Leonard February 05.

An enormously talented cast shows what can be done with a pile of junk script. While the premise of the movie is intriguing, the script is an undeveloped piece of garbage.

I was astonished at the praise heaped on this movie, including the Ebert & Roper "Two Thumbs Way Up" (way up what?). Every actor in the film is wasted, nothing is resolved, we are offered almost nothing of the characters backgrounds with that pretentious directorial "wink" that's supposed to make the "hip filmsters" know what's going on. Yawn.

Worst excuse for rape ever: When seeking vendetta for the rape (and eventual suicide of his brother Clive Owen's emotion-free Will asks "why" Malcolm MacDowell offers only a lame "He thought he was something special . . . the way he dressed, held a cigarette, the way women fawned over him, the way he walked . . . I wanted to show him he was nothing." Say what?

Truly a movie that should have never been made. A waste.