Brighton Rock tells the story of an ambitious sociopathic minor hood named Pinkie …
… against the backdrop of a changing England.
It’s sometimes Hitchcock-like in its direction:
It even features a Hitchock-like score by Martin Phipps (who at least did not try to mimic Bernard Herrmann), which tries to lend weight to the proceedings but comes off as pretentious at times.
I don’t know what the hell to make of this movie, especially with its ending.
Graham Greene must have had a point in the novel, but that’s been lost here.
It’s lush viewing, with excellent performances by everyone, but expect to be puzzled as hell at the end of it with an overwhelming desire to read the original novel (which I must do).