One Paragraph Movie Review: The Crying Game

Two hundred and seventy-fourth film: The Crying Game, a 1992 movie full of twists that, if you’ve had one of the big twists spoiled for you decades ago like I did, you might only recently be seeing for the first time. I didn’t realise there were multiple twists though, and all to do with the peculiar and case-by-case way that humans form bonds with each other. There’s the bond between Forest Whitaker as a British soldier with a terrible accent and his IRA kidnapper, Fergus. There’s the bond between Fergus and Dil, which only regards THAT spoiler as a speedbump that merely changes its course slightly. And there’s the bond between Miranda Richardson’s ruthless IRA tragic and Fergus, based on malicious sexual power and a pretty decent make-over. And dammit, it’s about the bond between the movie and the viewer, which is like that of a termite and a particularly succulent weight-bearing rafter. Despite patchy acting, despite spoilers, despite a production rough edge or two, it really chews its way on in there. Three and a half very bad cricket haircuts out of five.