"Sleuth" | Film has lots of talent, but no clue how to use it

Those who say they wouldn't mind watching Michael Caine and Jude Law recite the phone book may well have their patience tested by "Sleuth," Kenneth Branagh's chilly remake of the 1972 mystery/lark starring Sir Lawrence Olivier and a younger Caine. Based on the play by Anthony Shaffer — adapted, none too compellingly, by Harold Pinter — it's the tale of an encounter between millionaire Andrew Wyke (Caine) and the caddish actor Milo Tindle (Law), who's made off with Andrew's wife. She, wise woman, is never seen; this is essentially a two-character drama, and at times that's two too many.

Branagh, an experienced director who knows what he's doing with Shakespeare, seems on surprisingly shaky ground here. Why on Earth would you hire two of Britain's top actors and then focus your camera on tables, drinks, walls — anything but their faces? Why is he so enamored with the details of the set, which depicts a stark, modern blue-lit mansion about as warm and inviting as a metal ice tray? Why do the details of Wyke and Tindle's long night of game-playing seem so dull and claustrophobic? Why, when I saw this movie at a screening at the Toronto Film Festival, was somebody in the audience snoring? Why am I even asking this last question?

Caine, whose roughhewn yet unexpectedly gentle voice is one of cinema's treasures, seems to be enjoying himself hugely; Law, his garishly blond hair plastered to his head like loose wallpaper, likewise dives into his role with gusto. (Law has now twice portrayed roles originated by Caine, including "Alfie" a few years back. What's next: a British remake of "Hannah and her Sisters"?) But both actors are trapped in a movie so schematic and cold, it feels like a film-school exercise. There's an astonishing amount of talent involved in the making of this movie; too bad the end result, like a cube of ice, just melts away.

Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725

or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com