David O'ConnellIrina Palm
June 30th 2009 03:38
There’s perverse pleasure to be derived from this curiosity of a film, the story of a middle-aged woman who’s reduced to manually ‘servicing’ men in a sex club to pay for her deathly ill grandson’s potentially life-saving trip to Australia. Irina Palm was the surprise comedy of 2007; the only trouble is, its laughs are strictly unintentional for this is supposed to be a serious drama.
Maggie (Marianne Faithfull) is devestated by the dire predicament her son Tom (Kevin Bishop) and his wife Sarah (Siobhan Hewlett) face; their young son Ollie (Corey Burke) is dying of a terminal illness and the only new treatment available is far from their English home. They need to fly to Melbourne and fund the trip themselves, something which is out of the equation given their struggling economic status.
Strolling through Soho late at night, the doomsaying doctor’s words hanging over her head like a black cloud, she chances upon a job vacancy for a ‘hostess’ in a club called Sexy World. Desperate and curious, she investigates, only to be informed by club owner Miki (Miki Manojlovic) of the term’s strictly euphemistic nature. In passing, however, he takes careful note of her amazingly soft, pliable hands and brazenly suggests an alternate means of earning money.
Before long, the mortified Maggie is raking in the money, her reluctant success provoking long queues of men in wait to experience the fast but glorious pleasures the newly-monikered Irina Palm can offer with what Miki dubs “the best right hand in London”.
Naturally, Maggie is embarrassed and shamed by her salacious new vocation, keeping it a secret from all. Her endeavours only hit a minor snag when her intensive sessions at the club cause her to be struck down by R.S.I, knowledgeably referred to by the club's regular doctor, and others in the business, as “penis elbow”.
There are many other pearls of rib-tickling hilarity to be found in German director Sam Garbarski’s misjudged and misguided film. The standout may be Maggie confiding to Miki the motivation for her pursuit of quick cash; referring to her grandson’s plight, she bemoans, ‘He’s dying, Miki……..he’s dying, I’m wanking, it’s a mess.” But it’s the screenplay, by Martin Herron and Philippe Blasband, in trying to plumb the depths of an elusive, non-existent profundity amidst this grimy, back-alley, fetishistic degeneracy, that’s the real mess.
The second rate acting by the support cast is a major hindrance too, coming to an inglorious head with indignant son Tom’s rant upon discovery of his mum’s financial source, declaring “there’s not enough soap in the world that can clean off what you’ve been doing!” Indeed. Or enough Liquid Paper to transform this spotty mess of a film into anything approaching the realms of believability. Faithfull’s limited manner of ‘acting’ is a sore point as well, her raspy voice and wooden performance epitomising her status as a contentious choice.
There’s a moral dilemma at the heart of this film, beyond the naked dancers and furious tugging at the glory hole: do you potentially save the life of a child with tainted money or allow him to live out his life surrounded by love and a reluctantly tamed conscience? It’s all so clumsily handled however and deprived of depth by its inane treatment.
Though quotable (for all the wrong reasons) and somehow watchable in a remotely bemusing way, Irina Palm is still not a film to brag about seeing to people who usually regard your opinions as even semi-valid. My excuse is that I only admit to it here as a legitimate means of offering a public service announcement to the film-viewing community.
Do you believe me?
Maggie (Marianne Faithfull) is devestated by the dire predicament her son Tom (Kevin Bishop) and his wife Sarah (Siobhan Hewlett) face; their young son Ollie (Corey Burke) is dying of a terminal illness and the only new treatment available is far from their English home. They need to fly to Melbourne and fund the trip themselves, something which is out of the equation given their struggling economic status.
Strolling through Soho late at night, the doomsaying doctor’s words hanging over her head like a black cloud, she chances upon a job vacancy for a ‘hostess’ in a club called Sexy World. Desperate and curious, she investigates, only to be informed by club owner Miki (Miki Manojlovic) of the term’s strictly euphemistic nature. In passing, however, he takes careful note of her amazingly soft, pliable hands and brazenly suggests an alternate means of earning money.
Before long, the mortified Maggie is raking in the money, her reluctant success provoking long queues of men in wait to experience the fast but glorious pleasures the newly-monikered Irina Palm can offer with what Miki dubs “the best right hand in London”.
Miki (Miki Manojlovic) inspects those precious and valuable hands of Maggie (Marianne Faithfull)
Naturally, Maggie is embarrassed and shamed by her salacious new vocation, keeping it a secret from all. Her endeavours only hit a minor snag when her intensive sessions at the club cause her to be struck down by R.S.I, knowledgeably referred to by the club's regular doctor, and others in the business, as “penis elbow”.
There are many other pearls of rib-tickling hilarity to be found in German director Sam Garbarski’s misjudged and misguided film. The standout may be Maggie confiding to Miki the motivation for her pursuit of quick cash; referring to her grandson’s plight, she bemoans, ‘He’s dying, Miki……..he’s dying, I’m wanking, it’s a mess.” But it’s the screenplay, by Martin Herron and Philippe Blasband, in trying to plumb the depths of an elusive, non-existent profundity amidst this grimy, back-alley, fetishistic degeneracy, that’s the real mess.
The second rate acting by the support cast is a major hindrance too, coming to an inglorious head with indignant son Tom’s rant upon discovery of his mum’s financial source, declaring “there’s not enough soap in the world that can clean off what you’ve been doing!” Indeed. Or enough Liquid Paper to transform this spotty mess of a film into anything approaching the realms of believability. Faithfull’s limited manner of ‘acting’ is a sore point as well, her raspy voice and wooden performance epitomising her status as a contentious choice.
Lube, tissues and coffee - that's all 'Irina' needs to complete her valuable community service.
There’s a moral dilemma at the heart of this film, beyond the naked dancers and furious tugging at the glory hole: do you potentially save the life of a child with tainted money or allow him to live out his life surrounded by love and a reluctantly tamed conscience? It’s all so clumsily handled however and deprived of depth by its inane treatment.
Though quotable (for all the wrong reasons) and somehow watchable in a remotely bemusing way, Irina Palm is still not a film to brag about seeing to people who usually regard your opinions as even semi-valid. My excuse is that I only admit to it here as a legitimate means of offering a public service announcement to the film-viewing community.
Do you believe me?
It's all for sick grandson Ollie.
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Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
Comment by Matt Shea
20/20 Filmsight
... great write-up, Dave.
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
Comment by David O'Connell
Screen Fanatic
Tracy, the earlier trailer I put up was entirely in German or something......