Review: Mr Nice

When you walked into any student flat in the Nineties you would find a copy of Howard Marks' autobiography Mr Nice adorning the shelves accompanied by the sound of Bill Hicks on the stereo. So it's quite strange it took so long for Mr Nice to make to the big screen considering anti heroes/drug dealers are common fodder for Hollywood.

With that in mind Mr Nice looks nothing like you would expect and actually is better off for it, for what you get is a straight up story without the glitz and glamour.

Mr Nice is the true story of Howard Marks' (Rhys Ifans) meteoric rise from Cambridge egghead to importer of the finest Middle Eastern puff for best part of a decade before a few governments and his own thirst for adventure led to his eventual downfall.

At first glimpse, Mr Nice looks like a swish documentary on the life of Howard Marks due in part to it's refusal to play like a normal film. Director Bernard Rose (the excellent Candyman) chooses to shoot quite a few scenes of the film using stock footage from the seventies and eighties and superimposes Marks and co into the scenes using some clever editing.

On the run

The remainder of the film looks like it was shot guerilla style with some quick location shots from around the world and a notable lack of sets which for the most part gives you the feeling of what it was like to be on the run (which no doubt was the intention).

As for Marks himself, Rhys Ifans' portrayal would be Oscar worthy if wasn't for the fact he's playing a part he's practiced most of his life (Marks and he are very close friends) and one the Oscars would never want to award for obvious reasons.

Helping out is everyman David Thewlis (Naked) as supposed IRA man Jim McCann and Chloe Sevigny (Zodiac) as Marks' put upon wife Judy. There are also a few cameos knocking around, with Crispin Glover most notable as Marks' LA connection.

If you don't know the story, Mr Nice is well worth the punt. Just don't go in expecting a film like Blow as this is as close to real life as you can get, and is not some glorified punked out Hollywood parable on the evils of drugs.

Andrew Kennedy