Flaws and all, Jonathan Demme's ambitious remake of the classic 1962 thriller The Manchurian Candidate at least has political urgency, charged by an impassioned, up-to-the-minute indictment of corporate influence in Washington. But most remakes, particularly of foreign-language films, are merely popularizations, and the carbon copies generally look blotchy when compared to the originals. Plenty of talented people, including co-writer Steven Soderbergh (as Sam Lowry) and a cast of indie heroes, have conspired for an American version of 2000's Nine Queens, a mediocre Argentinean con-game movie that anticipated that country's economic collapse. Yet no thought has been invested in reinvigorating the material or bringing contemporary relevancy to its sub-Mamet smoke and mirrors. With its appropriately minimalist title, Criminal recalls last year's similarly mechanical Confidence, as it packages its no-frills chicanery in plain brown-paper wrapping.
Reversing the pupil-mentor relationship he shared with Philip Baker Hall in Hard Eight, John C. Reilly plays the seasoned sharp to Diego Luna's small-time grifter, but the two never connect beyond the strictly professional level. When Reilly notices Luna flubbing a cheap scam at a Los Angeles bar, his paternal instincts get the better of him and he takes the young greenhorn under his wing. Honor among thieves doesn't mean much to con artists, especially new partners, but Reilly and Luna establish a tenuous trust on a series of minor scores. Their afternoon culminates in a big opportunity to sell a coveted piece of U.S. currency to media mogul Peter Mullan, but several new players want in on the take, including Reilly's sister Maggie Gyllenhaal, a hotel concierge who helps broker the deal.
Remarkably, the one minor difference between Nine Queens and Criminal—the change from a rare stamp to a rare bill—might have benefited the Argentinean film, given the irony of crooks fighting over currency in an economy suffering from runaway inflation. But here, it's no more meaningful than a bag of solid-gold burritos. First-timer Gregory Jacobs, Soderbergh's longstanding assistant director, aims for the lean-and-mean efficiency of Ocean's Eleven, but only lays bare the confused plotting of his source material. The storytelling obstacles are admittedly formidable: How does a con con a con? In both films, the movie requires its characters to answer the question by orchestrating a sequence of events with variables that are impossible to anticipate, and not much easier for viewers to decipher. Without any glimmers of depth or subtext, it's even harder to care.