Despite the bests efforts of the usually reliable, if hardly versatile, Tom Bell to rescue this pedestrian story of London’s most infamous gangsters, this really doesn’t light any touch papers. Perhaps because neither Martin nor Gary Kemp are much good as actors, nor do either of them exude any sense of menace as this rather tepid biopic trundles along for two hours. “Reggie” (Martin) and gay brother “Ronnie” (Gary) are determined to impress their mother (the underused Billie Whitelaw) with a criminal enterprise that was able to thrive as the city and the country strove to recover from the Second World War. What does work here is the exposure of the sub-culture of criminality that prevailed in what was little better than a lawless East End of London; where protection rackets, prostitution and illicit trading was rampant and where, to some extent, these two men were seen as benevolent influences amongst a community that likened them a little to Robin Hood. Indeed, it’s it’s very clumsy attempts to glamorise the violence with which they ruled the streets that might be it’s redeeming feature. The general population did not recoil from their brutal activities in anything like the fashion we might expect nowadays - but there’s nowhere near enough action of any kind here. Steven Berkoff pops up now and again but somehow his more innate characteristic of odiousness only serves to further show up the lack of that from the pristine Kemps who just looked great in their suits, but little else. Forgettable stuff, sadly.
