Tom Hardy really dodged a bullet with this one. The actor’s new biopic “Capone” skipped its theatrical release due to the coronavirus pandemic and, as a result, few people seem to know it exists. Lucky for Hardy, because he makes the worst Al Capone ever.
For those of you who thought Al Pacino yukked it up too much as Jimmy Hoffa in “The Irishman,” get ready for this ham dinner.
To play the Prohibition-era mob legend, Hardy is made up to look like one of the guys whose flesh melts off in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” An exhumed cadaver who talks too much, he snarls from the throat as though he’s about to hurl and, as is typical of this actor, you can’t understand a single word he says.
Writer-director Josh Trank’s (“Fantastic Four.” Oy.) movie does not depict the boss in his prime, or even give us much background on who he is. There is no relocating from Brooklyn to Chicago, and no St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. In fact, “Capone” takes place in Palm Island, Fla., during his final months holed up in a mansion, succumbing to dementia and syphilis at the ripe old age of 48.
Hardy would seem to think this is his “King Lear” moment — a seismic opportunity to play a once-powerful patriarch whose mind is unraveling — so he spends two hours shouting indiscriminately at everybody. His bowels let loose in two scenes, upsetting his poor wife played by Linda Cardellini. In one of those, we get to see the mess on white linens, covered in flies. Such moments reveal one of quarantine’s most useful tools for a movie-lover: the remote control.
“Final days” flicks are always a gamble, because we all know the ending. To keep things interesting, you gotta shake it up by having Jesus sing a rock song (“Jesus Christ Superstar”) or saving Sharon Tate’s life (“Once Upon a Time In … Hollywood”). Here, Trank uses hazy, confusing hallucinations of past killings to break up all the sitting-outside-in-Florida parts. But they’re as dull as the rest of it. There is also a possible $10 million hidden treasure and an FBI investigation, but that plot goes nowhere.
I can’t believe I’m defending “Gotti,” but at least John Travolta gave us the Dapper Don’s greatest hits.