Out Of Luck: Colin Farrell Can’t Save This Tale Of A Gambler Gone Bust
Is Edward Berger hard of hearing? That might be the first question you ask upon finishing the thunderous Ballad of a Small Player. While the director of the Oscar-winning All Quiet On The Western Front and Conclave has made no secret of his tendencies toward speaker pushing operatics, this neon-soaked noir is easily his most concussive offering yet. However, all the decibels in the world can’t hide the fact that this tale of a gambler tumbling through purgatory is holding one dud of a hand.
Lord Doyle (Colin Farrell) is flat broke. Macau isn’t the easiest place in the world to get by with no money, especially if you make your living inside its numerous casinos. Doyle has maxed out his credit with anybody who’ll lend him a dollar. He’s got an invoice a mile long at the luxury hotel where he’s staying, and the currency of his charm is wearing off any friends he once had. Even worse, a dowdy private investigator (Tilda Swinton) is on his tail. It seems there’s a little matter of his theft of an old lady’s sizable fortune that needs clearing up.
The situation is far from ideal for a man of appetites like Doyle. His impeccable and expensive suits are pops of primary colors, and his hotel room is a mess of room service trays. Doyle doesn’t just eat meals, he devours them, as if the expensive champagne and caviar adds to the total of his bank account once it reaches his belly. It seems the good times are over, until an unlikely helping hand in casino hostess Dao Ming (a wonderful Fala Chen) takes pity on the foreigner with a losing streak.
Ostensibly, the script by Rowan Joffe, based on the novel by Lawrence Osborne, is about Doyle’s attempt to scare up the money he owes around town all while keeping himself out of the clutches of the law. It is that, but by way of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas in style. Set during the Festival of the Hungry Ghost (metaphor alert!), Doyle’s journey is a humid fever dream where the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred, allowing Berger to indulge in aesthetic extremities in the hopes that style will offer some substance.
The director’s regular collaborator, composer Volker Bertellmann, delivers a pounding score turned up to a volume to such a degree it would even make Christopher Nolan wince. The sound design is equally oppressive, with every detail from Doyle’s squeaking shoes and to the burning of a cigar, nauseatingly high in the mix. Cinematographer James Friend turns Macau into a blinding backdrop of endless luxury, save for the occasional detours that Doyle and Dao Ming take away from the casinos. In every single way, Ballad of a Small Player is the loudest movie of the year.
The picture dials itself up to such a high that, inevitably, it has trouble coming down. It quickly becomes apparent that Doyle’s quest, guided by a nearly omnipresent Farrell and his tiny moustache, will choose a tidy ending over something as messy as the man himself. The lean toward a redemptive and moral resolution robs Doyle of his complexity. A gambler as inveterate as he is would likely believe he’s back on top, not at the end of a particular road. Or, to put it another way: Macau might be done with Doyle, but places like Monte Carlo are waiting for his return.
It seems doubtful that Ballad of Small Player will serve as a third straight return to the Academy Awards for Berger. However, it does firmly establish the filmmaker as perhaps the finest purveyor of reliably high gloss pulp. But even as far as low stakes bets go, the film only offers a very modest payout.
Reviewed on September 9th, at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival (50th edition) – Special Presentations. 101 Mins.
★★/☆☆☆☆☆
