‘Revolver’

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In the immortal words of Bette Davis, "What a dump!"

The inimitable Ms. Davis’ restless character was referring to her less-than-posh "After the Forest" abode.

In "Revolver’s" case, however, the phrase applies not only to the movie’s cinematic value (or lack thereof) but to its long-delayed arrival.

Hollywood studios and independent distributors alike treat January as a cinematic dumping ground, unleashing movies suffering from an epic lack of want-to-see.

Now that I’ve seen "Revolver," I understand why.

After a decidedly underwhelming debut at the 2005 Toronto film festival (and no, 2005 is not a typographical error), "Revolver" finally started showing up at U.S. theaters late last year, 10 minutes shorter and packing less-than-enthusiastic reviews (to say nothing of a different ending) from a previous British release.

Yet playing mix-and-match while trying to keep track of "Revolver’s" different incarnations sounds a lot more intriguing than watching what’s on the screen.

More’s the pity, because writer-director Guy Ritchie used to be good for a bloody good time at the movies.

Before he became Mr. Madonna, Ritchie specialized in cheeky crime romps notable for their outlandish characters, comedic violence and sly, in-your-face style.

"Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels" (1998) and "Snatch" (2000) weren’t exactly deep, but at least they were lively.

After collaborating with Madonna on a disastrous 2002 remake of "Swept Away," Lina Wertmuller’s 1974 classic of class (and sexual) politics, Ritchie obviously decided to get back to where he once belonged.

Good idea. Bad execution.

Not content to return to the realm of nasty fun he once roamed with such style, Ritchie seems compelled to weigh "Revolver" down with all sorts of psychological baggage.

Maybe it’s being married to Madonna and into Kabbalah. Maybe it’s collaborating with France’s Luc Besson ("The Professional," "La Femme Nikita"), credited here as co-producer and screenplay "adapter." After all, Besson’s another filmmaker with impeccable style-over-substance credentials.

Whatever the explanation, "Revolver" starts out in murky territory — and proceeds to get even more portentous, and pretentious, with every superstylized frame.

In the process, "Revolver" drags down lean-and-mean action man Jason Statham, a Ritchie regular who’s reduced to wandering around the movie, wondering what the devil’s going on.

We feel your pain, pal.

An unusually shaggy (and even more unusually talky) Statham plays Jake Green, who’s just been released from the slammer following seven years in solitary confinement, where he occupied a cell bookended by those occupied by a master con artist and a master chess player. (He never sees or speaks with these neighbors, but manages to learn their secrets from the notes they share in prison library books.)

Upon his release, Green determines to get back at a tan-tastic casino boss (stuck-in-overdrive Ray Liotta) who’s done him wrong.

Green proceeds to beat Macha at his own game — at his own casino — and walks away with a massive jackpot. Which in turn prompts Macha to instruct his underlings that he wants Green dead, dead, dead.

But Sorter ("Stardust’s" compelling Mark Strong), the usually infallible professional assassin Macha hires for the job, inexplicably bungles the hit.

Maybe it has something to do with the mysterious figures — hulking Zach (Vincent Pastore, alias "The Sopranos’ " Vincent "Big Pussy" Pastore) and smooth Avi (André "3000" Benjamin) — who pop up and rescue Green, convince him he’s only got a few days to live, and make him an offer he dares not refuse. Namely, join their loan-sharking operation and bankroll it with the money he won from Macha.

So far, so OK, given Ritchie’s penchant for intricate puzzle-box plotting and flashy, in-your-face twists. We trust all will be revealed in good time.

But as "Revolver" rolls on — and on and on and on — it becomes painfully apparent that Ritchie’s firing blanks.

Characters come and go in this misfire as if Ritchie were speed-clicking through their MySpace pages. Look! There’s Asian crime kingpin Lord John (Tom Wu)! And what’s Edna Mode from "The Incredibles" doing here? Wait — it’s not Edna Mode, it’s the enigmatic Lily Walker (Francesca Annis), who seems to work for the even more shadowy (and conveniently unseen) Mr. Gold, who seems to be spinning the spider web ensnaring everyone else.

Assuming, of course, that Mr. Gold exists — somewhere other than Mr. Green’s extremely overheated imagination.

Despite the general torpor, sporadic scenes fizz with snap-crackle-pop flair, proving Ritchie hasn’t entirely lost his visual punch and sense of pacing. That’s especially true of a strikingly violent sequence that shifts between live-action and animé. It doesn’t make much sense, naturally. (Nothing in "Revolver" does.) But it looks cool enough.

And it’s certainly better than watching Green and Avi play endless games of chess while trading endless existential pronouncements on the chess game, or con game, of life.

After "Revolver" slogs to its fortunately inevitable (but sadly drawn out) conclusion, a panel of experts, including Deepak Chopra, share their Deep (Deepak?) Thoughts on What It All Means.

By that point, you probably won’t care.

Except perhaps to note that, at long last, "Revolver" has finally stopped spinning.

Contact movie critic Carol Cling at ccling@reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0272.