Set the time and the place as 1934 in the West End of London, then drop in Ian McKellen as the veteran theatre critic of a national newspaper, infamous for his fantastically acerbic reviews, and you can pretty much sit back and let it play out like a pianola. Which it does, but then he's told by the new editor to tone it down, not only the personal attacks in the reviews but his riotous nightlife of drinking and encounters with rentboys, and he reluctantly does so, forming a relationship of sorts with a young starlet who has been a particular target for his barbs. Old leopards will not change their spots, though, and so he exploits the relationship to his own vengeful ends.
It does look great, all sumptuous period interiors and exaggeratedly misty streets, and there's a good cast around the eloquently misanthropic McKellen, but takes an unwise misturn when it wanders out of the theatre and becomes a more standard thriller. Hence a diverting production, but not quite a properly tuned one.
6/10