Directed by Michael Grandage, nowadays “My Policeeman” begins with older versions of these characters: Tom (Linus Roache) and Marion (Gina McKee), now retired, living in a seaside town as they pursue suggestions from their milkshake marriage. Their steady march toward quitting—which Tom pauses whenever he visits the sea with their dog—is interrupted by the arrival of their now estranged old friend Patrick (Robert Everett). Guilt-ridden Marion volunteered to take care of him after a debilitating stroke left him nearly bedridden. While Marion is ready to bury the proverbial hatchet, Tom refuses to see the man his wife says they owe so much to him because he “knew [them] How do you see art?
The pain that Patrick caused to the couple is what a “policeman” hopes to tell us. However, the way you tell us, and what you think we hope to gain from this story, comes with a bit of flair and even less self-awareness.
Past a sunny beach in 1950s Britain, where Marion (Corin) sees smashed Tom (Styles sure don’t lack in the looks department) running across the sand. Teach her to swim. Soon the pair start dating. Humble and working class, Tom is the opposite of an educated, arts-focused Emma. This is why Tom goes to such lengths to read about paintings. The two eventually meet Patrick (David Dawson), a curator who knows Tom from being a witness in one of his cases. The trio became inseparable. It even looks like Patrick might be attracted to Emma, and she’s attracted to him. That is, until we find out that Tom and Patrick are in a closed sexual relationship.
The messy triangle formed by these two competing relationships is meant to denote the tension and sympathy of a hopeless romantic woman who is apparently the victim of two men, who are also victims of the country’s homophobic laws. However, we found this trio doesn’t fit into the easy boxes: Tom demands law and order; Emma is homophobic. And Patrick is their friend somehow. This mystery would provide exciting drama if any of these actors possessed an iota of chemistry with the other. It doesn’t help that Grandage, by his blocking and cover-up, and editor Chris Dickens (“Slumdog Millionaire”) do their best to hide Styles’ shortcomings. His physical understanding of personality lacks specificity; hand over monotonous plan; It does not accentuate the attractiveness. There is no inner charm or magic in anything he does. Even his sexual viewing — where Grunge rubs bare skin and complains of passion — is bite-free.