If Sleuth isn't the best thriller ever made, I'm sure it's at least the funniest, smartest and best acted. With a very small cast, of which Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine are the main protagonists, perfectly directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, using a screenplay by Anthony Shaffer (and how wasn't he nominated for an Oscar too?), and with a humorous main theme provided by John Addison, Sleuth succeeds in becoming one of the most perfect thrillers in cinema's history.
Milo Tindle (Caine) travels to Andrew Wyke's mansion to discuss the affair he's having with Wyke's wife. Wyke (Olivier) is a famous author of detective novels and he lives a fantasy life in a fantasy house populated by mechanical toys (or automata, as he calls them), puzzles, parlor games, his awards (an Edgar Allan Poe Award no less!), and other jovial objects that show what an eccentric and inventive person Wyke is.
The art direction in this movie is one of the best I've ever seen in a movie. If the purpose of art direction is to fill the movie with those objects that give depth and authenticity to the movie even if they're not part of the story, to recreate worlds that suit the characters, to express themes, then the art direction in this movie is spot on. One look at Wyke's living room and all one needs to know about him comes instantly. Furthermore, this is one of the rare movies where the art direction plays a very large role, as the objects around them are used, abused, referred to - they pretty much become another character, and I'm sure the people in charge of it had a lot of fun during the movie.
So Milo wants to marry Wyke's wife. Wyke isn't much too bothered but he wonders how Milo, a humble hairdresser, expects to support a woman used to luxuries. Wyke proposes a plan that'll suit both: Milo steals the jewels in the mansion's safe, sells them and gets rich; Wyke, who's insured the jewels, merely has to collect the insurance money. It's perfect and harmless. Wyke has everything planned and instructs Milo in every step of the plan. It all seems perfect until Wyke does something unexpected and the movie reaches the first of its many twists. From here on the movie becomes unpredictable, but never loses its wit and humor.
In the end, the movie uses the thriller to explore questions about class difference, as Milo and Wyke represent two different worlds: Milo, descendant of Italian immigrants and a working-class man, and the aristocratic Wyke. Their confrontation goes beyond women, for Wyke it's an attack on his persona and all he represents as a member of a dying breed of people who can't stand people like Milo rising above their humble conditions.
The confrontation between Olivier and Caine is unforgettable. Watching these two giants of cinema trying to upstage each other on screen is one of those experiences we seldom see in cinema. It may have to do with the fact that the movie is based on a play, making it quite theatrical. The dialogue is intelligent and verbose - I'm constantly surprised by Wyke's wide vocabulary.
The movie is also quite artificial, in the best sense. Sleuth, for me, represents the purpose of cinema as an art form: not as a dull representation of reality (like those pseudo-documentaries that pass off as movies these days - The Hurt Locker, for instance - which by being so impartial and documentary have nothing to say about anything at all), but as a space to extrapolate, to let imagination run wild, to create situations that wouldn't happen in real life but nevertheless shed insight into human existence. Watching Sleuth today, one sees how insignificant and monotonous cinema has become, which only makes jewels like Sleuth the more important.
Milo Tindle (Caine) travels to Andrew Wyke's mansion to discuss the affair he's having with Wyke's wife. Wyke (Olivier) is a famous author of detective novels and he lives a fantasy life in a fantasy house populated by mechanical toys (or automata, as he calls them), puzzles, parlor games, his awards (an Edgar Allan Poe Award no less!), and other jovial objects that show what an eccentric and inventive person Wyke is.
The art direction in this movie is one of the best I've ever seen in a movie. If the purpose of art direction is to fill the movie with those objects that give depth and authenticity to the movie even if they're not part of the story, to recreate worlds that suit the characters, to express themes, then the art direction in this movie is spot on. One look at Wyke's living room and all one needs to know about him comes instantly. Furthermore, this is one of the rare movies where the art direction plays a very large role, as the objects around them are used, abused, referred to - they pretty much become another character, and I'm sure the people in charge of it had a lot of fun during the movie.
So Milo wants to marry Wyke's wife. Wyke isn't much too bothered but he wonders how Milo, a humble hairdresser, expects to support a woman used to luxuries. Wyke proposes a plan that'll suit both: Milo steals the jewels in the mansion's safe, sells them and gets rich; Wyke, who's insured the jewels, merely has to collect the insurance money. It's perfect and harmless. Wyke has everything planned and instructs Milo in every step of the plan. It all seems perfect until Wyke does something unexpected and the movie reaches the first of its many twists. From here on the movie becomes unpredictable, but never loses its wit and humor.
In the end, the movie uses the thriller to explore questions about class difference, as Milo and Wyke represent two different worlds: Milo, descendant of Italian immigrants and a working-class man, and the aristocratic Wyke. Their confrontation goes beyond women, for Wyke it's an attack on his persona and all he represents as a member of a dying breed of people who can't stand people like Milo rising above their humble conditions.
The confrontation between Olivier and Caine is unforgettable. Watching these two giants of cinema trying to upstage each other on screen is one of those experiences we seldom see in cinema. It may have to do with the fact that the movie is based on a play, making it quite theatrical. The dialogue is intelligent and verbose - I'm constantly surprised by Wyke's wide vocabulary.
The movie is also quite artificial, in the best sense. Sleuth, for me, represents the purpose of cinema as an art form: not as a dull representation of reality (like those pseudo-documentaries that pass off as movies these days - The Hurt Locker, for instance - which by being so impartial and documentary have nothing to say about anything at all), but as a space to extrapolate, to let imagination run wild, to create situations that wouldn't happen in real life but nevertheless shed insight into human existence. Watching Sleuth today, one sees how insignificant and monotonous cinema has become, which only makes jewels like Sleuth the more important.