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The Drop. Starring Tom Hardy and James Gandolfini. Directed by Michael Roskam. Running time: 106 minutes. MPAA rating: R.

The Drop is what happens when you take a story by Dorchester crime-fiction bard Dennis Lehane, give it to a Belgian director (Michael R. Roskam in his English-language debut), and move it to Brooklyn. It retains a certain Boston Irish fatalistic undertone, and feels like a Boston story, and one wonders why it wasn't set there; certainly Roskam doesn't make much of the New York locations. Most of The Drop is filmed in a grungy bar or back alleys or people's roach-trap apartments -- it's New York seen through the dingy bottom of a beer glass. It never pulls back to give us a larger view, as the recent A Walk Among the Tombstones does. Which is not a sin, really; The Drop isn't a travelogue, it's a slice of a few people's rotten lives.

Expanding his short story "Animal Rescue" into a screenplay (which he later also novelized), Lehane isn't shy about using an abused puppy to sketch in characters: the guy who plucks the pup from the trash, Bob Saginowski (Tom Hardy), is Good, while the psycho who beat and discarded the pup, Eric Deeds (Matthias Schoenarts), is Bad. What's worse, after Bob has taken the dog, a pit bull, into his home and heart, Eric comes around demanding the dog back. Eric used to date Nadia (Noomi Rapace), who's helping Bob raise the pit bull, whom she names Rocco (Bob prefers "Mike"). It's not that Eric really cares about the dog; he just wants to drive a wedge between Bob and Nadia.

As if that weren't enough misery, Bob tends bar at a dive called Cousin Marv's, overseen by, yep, Cousin Marv (James Gandolfini in a fine swan song), who long ago ceded control of the place to a crew of vicious Chechen mobsters. The Chechens use the bar as a "drop," a place to stash money until it can safely be picked up. A couple of local doofuses stick up the bar, taking a good chunk of the Chechens' cash. This attracts the unwanted attention of the cops, represented by Detective Torres (John Ortiz), who seems to exist just to unsettle Bob by casting insinuating aspersions on his Catholicism. (Another holdover from Boston.)

There's more; the plot thickens, perhaps unnecessarily, filling out Cousin Marv's relevance to the story in a way that doesn't especially help the story. I was with it, though, as a damp and depressing city fable about little people who either never made it or made it once, years ago, and then lost it. It's essentially a small story that expands in meaning in one's head later on, albeit in neatly literary ways -- ah, yes, Rocco the dog is a "drop" just like the Chechens' money, and perhaps just as dangerous to try to hold onto. Animal lovers who frequent the useful website doesthedogdie.com -- "the most important movie question" -- may want to know the answer as it applies here, and I cannot reveal it, since our uncertainty about Rocco's future fuels much of the movie's suspense. I can only advise you to look up the film on that site. Given the film's darkness, you may be surprised: The dog, of a much-maligned breed, ends up being an emblem of hope.

The Drop covers most of its men in beards, and Matthias Schoenarts' facial foliage, black and bristly like a beetle's armor, wins hands down; he also gives an accompanying great performance as a loser heavily invested in maintaining a rep as the neighborhood psycho. Schoenarts comes at his scenes from a menacing angle, making us fear for Tom Hardy -- probably a rarity. Hardy does his sweet-and-tender-hooligan specialty, getting the Noo Yawk rhythm down nicely, and he plays smoothly with Rapace and with poor Gandolfini, who deserved many more years of films to which he could lend threat and gravitas as well as wounded humanity. He'll be missed. I respect The Drop and its makers most for wanting and landing Gandolfini to play a sullen, cynical man crusted over by the defeats of urban life, who nevertheless speaks wistfully of seeing Europe before he dies. The actor himself succumbed in Rome, so at least there was that.



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