AGNES BROWNE

"Although I haven't read the book, the film suggests that the book is a colourful and involving read, resonant with character and place. These very qualities are the attractions for people like Huston (and the rest of the talented team) but the film result looks a bit like a marvellous workshop for actors and director. Don't get me wrong, it isn't that self indulgent, but it isn't that well structured, and perhaps Huston is too 'big' for the Agnes character. Ray Winstone's nasty loan shark is a bit overdone, although he does it with his usual inherent nastiness. (I bet he's a real pussy cat at home.) But there are lots of enjoyable moments, shards of Irish humour, shrapnels of painful smiles and splendid cinematography with production design to match. Then there is Arno Chevrier's younger Gerard Depardieu-like persona, and the superbly directed children, all of which make Agnes Browne a pleasure, if not overwhelmingly satisfying as a story."
Andrew L. Urban

"A mistake in every way, beginning with the disastrous decision of director Anjelica Huston to cast herself in a role that appears to call for someone like Brenda Blethyn. Huston’s theatrical good looks have doomed her to a decade of playing stylish fairy-tale monsters – witches, ghouls, evil stepmothers – so you can see why she might want a change of pace. But even when she’s meant to be a dowdy working-class housewife, she’s clearly far more glamorous and commanding than anyone else on screen. (As if to accentuate this effect, she’s surrounded herself with ordinary-faced, dumpy middle-aged women; alongside them she looks more than ever like an alien visitor from Planet Hollywood.) Perhaps no-one could have made any sense out of this character, who’s less a person than a composite of audience-pleasing traits. Agnes Browne is innocently foulmouthed one moment, stern and prudish the next; she’s meant to embody the battling qualities of the Irish people, yet much of the time (especially in the early scenes) she’s vacant to the point of seeming mentally disabled. Overall, the writing is incredibly crude – the villains of the piece, the moneylender Mr Billy and his assistant, are so mean they like to torture widows and beat up little kids. To call this stuff ‘melodramatic’ would be an insult to 19th-century melodrama. Most of it is borrowed from more recent sources – the earthy ‘chick flick’ humour, the vignettes of Irish poverty left over from Angela’s Ashes, the obligatory touch of tragedy at the last minute. At the end, when an obviously present-day Tom Jones walks into a scene that’s meant to be happening in 1967, the whole wobbly scenario collapses round him; you expect him to turn towards the audience, grin, wink, and switch off the lights."
Jake Wilson