This Hilarious Prime Video Caper Flips the Script on British Crime Drama
You can't move for hit British crime shows right now. Whether it's Dept. Q or Adolescence on Netflix; MobLand on Paramount Plus; or Slow Horses on Apple TV Plus (even if that one's technically more of a spy show), gritty and binge-worthy content is showing up on the best streaming services, all delivered in a vibrant array of British accents.
Deep Cover feels like a real crowd-pleaser.
Peter Mountain/Metronome Film
But a shift is happening. We're about to enter cozy-crime summer, when the genre will get an injection of lighthearted comedy, largely thanks to the much-anticipated adaptation of Richard Osman's Thursday Murder Club book series, set to land on Netflix this August.
In the meantime, Prime Video is getting in there first with Deep Cover -- an action-comedy that flips the British crime script from serious to silly in the best possible way.
In the film, which arrives on Prime Video on June 12, an unlikely trio of improv actors, all of differing skill levels, is recruited as undercover police officers and infiltrates London's underworld, theoretically to bust a drug ring. Needless to say, am-dram chaos ensues.
Bryce Dallas Howard plays a failed stand-up comic turned improv teacher who ropes her two most hapless students into the gang: a method actor with delusions of grandeur, played by Orlando Bloom, and a nervy IT office nerd, played by Nick Mohammed. Together the three, nicknaming themselves Bonnie, Roach and the Squire, fudge their way through meetings with gangland bosses, each more intimidating than the next, and somehow manage to find friendship and romance along the way.
I went to the film's premiere at SXSW London last week and came away convinced that Deep Cover should be at the top of everyone's watch list this weekend. The combination of comedy and action lands it squarely in crowd-pleaser territory, somewhere between Hot Fuzz and The Fall Guy.
Of Deep Cover's three stars, it's Mohammed who has the most established comedy chops and gets the biggest laughs (you'll likely know him best as Nathan Shelley in Ted Lasso -- the kit man who defects to become a rival coach). That's not to say Bloom, who steps somewhat out of his comfort zone in this role, and Howard don't also deliver. The chemistry between the three lead characters keeps you rooting for them long after their "yes, and..." improv approach to undercover work seems to be failing them.
The film's director, Tom Kingsley, has also worked on the Bafta-winning TV show Stath Lets Flats (available on Max), which is simultaneously the most Greek and most British piece of television you could ever hope to watch, and which I've long been convinced is a work of significant comic genius. Deep Cover has the same echoes of awkward, almost farcical humor, but with an Amazon-size budget behind it.
Still, as Kingsley explained during a Q&A following the premiere, the budget was far smaller than anyone might expect for such a production. Bringing in bona fide Hollywood stars Bloom and Johnson attracted more funding, as did Amazon hopping on board. But the film was reportedly made on something of a shoestring by Hollywood standards.
Still, it's easy to see where the injection of cash ended up. Deep Cover's action scenes are sometimes outlandishly slapstick, perfectly befitting of the three clowns at their center, and at times so graphic or high octane that they don't always jell with the overall tenor of the film. It's a minor niggle in the scheme of things, and one that shouldn't deter you.
For all its silliness and stunts, Deep Cover is ultimately a heartwarming tale about developing adult friendships at that stage in life when you might feel like the moments for such opportunities have passed.
If you're looking for something easy and fun to watch this weekend, then look no further.
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British pubs have their own set of rules. Here's what you need to know
In 1943, as American troops were dispersed around British air bases to join the Allied war effort, a short informative film, 'How to Behave in Britain', was produced. One section was dedicated to the 'dos' and 'don'ts' of a British pub, and used a roistering soldier — who tosses cash at the barmaid, hoots at a Scotsman in a kilt and brags how he and his large family enjoy steak for breakfast — to demonstrate exactly what not to do. Our young braggart ends up being disappeared in a puff of smoke, and rightly so. Over 80 years on, the British pub has changed a lot, but it still retains a number of unusual quirks for newcomers. It pays to come to the UK armed with pub sense, and so in that spirit, here is a 21st-century guide to enjoying the great British boozer. There are as many genres of pub as there are beer, and if you tried to drink your way through them all in one day, you'd have to be poured into a cab at the end of it. Here are the main categories: Wet pub: Simply put, a pub which only serves drinks, not food. Not to be confused with the White Swan in Twickenham, London, whose riverside beer garden regularly floods, leaving drinkers stranded. Historic tavern or inn: Roaring wood fires. Flagstone floors. Low-beamed ceilings. Horse brasses on the walls. A resident ghost. These pubs, some dating back many hundreds of years, are steeped in the stories of those who've drank here before, though many these days also have Wi-Fi — the best of both worlds. Gin palace: Described in an 1835 essay by Charles Dickens as 'the gay building with the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated clock, the plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, and its profusion of gas-lights in richly-gilt burners…,' many of these showy 19th century drinking emporiums are still in business today — and they serve much more than just gin. Craft beer pub: Emerging over the past couple of decades, the focus in these less orthodox establishments is on quality beer, often more varied, alcoholic and expensive than in other pubs. Brew pub/brewery tap: A concept familiar with Americans, this is a chance to sip straight from the source, often in sight of the shimmering steel equipment that has magicked up the liquid now making you feel fuzzy. Gastro pub: The Eagle in Farringdon, London was Britain's first gastropub, opening in 1991 for those 'who wanted a restaurant but couldn't afford it.' These food-forward pubs subsequently boomed in the 1990s and 2000s, and remain popular today. Sports pub: Similar in some ways to an American sports bar, British sports pubs rarely screen the NFL, but always show Premier League football. Most screens are not behind the bar, but in some awkward corner of the pub next to the toilets. Flat-roofed pub: Dodgy beer, an edgy clientele and accompanying weapon dogs are all synonymous with flat-roofed pubs — 'forbidding cubes of wood and brick that squat in the shadow of tower blocks,' as the UK's Guardian newspaper once put it. It can also be difficult to see what's going on from the outside, which some regard as tantamount to climbing into the back of a strange, unmarked van. That said, not all flat-roofed pubs are made equally, and a handful, like The Laurieston Bar in Glasgow, have become legendary. Brewery/chain pub: Not to be confused with a brewpub, these pubs operate under the ownership of a brewery or chain (including major players like Greene King, Young's, and Craft Union). Though some of these establishments are pleasant enough, they can lack beer choice. I have seen four identical beer pumps lined up next to one another, all pouring the same pedestrian ale. Freehouse: The landlords/ladies here aren't tied to a brewery contract, and can therefore serve whatever they like. There's usually a good beer selection because of it. Micropub: The micropub trend — that is, pint-sized independent pubs with excellent beer and spartan interiors — started with The Butcher's Arms in Herne, Kent in 2005, and has since swept the country, particularly southeast England. They may tell you off for taking a phone call, but they will also give you free cheese on a Sunday. Wetherspoon: A genre of pub unto itself. The pub sign — found swinging from the front of most establishments — dates to a time when few drinkers were literate, and would instead be drawn towards a colorful illustration, promising liquid treasures inside. Most today bear an image, along with the name. Common branding includes The Red Lion, The Royal Oak and The King's Arms, but more peculiar names have real cachet — think The Bucket of Blood, The Pyrotechnists Arms, Dirty Dick's, The Frog and Rhubarb, and I Am The Only Running Footman. Also look out for scores of Moon Under Waters (see Wetherpoon, above). If you're ordering drinks, and drinks alone, go up to the bar. Though handheld menus do exist, they're not used all that much; a board behind the bar will advise you which beers are pouring, and you can also squint at the labels on the hand pumps (more of which later). If it's a beer you're unfamiliar with, a good bar person will offer you a free taster. Though Britain was built on queuing, the pub is one setting where standing in line is not how it's done. Getting served — especially at a busy bar — involves gradually easing yourself towards the front. Once you're within touching distance of the bar, you must win the attention of whoever's on the other side of it, being neither too meek (a gentle smile and nod works well) or too bold (wave a credit card in the air, and you'll be waiting all night). It's the perfect balancing act, and one of the Brits' best-loved pastimes. In friendlier pubs, customers will kindly point out who's been waiting the longest. However, since Covid (when table service in pubs was mandatory), certain younger drinkers have started forming orderly queues. 'This attempt at politeness is actually causing chaos at bars across the country,' fretted The Independent in 2024. If you're in a group of friends, the traditional way to buy drinks is in a 'round' — namely taking it in turns to buy everyone else's drinks. Get the first round in, and you can relax and enjoy the rest of the session. That is, unless the round circles back to you, just when everyone is hitting the expensive whiskey. That's a chance you'll have to take. Cards are accepted in pretty much all pubs. Most pubs still take cash, too. I know of one small pub in the Surrey countryside which accepts Bitcoin. 'If you like beer, you'd better like it warm,' informs 'How to Behave in Britain'. But the 'warm beer' slur is a misnomer. The average pub now serves chilled lagers, pale ales and stouts (often Guinness, which has an entire pouring ritual of its own). As for 'real ales' — that is, traditional cask British ale taking the form of various bitters, pales, IPAs, stouts and milds — this should be served at cellar temperature. If your ale is genuinely warm, either there's something wrong with it, or you're sitting too close to the fire. Just like the pubs themselves, these beers revel in ridiculous names: Bishop's Finger, Release the Quacken, Old Peculiar, Pigswill. Beer in Britain — whether an icy Danish lager or a robust porter from Durham — is traditionally served in a pint glass. Unlike in America, all pints in the UK are the same measurement of liquid: an imperial pint (20 fluid ounces). This measurement is taken very seriously, with CAMRA (Campaign For Real Ale) even lobbying the British Government to enshrine in law beer drinkers' right to receive a full pint, foam excluded. Most pint glasses are straight-sided but traditional beer drinkers sometimes request their beer to be served a 'jug' (a confusing term as it's not a jug, but a handled glass mug with miniature windows). You'll only encounter the infamous 'yard of ale' in exceptional circumstances, but it is not entirely mythical. Conversely if you're taking it slow, it's not uncommon to order beer in a half pint. The great Rick Steves once wrote in a guide book that 'it's almost feminine for a man to order just a half,' but that was a while ago now. (Steves also said he orders quiche with his beer, and I have literally never seen a slice of quiche served in a pub.) Craft beer establishments will often also serve in two-third and one-third pint measures, a relatively new concept that has some die-hard pint swiggers muttering into their bitter. If you're a real local, you may have your own special mug hanging behind the bar, possibly crafted from pewter. If so, you're probably also in line to have a bronze plaque installed on your favorite chair/table after you go to that Great Pub in the Sky. You may also be the pub bore, more of which imminently. Gin and tonic: A summery classic, born of colonial settlers lauding it up in India, who drank the tonic for the quinine in order to stave off malaria. Rum and Coke: The sugary elixir once favoured by The Beatles. House wine: For the thriftiest wine option, order the 'house red,' 'house white' or 'house rosé,' and pray that it's tolerable. Cider/perry: Always alcoholic, this fermented apple/pear juice has been quaffed in industrial quantities by farmers and laborers for centuries, and is a popular summer drink among Brits. If your host starts pouring it from a cardboard box, don't panic: It will taste far better than the sparkling cider coming from the taps. Lime and soda/blackcurrant and soda: A traditional non-alcoholic option. Some pubs will only charge you around 50p for a glass; other, less scrupulous, ones will make you pay nigh-on the price of a beer. If in doubt, enquire first. Tipping: With table service reserved for food, and bar tabs a rarity, tipping isn't common in British pubs. If you've especially enjoyed the hospitality, you can always say 'Have one for yourself' to the bar person, to which they'll add on the price of another drink to the round. Sharing a table: While some drinkers like to keep themselves to themselves, it's normal to share larger tables with whoever else is sitting there. At friendlier pubs — especially micropubs — you may well get talking to your new neighbor. The topic of conversation will involve the weather, sports and — after a couple of drinks — politics. However, if you're foreign to these parts, you've already got your icebreaker. The pub bore: Like every American bar, each British pub has its own barfly, or 'pub bore,' who will lecture you ad nauseum about everything they know to be true, while taking little interest in your own attempts at contributing to the conversation. Avoid being sucked in where possible, and never get into a round. Splitting the bag: If enjoying snacks, it's customary to split open the bag, and share the contents with your table. Speaking of which… Salty crisps and nuts have kept many a drinking session going far longer than it should have. Crisps, i.e. chips, are a staple, with Britain producing a new flavor every few minutes. Still, the all-time crisp classics are considered to be: ready salted, salt & vinegar and cheese & onion. You can read more about the history of crisps here. Pork scratchings — crunchy, salt-cured chunks of pork fat — are found in most pubs. You will either fall in love with them, or spend the rest of your life apologizing to pigs whenever you see them. Either way, be advised that they can shatter your teeth (pork scratchings that is, not pigs). One level up is the pork pie (a lump of cold pork meat wrapped in gelatin and pastry, and served with eye-watering English mustard), and the Scotch egg, which reached its culinary zenith in 2016 when Anthony Bourdain shared one of these mincemeat-encased delicacies with Nigella Lawson. All sorts of 'pub grub' is available these days, classics including steak & ale pie, scampi, lasagne, and hunter's chicken. (Fish and chips is NEVER as good in a pub as it is from a fish and chip shop.) The holy grail of pub food is the Sunday roast, or roast dinner, served specifically on that one day of that week, and consisting of roasted meats, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, stuffing and a medley of veg. While many pub Sunday roasts are sub-par, when you find a decent one, everything is well with the world. 'Pub' is shorthand for 'public house,' and the best establishments feel like an extension of your own front room. The number one pastime in a pub is catching up with friends; which usually involves moaning about work/the weather/the friends who didn't come to the pub. Watching sports (football, rugby, cricket, snooker, darts) is a major draw too. Other pub entertainment includes: Reading the paper: Many pubs used to lay on a stack of papers for customers to get stuck into, although many pub goers now read the 'paper' on their phone. Pub quiz: A stalwart of the midweek pub experience, the pub quiz is an opportunity for you and accomplices to show off your (lack of) general knowledge, with the chance to win a £50 bar tab. As with pub/beer names, the most ludicrous pub quiz team name is also considered to be the best — even if you come last in the quiz, you'll be the heroes of the evening. Darts: The modern game of throwing small arrows into a circular board was formalised in a pub in west London in 1926. It's currently enjoying a renaissance, thanks to darts superstars like Luke Littler and Fallon Sherrock. Pool: Just as in the States, shooting pool is a popular bar in Britain. It's unusual to see a snooker table in a pub, and if you see a billiards table, you may have walked into a stately home by mistake. The antiquated game of bar billiards, on the other hand, can still be found in a select few pubs, although — *whisper it* — the game has Russian origins. Board games: Chess, Cluedo and Monopoly are among the favorites to be mulled over during a rainy Sunday afternoon. Jukebox: Channeling the spirit of 1950s American diners, some older British pubs pride themselves on their jukebox — an opportunity to foist your musical choice on everyone within listening distance. Many jukeboxes now are digital, though occasionally you'll find the real McCoy. Though British bars and restaurants rarely excel at continental style al fresco drinking and dining, a number of pubs are blessed with a pub garden. These are often hidden around the back; sometimes pubs will proclaim in bold lettering from the front: 'SECRET GARDEN.' British weather, naturally, does everything in its power to diminish the magic of the pub garden, although this doesn't stop the average Brit sitting outside and shivering into their pint, because even though it's blowing a moderate gale, it's July, and they know their rights. Up until 1988, pubs were required to close between 3.30 p.m. and 5 p.m., meaning there were one and a half hours in the afternoon where locals might be seen drifting around the village in a zombie-like state, occasionally pawing at the pub windows. This is rarely the case now. Though individual pub opening times vary, they tend to be from around midday to 11 p.m. A small bell is clanged (sometimes with almost too much fervour, by an exhausted publican), to warn you when to get your last drink in. There is then a mad rush to get in a valedictory pint, and drink it before the bell tolls a second time. This signals it's time to leave, or as the famous soap opera landlady Peggy Mitchell would say, 'get outta my pub'. On 'non school nights' (that is, Fridays and Saturdays), it's not unusual to give into primal instincts, and go in search of meat. If it's earlier in the night, a curry is often voted for. If last orders have been rung at the pub and the curry houses are shut, it's commonplace to order a takeout doner kebab: lengths of greasy lamb meat anointed with garlic and spicy chili sauce, which will make you regret everything the next morning all that much more. Will Noble is the editor of Londonist, which has its own London pub database.
Yahoo
2 hours ago
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‘Tow' Review: Rose Byrne's Committed Performance Grounds a Compassionate Portrait of Homelessness
A phrase that Amanda Ogle, the no-nonsense protagonist played by Rose Byrne in Stephanie Laing's touching film Tow, hears a lot is 'people like you.' Strangers reach for it when referring to her situation as an unhoused woman in Seattle, Washington, living in her car. Social services workers — or anyone tasked with helping her — use it to preface their shock at her determination. Passers-by, assuming she is down on her luck, deploy it like a compliment, as if Amanda's intrepidness in the face of bureaucratic systems and run-of-the-mill social indifference is a testament to her personality rather than a necessary response to state failure. Amanda has a particularly hard time stomaching this phrase when her car — a 1991 Blue Toyota Camry — gets towed. Employees of this large auto company hauled her car, which was stolen while she was interviewing for a job at a high-end pet salon, without a second thought about its value. In addition to living in the vehicle, Amanda needs the car to get the gig. When asked if she could pick up clients' dogs, she, eager to get back on her feet and put her veterinary tech license to use, said yes. So it's more than an inconvenience when Amanda walks out of the salon to find her car missing. More from The Hollywood Reporter 'Deep Cover' Review: Bryce Dallas Howard and Orlando Bloom Play Improv Actors Working an Undercover Police Sting in a Winningly Silly Comedy 'It's Dorothy!' Review: 'Wizard of Oz' Protagonist Gets a Deep-Dive Cultural Analysis in Wide-Ranging if Overstuffed Appreciation 'Surviving Ohio State' Review: HBO's Sexual Abuse Doc Is Thorough and Persuasive, but Lacks a New Smoking Gun Premiering at Tribeca, Tow follows Amanda as she spends more than a year trying to get her car back from a tow yard. The film is inspired by the real story of an unhoused Seattle woman who fought an impressive legal battle against a tow company in order to get her vehicle back and clear an outrageous bill. Laing's compassionate adaptation of the story details Amanda's life before the tow-company nightmare and chronicles how the Seattle resident survives the city while navigating this taxing clash. Similar to Harris Dickinson's stirring Cannes debut Urchin, Tow spotlights issues around homelessness and addiction with empathy, a grounded realism and a touch of humor. Working from a screenplay by Jonathan Keasey, Brant Boivin and Annie Weisman, Laing (Family Squares, Irreplaceable You) opens Tow with a statistic about vehicular residents across the country: The number of people who live in their cars falls somewhere between 1 and 3 million people. When we meet Amanda, she's floundering in an already bad job interview. When the employer asks why Amanda has a vet tech license but no college degree, she becomes deflated. The interview ends with no job. Laing steadily shepherds viewers through glimpses of Amanda's life: We see her charging her phone in various establishments, texting her teenage daughter Avery (Elsie Fisher) and figuring out where she can park her car and get a good night's rest. That last task proves to be the most challenging, and the scene of Amanda being harassed by neighborhood patrol reminded me of moments in Patrick Fealey's harrowing account of being unhoused in America, which the writer published last year in Esquire magazine. His and Amanda's experiences underscore how expensive it is to be poor in the U.S. After reporting her missing vehicle to the unhelpful officers at the local precinct, Amanda finally locates her Camry in a tow yard. She begs the attendant (Simon Rex) to release the vehicle, but he, with a touch of shame, admits he doesn't have the authority to do so. So Amanda, whom Byrne plays with a spunky persistence (think Frances McDormand in Nomadland with more perk), decides to go after the corporation that owns the tow yard. Her story adopts the contours, and possesses the easy-to-root for energy, of all David vs. Goliath stories. In a small claims court, Amanda decides to represent herself, and her stirring testimony — plus the failure of the tow company's legal counsel to show up — persuades the presiding judge to grant her a court order to retrieve the vehicle. The only problem is that her car is no longer in the yard; having been moved through the system, it is on its way to an auction and then likely a junkyard. Amanda doesn't give up, though. She finds a church shelter run by a steely woman named Barb (Octavia Spencer) and enlists the help of Kevin (The Holdovers' Dominic Sessa), a rookie lawyer propelled by an endearing if clumsy idealism. He takes over her case by helping her file claims with the superior courts. At the shelter, Amanda forms genuine friendships with other unhoused people like Nova (Demi Lovato), a pregnant mother, and Denise (Ariana DeBose), a recovering addict whose cutting remarks and humor mask the pain of losing custody of her children. They help Amanda navigate her own alcohol dependency as well as the challenges in her relationship with her daughter. Laing doesn't opt exclusively for documentary-style realism like Dickinson does in Urchin. Tow leans into the natural comedy that arises from elements of Amanda's situation without glamorizing the plight of the downtrodden. The score, composed by Este Haim (one third of the band Haim) and Nathan Barr (Salem's Lot, The Diplomat), highlights the more whimsical moments in Amanda's life, from coaxing the employees of the luxury grooming salon to give her a job to lightly mocking Kevin for all the ways he thinks he understands her. Vanja Cernjul's unfussy cinematography relies on tight shots to lend the film intimacy, though one is left yearning for more sweeping views of Seattle. That wider perspective could have underscored the stark differences between the wealthy tech entrepreneurs Amanda references at one point and everyone else just scraping by. Still, in its modest way, Tow sends a powerful message about how many of us have more in common with a person sleeping in a car than we do the billionaires we've been conditioned to admire. Best of The Hollywood Reporter 13 of Tom Cruise's Most Jaw-Dropping Stunts Hollywood Stars Who Are One Award Away From an EGOT 'The Goonies' Cast, Then and Now
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‘Deep Cover' Review: Bryce Dallas Howard and Orlando Bloom Play Improv Actors Working an Undercover Police Sting in a Winningly Silly Comedy
The premise of Deep Cover is almost funny enough to carry the entire film: A trio of improv actors is recruited by the London police to go undercover on a low-level sting operation, on the theory that they can think on their feet. Fortunately, this comedy is more than its plot thanks to the hilariously straight-faced performances of Bryce Dallas Howard, Orlando Bloom and Nick Mohammed as the hapless actors who wind up embedded with dangerous London gangsters. The film approaches its action tropes with an effective sense of absurdity, but it's the stars' kinetic commitment to the bit that makes this relentlessly silly film work. Howard brings energy and conviction to her role as Kat, an American in London whose visa has almost run out, along with her luck as an actor. Now she teaches improv classes to play the bills, and faces the pitying looks of her old friends. More from The Hollywood Reporter 'It's Dorothy!' Review: 'Wizard of Oz' Protagonist Gets a Deep-Dive Cultural Analysis in Wide-Ranging if Overstuffed Appreciation 'Surviving Ohio State' Review: HBO's Sexual Abuse Doc Is Thorough and Persuasive, but Lacks a New Smoking Gun 'A Tree Fell in the Woods' Review: Josh Gad and Alexandra Daddario in an Uneven, Occasionally Insightful Relationship Dramedy Bloom is not exactly known for comedy (Pirates of the Caribbean aside) but is wonderfully cast here as one of Kat's students, Marlon, an ultra-Method actor who constructs elaborate, dramatic backstories for his characters even when auditioning for a television commercial. His biggest role so far is in cheesy Medieval costume as 'Pizza Knight' for a commercial, and his agent finally drops him after saying, 'You're from the Cotswolds, you're not Al Pacino.' Mohammed is known for comedy, notably as Nathan on Ted Lasso, and is a natural for the role of Hugh, a buttoned-up, socially inept IT guy so desperate for friends and connection he impulsively signs up for Kat's class, even though he has the shakiest grasp of what improv is. The scenes introducing those three are among the funniest, with the actors leaning into the earnest aspects of their characters even while reveling in their goofiness. Sean Bean soon turns up as Billings, a cop who recruits Kat and asks her to bring two colleagues along for the sting. He offers them £200 each simply for walking into a store and buying some illegal cigarettes. With her best students unavailable, she has to resort to Marlon and Hugh. The consequences ratchet up during that sting when their often misguided improv impulses take off. They just can't help themselves. Marlon takes on the guise of a thug named Roach and of course overplays the role. The clueless Hugh blurts out 'Yes, and' at inappropriate moments, as if it's a line of dialogue instead of the most basic improv rule. Kat is shrewder, and leaps in to try to save things, only to make them more complicated. Before long they are meeting with a mob boss, Fly, played by Paddy Considine, who makes the character as tough as they come until it turns out he might not be so perceptive. Kat convinces him she is Bonnie, the brains of the operation, and that they are drug dealers. Marlon is the muscle, who dubs Hugh 'The Squire,' the guy who tastes and authenticates the cocaine. With all that great mob access, Billings refuses to let them out of the gig, and when things go further awry they have to meet with the angry big boss (Ian McShane). Behind the scenes of the film there is a bit of a Jurassic World reunion. Trevorrow, who directed and co-wrote that mega-hit starring Howard, wrote a version of the Deep Cover screenplay along with his Jurassic writing partner Derek Connolly more than a decade ago. Eventually Ben Ashenden and Alexander Owen were brought in to rewrite and transplant the story to London, and they also have substantial supporting roles as detectives on the trail of the improv trio. Those sleuths aren't so smart themselves, mistakenly thinking that Kat and her gang are the masterminds behind London's drug trafficking. In the detectives' defense, the three do accidentally knock off a notorious assassin. The director, Tom Kingsley, is known for the droll British television comedy Stath Lets Flats, but the tone of Deep Cover is more reminiscent of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost comedies like Hot Fuzz, with ridiculous plots and characters and consistently sharp but loose-limbed performances. Kingsley directs with confidence, even though the film sags a bit when the ever-escalating action starts to overtake the character comedy. The action is effective enough, full of chases. In the most ludicrous, the detectives drive through narrow streets chasing Kat, Marlon and Hugh, who are trying to outrun them on rental bikes. Those scenes aren't especially inventive, but because the film is referencing stock action tropes, they don't need to be. Deep Cover played at the SXSW London and Tribeca festivals shortly before dropping on Amazon Prime. Still, it arrives with relatively little hype considering its starry cast, which makes it a pleasant surprise, easy-to-watch breezy fun. Best of The Hollywood Reporter 13 of Tom Cruise's Most Jaw-Dropping Stunts Hollywood Stars Who Are One Award Away From an EGOT 'The Goonies' Cast, Then and Now
