United Kingdom · 2018
1h 30m
Director Steve McLean
Starring Harris Dickinson, Jonah Hauer-King, Leonardo Salerni, Ben Cura
Genre Drama
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The story of a beautiful teenager Jim who, having traveled from rural Essex, finds himself in Soho where he falls in with a gang of unusual high class male escorts – The Raconteurs – who specialize in post-coital conversation. From shy novice to sought after escort, and eventually artist’s muse, Jim would be the toast of the town if it wasn’t for his annoying affliction – Stendhal Syndrome – a rare condition which causes him to hallucinate and faint. When Jim is roped into the world of detecting art forgery, could his condition bring about his downfall?
The New York Times by Bilge Ebiri
The film’s elegant compositions themselves are painterly, with the actors carefully posed; and the atmosphere is theatrical, with crisp line readings and sparsely populated frames. Those elements, plus a meandering story line, may not make for a particularly involving narrative experience. But it sure is nice to look at.
Film Journal International by David Noh
Some of the visual compositions are impressive to look at, but the overall self-consciousness of the enterprise, paltry attempts at wit such as describing Bacon as “a screaming queen who painted the screaming Pope,” and basic thinness of this wistfully wish-fulfilment material make it hard for a viewer to stay involved.
Pretty but hollow, Postcards From London isn’t quite clever enough to get away with being this deeply frivolous. It exudes a sense of high amusement at itself but doesn’t make that satisfaction so easy to share.
We’re told over and over how stunning, how sensitive, how remarkable he is. But he’s such a blank slate that there’s not much actual evidence of these traits. It’s not Dickinson’s fault; he’s been directed towards a particular style of performance that favors tell over show.
The Hollywood Reporter by Frank Scheck
Although Postcards From London ultimately doesn't quite live up to its considerable ambitions, it offers plenty of arresting moments along the way.
Los Angeles Times by Gary Goldstein
Despite a skillful use of color, lighting, framing and music, the movie’s artificiality might have played in a short film but becomes tedious and pretentious when stretched to 90 minutes.
The Guardian by Peter Bradshaw
It really is very strange, with every idea, every scene, every moment lavishly garnished with floridly serious, mannered language. A little of it goes a long way.
Aside from bad filmmaking, I don’t know what any of this means. I do know Harris Dickinson is the chief attraction as well as the only reason to suffer through a revolting score of punk rock songs and an interminable series of fuzzy, flashing camera angles advertising neon signs for sex clubs and gay bath houses.
RogerEbert.com by Sheila O'Malley
The film is best when it doesn't take itself too seriously. Unfortunately, for the most part it takes itself very seriously.
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