I, Anna

This London-set noir is supposed to fray your nerves, but more likely it’s your patience that’ll be in shreds by the end. Starting with that too-tricksy title, ‘I, Anna’ is all murky, through-a-glass-darkly stylishness. But it’s as deep as a puddle – pouring down the drain the first-class acting talents of Charlotte Rampling, Gabriel Byrne and Eddie Marsan. Rampling is Anna, a still jaw-droppingly beautiful woman in her fifties who goes home with a man she meets at a swanky singles night. Next morning, she leaves with a broken wrist and gaps in her memory. The film’s director, Barnaby Southcombe, is Rampling’s son, and Freud would have a field day with the trauma he inflicts on her in that apartment (it’s much too posh to be called a flat). Byrne and Marsan are the detectives called in to investigate. The problem is the script, adapted from a novel and full of psychological gaps and dead-ends. There’s a twist that explains why Anna is in such a walking daze – but it leaves Rampling looking a bit missing in action for much of the film. Still, the capital looks stunning. This is London with a 6 o’clock shadow, lit like an Edward Hopper painting.