Movie review: Pride and Glory

It's the old story: some of New York's Finest ain't so fine.

by John P. Meyer

Edward Norton (who I'd go out of my way to watch in just about anything) turns in another outstanding performance in Pride and Glory, an adrenaline-charged, reeking-of-testosterone cop drama that should appeal to fans of gritty crime thrillers - as long as they're able to stomach the extreme brutality and hyper-violence served up by director and co-screenwriter Gavin O'Connor.

Our two-hour cinematic story starts out at an NYPD vs. Detroit Metro football game, in which detective Jimmy Egan (Colin Farrell, doing that unhinged thing he does so well) gives us an early glimpse of how seriously he takes competition, proceeding to put the ever-loving hurt on an opposing player.

The cop squad has little time to exult in their gridiron victory, however, because a call comes in involving "officers down," with the officers downed being members of Egan's team.

Spectating from the grandstands are brothers Ray (Mr. Norton) and Francis Tierney (the crusty Noah Emmerich); Ray is piloting a desk in the wake of some shadowy hurtful event of the recent past (evidenced by the ugly scar transecting his left cheekbone), while Francis heads up the undercover command which includes Jimmy and the cops involved in the just-received emergency call.

Also in the stands is grizzled NYPD veteran Francis Tierney Sr. (played by grizzled acting veteran Jon Voight), who later that evening encourages troubled son Ray to go back on active duty and head up the team tasked with investigating the cop killings. Ray wants nothing to do with it (remember that shadowy hurtful event?), but Francis Sr. knows how to apply the emotional family-tie thumbscrews, and Ray relents.

There is much lamentation and rending of widow's weeds during the cop funeral which follows. Meanwhile, Ray begins his investigation by attending to the crime scene. Outside the tenement in which the shooting occurred, he finds a cell phone. Tracing back the calls in memory, he deduces that someone amongst the drug dealing perps responsible for the officer mowdown was tipped off prior to the ill-fated bust.

From this point, as they say, the plot thickens, as we discover that more than a few of New York's Finest are doing a fine job of acting like criminals. Institutionalized police corruption: it's a hoary Hollywood theme going back to Serpico and beyond, but here it's taken to new levels of cold-blooded cruelty. As greed becomes the end-all and be-all amongst the cadre of cops involved in this high-dollar protection racket, no violent notion seems beyond the realm of possibility - as a hot iron poised above a babe-in-arms makes abundantly clear.

Ironically, Ray's installment as head of the investigatory task force - which must have seemed like the ideal situation to those who were looking for a by-the-numbers, usual-suspects sort of solution to things - turns out to be the decision that brings down the entire twisted bad cop house of cards, leading to one really bad night for the NYPD.

Graced by a haunting, melancholy Mark Isham score (and what Mark Isham score isn't?), Mr. O'Connor's direction is stylish and elegiac, demonstrating a prowess beyond his limited motion picture experience. His use of claustrophobic close-ups and blood-splashed window imagery (shades of pre-Hollywood John Woo) sets our figurative teeth on edge and leads to some seriously cringe-inducing moments. This cop thriller doesn't go down easy - and that's good.

Notable in support of the lead players are Jennifer Ehle, as Francis Jr.'s ailing wife Abby; Lake Bell, as Jimmy Egan's oblivious one (Megan); and Manny Perez as Coco Dominguez, a street-savvy reporter who's not afraid to get his hands dirty (not to mention the inside of his car windows) in pursuit of a gripping insider exposé.