Luther: The Fallen Sun (2023) Movie Review

When it comes to Idris Elba, movies have never really known what to do with him. Although he is imposing, charismatic, and incredibly intelligent, Elba has left his most memorable mark on television, where his intense and thoughtful style is perfectly suited to the intimacy and character-building patience of episodic storytelling.

For five seasons on the BBC show "Luther" (2010-2019), Elba played the titular London copper, a troubled, morally conflicted genius with an aversion to rules and an ongoing infatuation with a slinky psychopath played brilliantly by Ruth Wilson. Luther was always a magnetic constant throughout the series, but the show's challenge was finding villains worthy of him.

Enter "Luther: The Fallen Sun," the feature-length Netflix continuation of the popular BBC crime thriller directed by Jamie Payne and written by the show's creator and sole writer, Neil Cross. Unfortunately, this film falls short of expectations and fails to match the smoldering intensity of Elba's performance.

The choice of Andy Serkis as the murderous David Robey, a cyber-sicko with limitless resources and incalculable mental issues, is inexplicable and elicits more chuckles than chills. Clad in a velvet blazer and turtleneck with his hair teased into the likeness of a dead stoat, Robey is less a demented sadist than a disco king. The scene where Robey fights Luther on a subway platform is nothing less than ludicrous, given the body-mass differential between the two characters.

Adding to the problems with the film is a plot that is so indistinct and rushed that it makes little sense. Picking up where season five left off, Luther heads to prison for his persistent vigilantism, only to be inexplicably released with mystifying ease. Meanwhile, Robey is assisted by a shadowy pod of followers who are busily hacking webcams and smart devices, recording shameful secrets, and blackmailing their owners. For those who prefer to die rather than be exposed, Robey stages elaborate kill scenes, live-action tableaus that unfold with a pulpy majesty. In a movie that starts at a fever pitch and rarely relents, these grisly interludes offer strangely haunting respites from the plot's general chaos.

However, the lack of dialogue to deepen the characters or reinforce their motivations means that the film rushes past in a blur of serial-killer clichés, with little to no time to build suspense or tension. There's an underground lair, a torture room, a masked maniac, and anonymous losers glued to computer screens, but the movie is so headlong and fragmented that it's unclear exactly what they're watching or how Robey's sleazy schemes are realized. It's as if Netflix has tried to cram an entire season of television into a little over two hours.

Despite these shortcomings, the film has some bright spots. Brief sightings of Dermot Crowley, who returns as Luther's melancholic superintendent, have a steadying effect, as does Cynthia Erivo as Luther's fed-up superior. However, it's Elba himself who steals the show, huddled miserably inside that overcoat in a rain-soaked Piccadilly Circus. His tormented hero and soulful tailoring evoke a sense of nostalgia and excitement, but unfortunately, they are not enough to save the film from its preposterousness.

In conclusion, while "Luther: The Fallen Sun" had the potential to be a worthy addition to the "Luther" canon, it ultimately falls short of the mark. The lack of well-written characters, rushed plot, and preposterous villain make it difficult for the audience to fully engage with the story, despite the strong performance of Idris Elba.