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Ewan MacGregor, Colin Farrell, Tom Wilkinson, Hayley Atwell, Sally Hawkins, Clare Higgins. Written and Directed by Woody Allen. 108 minutes. Rated PG-13. The Weinstein Company.

By my count, Cassandra’s Dream is Woody Allen’s third venture into the consequences of crime on the spirit, behind his thought-provoking 1989 masterpiece Crimes and Misdemeanors and 2005’s decadent, upper crust Match Point. Crimes and Misdemeanors found Martin Landau getting away with the murder of mistress Anjelica Huston but facing the darkness of his soul in the aftermath, while Match Point explored the ascension of social climbing Jonathan Rhys-Myers, murdering mistress Scarlett Johansson with cool precision.

Cassandra’s Dream, the tale of two hapless brothers (Ewan MacGregor, Colin Farrell) who inadvertently find themselves strapped for cash and caught up in a murder scheme with a wealthy uncle (Tom Wilkinson) who can bail them out at a steep price, isn’t in the class of the other two films. Diverting enough, the film has an odd distance and familiarity about it, and its pleasures are chiefly found in Colin Farrell’s arresting turn as a guilt-stricken underdog.

The film nicely sets up the working class milieu of London brothers Ian (MacGregor) and Terry (Farrell), scrounging cash to purchase a used sailboat to impress girls in the film’s opening scene. Slicker Ian plans to make a fortune by investing in hotel properties while toiling away in the family restaurant, an inheritance from which he longs to escape. Simpler Terry works as an auto mechanic and dreams of gambling enough cash to buy a modest house with girlfriend Kate (Sally Hawkins), at peace as the less ambitious son.

When Ian becomes fixated on impressing new love and aspiring actress Angela (Hayley Atwell), and Terry’s card playing addiction lands him deeply in debt to a loan shark, their desperation leads to wealthy Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson), with a history of family bail-outs and what they assume will be an easy solution.

And it is, with one catch: their beloved patron is about to be indicted for a crime and sent to prison for a long time. Sure, he’ll lend them the money, because "family is family" as he reminds them in a wildly unbelievable scene that drips with soaking atmosphere beneath willow trees in a rainstorm. But there is a little problem of murder in the way—a star witness against him who needs to disappear. If the nephews agree to pull the trigger for him, they can write their own tickets. Soon the deed is done and as Terry keeps reminding Ian, they have "crossed a line" from which they cannot return.

And this is the territory Allen is most interested in, sending each in an opposite direction as guilt-free Ian goes about his big business schemes as usual, and Terry caves in to dark thoughts, substances and shame. The film questions what is right, wrong and what the duties of family are, from uncles to parents to brothers to murder. And they are all good questions. Yet it somehow comes up short. Then there’s the problem of the elliptical ending, which is a dramatic cop-out and feels abrupt and incomplete, short-shrifts the characters and the film.

The main reason to see Cassandra’s Dream is Colin Farrell, naïve and good-hearted in the film’s first half. After the deed is done, Farrell lays on alienation and emotion thick, and gives the otherwise distant film a depth that won’t surprise anyone who took note of his complex turn in 2004’s A Home at the End of the World or his desperation in 2003’s Phone Booth. Farrell, a daring and versatile actor who his taken his share of knocks for big-budget misfires like Alexander, amps up the self-destruction and vulnerability as Terry’s peace of mind is consumed by guilt, determined to clear his conscience. The fine actor all but walks away with the film creating a character with meager expectations who realizes the obvious too late.

By contrast, always fine MacGregor has thinly conceived role—he essentially falls in love out of his league, requiring his Ian to posture pretentiously in scene after scene. In the film’s latter half, Allen draws a dichotomy of morality, with both Ian and Terry, once close and of shared values, driving further from each other into the abyss. MacGregor is then required to embark on a totally unbelievable turn in the film’s improbable climax.  It’s meant to be provocative, but it plays as screenwriting.   

It’s familiar material for Allen, and with the exception of Farrell, unremarkable.  But when he is onscreen and wrestling with demons, it is engrossing and affecting, and Philip Glass’ criminally evocative score is a real thrill. 

- Lee Shoquist