"The advantage of the sponges was that they were mobile; plucking them would not kill them."-- Piers Anthony, franchise followed.
International recognition for the role of Gandhi is within the bounds of an acceptable idea to be embraced. Attenborough had a passion for this subject and the pool of indigenous performers who could live up to the rigors of such an epic were scant, at least one surmises, since Attenborough's project is largely forgotten, like water rolling off one's back, but one could see the need for an amphibian.
Is it subversive, or a testament that Kingsley switch hits from native activist to Holocaust victim Itzhak with his head lice, to pseudo-fascist in Death and The Maiden--which, with a concession to its superficiality as an adaptation from a play still has a language broadening an appreciation for the solidarity of Sigourney Weaver's center, to the chess eccentric in Searching For Bobby Fischer, to the maniac in Suspect Zero, which at least glimmers on the heels of his outline as Logan in the Y2K Sexy Beast.
There are still celebrity followers out there who will pay to see an actor they admire in a movie, but the jack of all trades approach depreciates over time. Zero is a perfect example of film with a script which makes no sense, and all Kingsley's malevolent force of will, even in deterministic despair, cannot save.
Merhinge does manage to visualize sordidness through the lens of his miserable cinematic effort; it bombed because it had a bad aftertaste and grimy residue that became unidentifiable--lessons not learned through studying McNaughton's serial portrait saga. Henry used the gross to its advantage. One thing the Brits have left over in their lost spoils of global dominion is a courageous ability to excavate a story with stark ruthlessness. Kingsley made the transition to the American soft boil, with a dangerous whiff of the commonplace despite his reversal of expectations for the Anglophile.
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