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Review

Jack Manfred (Owen) suffers writer's block by day and deals roulette by night, the croupier job suggested by his small-time-hood dad. Jack dyes his bleached hair black and recedes behind his tuxedo, unreadable, while unerringly reading the gamblers. He uses a keen perception of human nature while dealing that he cannot harness for writing. He lives with an ex-cop store detective who loves him, of whom he's fond; he's either incapable of commitment or was weaned early from that weakness. He never gambles until he bets the farm. Breaking a cardinal rule, Jack gets involved with a beautiful player (Kingston), who leads him down a crooked path. Addiction lives on both sides of the betting table, inducing lapses of judgment and enabling convoluted patterns of betrayal. Croupier is an intriguing, devastatingly cynical meditation on loyalty, allegiance and the mathematics of risk, delivered with a delicious noir sentiment and an appropriate lack of sentimentality.