THE WHISTLERS (2020) FILM REVIEW

***

15, 97 Mins

Slick, sexy thriller with shades of Tarantino.

Provided you’re a sucker for skin-splaying violence, electric dialogue and a surcharge of pop culture references, there’s much to enjoy in this handsomely mounted Romanian thriller that mostly thinks with the bloodstream, but also has a fair bit to satisfy the head.

Director Corneliu Porumboiu - perhaps best-known for post-Ceausescu satire ‘Police, Adjective’ (2009) - is clearly keen to dispense with the grisly miserablism popularized in his country’s cinema by social realist fare such as ‘The Death of Mr. Lazarescu' (2005) and ‘4 Months, 3 Weeks, Two Days’ (2007). By contrast, ‘The Whistlers’ (2020) features a corrupt Bucharest cop (Vlad Ivanov) steeped in a money-laundering scheme in the Canary Islands. This is a plot that possesses the stripped down simplicity of a straight-to-DVD B-movie, but it's carried off with such elan thanks to retina-scorching sunlight and Tudor Mircia’s lemon-zesty cinematography.

In an ingenious plot device and in order to avert the attention of his boss, central copper Cristi must learn the art of “Silbo Gomero” - a real-life form of whistled Spanish practiced by mobsters as a code to ward off police detection. Such unique communication adds a surreal twist to an otherwise fairly simplistic production.

When not whistling, there are some scenes worthy of Quentin Tarantino especially when Cristi is verbally sparring off the super-sexy Gilda (Catrinel Marlon) - a cigarette-puffing femme fatale who bears an uncanny resemblance to Penelope Cruz. “They think I’m your girl. Let’s go to your place to talk” she purrs while caressing his tongue in red lipstick. It's followed by a surveilled sex scene that’s never a celsius lower than smokin’ hot.

‘The Whistlers’ doesn’t all work. Sometimes the credibility factor isn’t too high. For example, I never really bought that what sounds like mere birdsong to the untrained could make up the grammar of a full-bodied language. Research into Gomera’s whistling says otherwise though. 
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Also unbelievable is the pace at which Cristi perfects this highly peculiar chitter. Sure he’s no natural and his initial attempts make for fish-out-of-water comedy, but, at a tight 97 min running time, proceedings naturally have to speed forward and Cristi picks up whistling away far too easily.

Yet this is a slick, stylish film that absorbs the influences of a syndicate of classic film-makers. From a shower clip straight out of ‘Psycho’ (1960) to a cinema screening ‘The Searchers’ (1956), references to Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford are common occurrences in a noir of this kind. Less obvious is a subtle nod to Charles Vidor whose ‘Gilda’ (1946) shares the namesake of our eponymous lady. Accomplished entertainment.

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