A disastrous attempt to concoct a slick, convoluted con-artist crime caper along the lines of the million Reservoir Dogs rip-offs that flooded the mid-’90s market, this lamentable thriller gathers together an experienced if uninspiring cast, and squanders them in the service of a narrative stuffed to the point of overkill with more deceptions and double-crosses than any one script could ever hope to accommodate.
The overcooked plot pitches Ed Burns as con-artist Jake Vig, who unwittingly rips off LA gangster Winston King (Dustin Hoffman), a psychopathic strip-club owner prone to fits of extreme rage. When the latter orders bloody retribution, Vig confesses and offers to return the money, provided King funds a bank con.
Ed Burns’ self-penned directorial efforts (Brothers McMullen and She’s The One), while ultra-predictable on occasion, at least had a passable line in leery lounge-lizard humour that was far better suited to the vacuous impersonality he projects. For the purposes of Confidence, though, Burns is practically required to carry the show solo, his monologue voiceover talking us through the whole movie, with the result being a gaping charisma deficit at the film’s heart, a state of affairs not greatly helped by any of the surrounding cast. Hoffman, though overacting shamelessly, is at least intense, volatile and far livelier than anyone else on show, especially when his character has forgotten to take his anti-hyperctivity medication.
Otherwise, Confidence is surprisingly bland and uninvolving, utterly devoid of any trace of tension or suspense. This isn’t the worst film ever made, but it’s missable in the extreme.