The mist, the neon, the reflections- Roger Deakins could make snot shine. What a great looking movie.

And that's it. There's almost nothing else to distinguish Stormy Monday, which marches to its inexorable conclusion with measured indifference. Coincidences rule the day, while little things like character and consistency are passed over in favor of atmosphere and (perfunctory) symbolism.

Figgis can maintain a tone, but style alone just leaves me detached. The script is so tight, the story seems artificial; it succeeds mainly in assuring that none of the characters are worth giving a damn about. It's all breath, no blood.

In art, such aloofness has probably always been fashionable. It's also terribly juvenile, like a teenager who thinks that cigarette smoking makes him look grown-up. Stormy Monday is a poster child for going through the motions.

These days a romantic thriller usually means sex, violence, and lots of neon lights, but underneath the typically sultry mood of this latter-day film noir there's a cool intelligence at work. Writer director Mike Figgis combines several strands of plot which otherwise have little in common, involving a moody nightclub owner, a dangerous American entrepreneur, his part-time mistress, and her new, younger boyfriend, all of them in an industrial British seaport dressed up for a hands-across-the-water civic promotion. A movie so self-absorbed with mood and imagery shouldn't work as well as this, but what sets the film apart from other neo-noir facsimiles is the unusual trans-Atlantic blend of talent and the emphasis on cross-cultural confusion, best expressed by a free-jazz rendition (by the Krakow Jazz Ensemble) of the Star Spangled Banner. The atmospheric visual style isn't enough to camouflage the shortcomings of the script, but Figgis maintains the drama at an admirably low-key level, and the location photography in the city of Newcastle takes excellent advantage of an appropriately gritty urban environment.

Cosmo (Tommy Lee Jones) is an American businessman with lots of connections, most under the table, who arrives in Newcastle on Tyne to seal deals. The celebration of "America Week" in England announces the malling of Great Britain as American monies of dubious sources invaded while the Thatcher government turned its head. Into this cesspool, Kate (Melanie Griffith) a local waitress and formerly an "escort" for Cosmo is recruited to play nice to business associates he sends her way. Rolling over the small business owners like Finney (Sting) a jazz club owner, Cosmo has no qualms about getting what he wants whether by legit or illegitimate means.

A sub-storyline to the economic takeover by Cosmo is the love story between Kate and Brendan (Sean Bean), an Irish laborer who cleans toilets in Finney's club, but over hears the plans of two London seedy types who discuss how to make sure Finney sells the Kit Kat Klub to Cosmo. After informing Finney of their intentions, Brendan's loyalty is rewarded by his elevation to a go-for babysitting a progressive jazz band, the Krakow Jazz Ensemble who need to be picked up at the airport for a weekend gig. While Brendan carts the band around town, he falls in love with Kate. During their time together, Kate and Brendan are jumped and beaten by the roughs who surround Cosmo. The drama is predictable until a surprise twist and unexpected negotiation change the dynamic, and saves the film.

The story line entwine to provide worthwhile entertainment for an hour and forty minutes, and the actors all provide solid performances. The soundtrack is a nice mix of 80s Brit sounds and cerebral jazz tunes with Sting doing a solo bass bit mid-film although he does not sing. Tommy Lee Jones is wonderful with an evil yet subtle humor to his business dealings and the sight of a young, buff and naked Sean Bean is delightful.

A good afternoon film for a rainy day, if only for the performances by actors not usually cast together, and for director, Mike Figgis, an underrated early film worth checking out.