I wanted to see The Drop as it was James Gandolfini’s last film. (I was utterly charmed by him in Enough Said, and I wanted to see this side of his acting, as I have yet to watch The Sopranos.) While Gandolfini was fine, I was wonderfully surprised by and captivated by Tom Hardy and his performance.
I expected a suspenseful crime drama; I watched a quiet, compelling story develop as Hardy painted layers on his character, constantly but subtly showing just a glimpse more, just a glimpse deeper like the deepening of a color as it builds, until suddenly the layers stripped away as if he’d used acrylic over oil paints; and in one swipe, everything we thought we saw disappeared to reveal the raw wood underneath.
After the film, I remarked to my movie companion that it was a quiet movie. He replied, “Yeah, Brooklyn quiet.” So let me rephrase: it’s a quiet movie in a way that it slowly reveals and develops. But it’s not quiet in the way it builds the story or drama or in the way the viewer knows something big is lingering around the corner. Although not action-packed, it’s anything but dull, as to me, the underlying intensity bubbles just under that surface throughout the film, holding my interest and intrigue.