‘Ballad of a Small Player’ review: Colin Farrell and Tilda Swinton front a trippy thriller

You’ve got to hand it to director Edward Berger: It’s impossible to predict where he’ll go next. In 2022, the Swiss/Austrian filmmaker won global acclaim — including the Oscar for Best International Feature — for his epic, German-language adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front. His 2024 follow-up, Conclave, would also catch the eye of Oscar, scoring eight nominations and a win for screenwriter Peter Straughan. Yet these two films were wildly different in tone, switching from reverent to cheeky. So, what might we expect from his latest, Ballad of a Small Player? 

Adapted from Lawrence Osborne’s 2014 novel of the same name, this psychological thriller plunges viewers into the seedy and luxurious world of Macau casinos. There, neon-lit nightlife rolls into regretful mornings after, where champagne breakfast buffets can’t feed the relentless hunger of a chronic gambler. Who better to play this deeply flawed yet lovable rogue than Colin Farrell? 

The Academy Award-nominated Irish actor has played an array of cowards and criminals to critical acclaim. This time ’round, he’s suave and slippery as Lord Doyle, an English gambler who strives for a high-roller lifestyle, but is struggling with a serious losing streak. 

Ballad of a Small Player offers a spiritual journey amid sordid scams. 

Draped in a velvet green suit, a silky cravat, and sturdy yellow gloves, Lord Doyle makes a debonair presentation as he sidles up to the baccarat tables. But the word is out that his debts are mounting. The respectable establishments won’t let him play, so he’s chased to shadier opportunities to feed his addiction. There, he earns the cackles of a wealthy and vicious crone, the curiosity of a quirky English tourist, and the romantic interest of a local loan shark. 

With his bluffing not being bought, Doyle ping-pongs between these three women, who offer radically different paths. The “grandma” of a particular baccarat table promises him big wins, though impossible odds — a temptation that shakes Doyle to his toes. The tourist, Cynthia Blithe (Swinton), comes with news from the United Kingdom, which, unwelcome though it may be, could give Doyle a chance at redemption for the transgressions he’s been fleeing. But Dao Ming (Fala Chen) offers him the biggest gamble of all, a chance at love and perhaps a clean slate. 

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Caught up in swirls of intoxication and temptation, Doyle streaks across the gleaming Chinese metropolis and into the country’s more natural and sacred spaces. But in the silence, the yearn for more, more, more is relentless. 

Ballad of a Small Player is beautiful but boring. 

Credit: Netflix

The plotline might seem stern, but Berger’s approach involves radiant colors and flowing cameras that aim to catch us up in Lord Doyle’s endless thirst for thrill-seeking. The black sky of night lights up the city like a pinball machine with flashing lights and logos. In these simple backdrops, the stakes of Doyle’s quest for coins are radiantly clear: Big shiny wins or swallowing dark losses. In daylight, the romance of this life is washed away with a low-contrast look that swallows the brightness from Doyle’s wardrobe and complexion. 

This recurring contrast of rich colors, in cityscapes, expensive wardrobes, and even the carpeting on casino floors and baccarat tables, urges us to feel the thrall of possibilities. But the quiet moments hang heavier, pulling this lost soul to a reflective realm ahead of the celebration of the hungry ghost. Before long, it’s not just creditors who chase him, but disturbing visions of his own damnation. 

Credit: Netflix

This should all be stirring, suspenseful, even scary. But Ballad as a Small Player never hits that way. Its moodiness and mysticism pale in comparison to its casino-centered dramedy, where Farrell swirls into playboy mode, a perfect tool to woo and con to whatever ends, and then a clown, bumbling and sweaty. When the movie pivots hard to regret, reflection, and redemption, the colors fade, Farrell shrinks, and the film’s storytelling becomes vague. Those who don’t know how to play baccarat may miss out on key plot points, and more might groan over a third-act revelation that’s predictable and arguably problematic on a couple of fronts. 

Sure, there are compelling performances in the mix. Farrell is solid as a scam artist whose charm is a blessing and a curse. Swinton’s a joy in a bit part that at least gives her opportunity for eccentric choices and even more eccentric outfits. Chen is enigmatic and lovely as a loan shark haunted by her past. But the energy of the film steadily dies away, leaving audiences to trudge through an unsatisfying final act with a confounding conclusion.

At first, it seems Berger is treating Conclave as a springboard to tell a story of spirituality that’s still scandalous, but perhaps more splashy and unhinged. But Ballad of a Small Player lacks the cutting humor of Conclave, and cannot compare to that film’s ratcheting tension. Here, Berger has made something risky, but doubling down on inarticulate gestures toward spirituality is a gamble that doesn’t pay off. 

Ballad of a Small Player was reviewed out of the Toronto International Film Festival. The movie will open in theaters on Oct. 15, followed by a Netflix release on Oct. 29.