David Cronenberg
Eastern Promises

Green Lanes, northeastern London: a "green path" stretching three miles without a trace of a tree. It’s the Turkish neighborhood: a density of kebab shops with one every fifty square meters - one for every twenty-five people - one for every three Victorian houses. They alternate with Turkish off-licences: they're called this because to earn more, they sell alcohol during the government ban and at night.

A mafia-run pizzeria disrupts the landscape upon arrival at Manor House. No one ever goes in (unlike other races, the Italian mafia for obvious economic interests, instead of consolidating, has benefited from a branched-out development).

Opposite the Italians, there is a Turkish barber. There are more than a dozen of them in half of Green Lanes, all for Turkish hair: a barber for every two Islamic families. To earn more, they cut the hair of other relatives. Next door lived a girl from Rovigo, and my hope (they ended up in Buenos Aires with a tango teacher).

Turnpike Lane, north side, a discontinuous cluster of English mafia houses rented to Poles and Africans at an average of five per room. To earn more, they even put them together, and no one would believe it. A few steps and we're in Wood Green, where after the Poles and the blacks, the English mafia makes dogs fight.

Returning to the center, among the kebab shops, we witness under the night light and the government ban the dealing of 300 kilos of heroin every week. At the end of three miles of dog poo and barber shops, at the end of Green Lanes, at the end of the Turkish mafia, all of this ends and Finsbury begins.

The first throat slashing happens in the second minute of screening; to wait for the finger cutting, one must be patient for another seventeen. Welcome to Finsbury, the realm of the Russian mafia, in the view of David Cronenberg's new film, once again focused on the dilemma of dualism and its exploration.

Viggo Mortensen seems a cross between the charming character of “A History Of Violence” and Count Dracula: his performance is perfect, so enthralling that it makes you want to stand up in the middle of the theater and shout: "God, how hot he is! So at ease between good and evil that it makes it impossible for us to comprehend our own standards of judgment (adding to this a months-long journey in Siberia to perfect a very particular accent that helps us understand half the film)".

In the end, we find ourselves once again rooting for "A History Of Violence," always from the Cronenberg-Mortensen duo, especially because it would have been nice to witness a true in-depth exploration of the Russian mafia and its ramifications, instead of just demonstrating that they screw and drink more than the Italian mobsters (who would be less interesting due to an already saturated market).

But the most disappointing thing about “Eastern Promises” is the length. It ends so abruptly that you feel like you missed something important during the film. It ends so abruptly that even though there’s nothing to understand, it seems like you didn’t understand anything.

Despite this, an hour and a half of pure catalogue of perfect cinema.