Collin Ferrell is Down Bad in Plodding Macau Gambling Drama ‘Ballad of a Small Player’

Part sweaty character study, part paranoid gambling thriller, The Ballad of a Small Player tries to burrow into the psychology of a degenerate gambler adrift in the gaudy purgatory of Macau but comes up short. What could have been an impressive vision of bad luck and worse decisions unfortunately delivers fewer thrills than a five-dollar hand of baccarat in Reno at 2PM on a Tuesday. The film has plenty of surface appeal: shimmering neon, location-shot flair, handsome production design, perfectly tailored suits that scream status and money even as they’re dressing a man on the edge of financial ruin; and there’s even a human pulse thumping beneath it all, largely thanks to a glisteningly committed, twitchy turn from Colin Farrell. But Edward Berger’s latest – following the austere All Quiet on the Western Front and the critical grand slam Conclave – is ultimately a confused, meandering, and profoundly unsatisfying drama that gambles big on a unlikable protagonist and forgettable story to come up well short of a winning hand.

Farrell plays “Lord” Doyle, a broke, despicable British gambler clinging to the pretenses of pilfered nobility as he bounces between Macau’s garish casinos. It’s a sweaty, physical performance full of twitchy nerves, bulging eyes, and alcohol-soaked suits and Farrell is up to the task of sinking into his scummy skin. Lord Doyle seemingly owes money to seemingly everyone: the hotel he’s staying at, local casino creditors, and international marks alike. In a desperate bid to stave off creditors, cops, deportation, or death, he maxes out his credit lines and flails through high-stakes baccarat games like a man existing on the knife’s edge of dealt cards. He meets Dao Ming (Fala Chen), a Chinese creditor with problems of her own. There’s a flicker of connection between them, but the film barely explores it beyond shared desperation and bouts of ill-conjured chemistry.

The bigger bust is the fact that the film has no real propulsion. We wander from casino to buffet to city streets and back again, watching Doyle drink, sweat, gamble, and vomit. The experience is as lonely and alienating as a low-rent Las Vegas bachelor trip and with about the same amount of charm. For a film that barely hits two hours, it drags mercilessly. Berger mistakes repetition for momentum. While addiction is inherently cyclical, viewers still need a reason to stay invested. Doyle doesn’t provide one. He’s a cipher in designer knockoffs, all affectation and not much in the way of a deeper core. We’re told he’s a fraud, but we’re never invited to understand the man behind the con, despite some teasing of his background. This is a character study that doesn’t seem all that interested in its character.

Technically, Ballad of a Small Player often soars. The costume design from Lisa Christl is sharp and stunning. The production design from Jonathan Houlding uses Macau’s late night neon chaos and spiritual dissonance to strong visual effect. Volker Bertelmann’s score deepens the sense of existential dread while Berger’s direction proves stylish and often cleverly framed. This is clearly not the work of a director phoning it in. Farrell too pours himself into every moment, all sweat and suspect motivation. The problem is, it’s all in service of a script that doesn’t have anything to say. There’s no tension and no emotional weight in the screenplay from Rowan Joffe and Lawrence Osborne, just a handsome spiral that never goes anywhere but further down the drain.

As Doyle stumbles from bad hand to worse, nothing really evolves. The addiction angle is about as deep as a warning label: gambling ruins lives, so be careful. A subplot involving Chinese folk beliefs flickers to life in the background — there’s a ghost festival, some chatter of spirits — and just when it threatens to become interesting, the film drops a third-act twist that is so absurd it flattens everything. It’s understood that Doyle is meant to be an unreliable narrator, but the twist doesn’t add complexity or even insight to his deceptions. It strips away the only emotional anchor the film had and plays more like a cheap parlor trick than a revelation. It’s just bad storytelling.

There’s undeniable care in the craft of Ballad of a Small Player but all the meticulous direction and carefully chosen design flourishes are wasted on a story that doesn’t seem to know what it’s trying to explore or say. To see so much care poured out in service of a story that’s this lifeless is a shame because Edward Berger’s career has gotten off to such a promising start. He’s already earned multiple Academy Award nominations in just the past few years, but this is very much a step in the wrong direction from a storytelling perspective and that’s probably why his latest has almost zero awards buzz. While there’s no denying the craftsmanship, if Berger wants to level up his impact as a storyteller, he has to put the focus on the story first and foremost and that just has not happened here.

CONCLUSION: Colin Ferrell is a gambling addict in the Far East in this dreamy, meandering drama desperately in need of a point. The tasteful production elements in Edward Berger’s ‘Ballad of a Small Player’ impress but the strained story draws dead, pushing all its chips in on a losing bluff.