Directed by David Cronenberg

I suppose it was almost inevitable that Cronenberg's stunning last film A History of Violence would be a hard act to follow, and so it has proved. From the rather kitsch and inappropriate title down (anyone remember the Turkish Delight ad?),Eastern Promises lacks Cronenberg's deliciously masterly and macchiavellian touch, though to be fair it is a decent and engaging enough thriller by most standards. Set in the world of the Russian community of London, a community maybe too easily compared to that of the Italian underworld in New York, it has Viggo Mortensen, scarily gaunt and grim, as an enigmatic henchman of big boss and restaurant owner Semyon (Armin Mueller-Stahl).

London is a bleak city of ethnic gangs, violence and exploitation, and we're right in amongst it from the outset, with a throat cutting in a barber's shop. Normality is represented only by the family of Anna (Naomi Watts), a midwife who, partly for her own reasons, becomes obsessed with the case of an unknown teenaged Russian patient who dies while giving birth. Somewhat naively attempting to trace the girl's identity so that the baby may be somehow returned to her family, she becomes beguiled by the twinkling fatherliness of Semyon as he stirs his steaming pot of borscht, and tells him more than she should. The hotbed of murderous criminality that is centred on his lavishly furnished eating house includes godfather Semyon himself, his manic son Kirill, played with zest, almost too much zest, by Vincent Cassel, and his 'driver' and friend Nikolai, (Mortensen). The unspoken, one-way-only erotic attraction of Kirill to Nicolai is made evident in a bravura scene where Kirill forces Nikolai to fuck one of his stable of girls in front of him. The act, the longing observation of it by Kirill, and the voice-over of the girl remembering her simple life at home in Russia, which itself echoes what we know about Nicolai's past, becomes a kind of trance-like trio of sound and image.

The most what you might call Cronenbergian scene takes place among the chipped tiles of the Finsbury Baths, where Nikolai has to fight for his life, naked, against two hitmen. Naked, that is,except for his tattoos, the marks of his membership of and status in the group. It's thrilling, horrifying, and very violent. Cronenberg's films ooze violence, but none of it is ever gratuitous. It's real, painful and messily damaging.

The cinematography is suitably atmospheric, now chilling, now soaked with colour. but whereas directors often see a country other than theirs with a fresh eye which brings out truths, the opposite seems to have happened here, and many of the scenes have an odd, un-London-like look to them. There's also the uncomfortable fact that all the male Russians portrayed are either involved in criminality (most of them), or over-emotional (Uncle Stepan), or both (Kirill). And all the females are victims or silly old ladies swooning to Ochi Chornye. It isn't Naomi Watts's fault that she's the sole representative of female independence and intelligence, she's great. But long-term members of the extensive Russian community in London would not be unjustified in feeling a little miffed at their portrayal. Even the accents were over-oiled and irritating.

Gripes aside, the plot speeds along and has enough mysteries, shocks and twists to make it an engaging, neat and entertaining thriller. If only it could have been more.

Seen at Cineworld, Boldon Colliery, 3 November 2007