Stone of Destiny
- Directed and written by Charles Martin Smith
- Starring Charlie Cox, Kate Mara and Robert Carlyle
- Classification: PG
For all this tale rings true, better to have flipped the setting from Scotland to Ireland and called it the Blarney Stone of Destiny. Sure, the story is based on an actual event, but, as the old saw goes, the difference between fact and fiction is that fiction has to be credible. And interesting, and blessed with second act complications, and a final act climax, and, for that matter, a final act — none of which applies here. The result is a heist film that steals nothing more than our valuable time.
In the Glasgow of 1950, fiery nationalists are still preaching the gospel of Home Rule, but few Scots are listening. Of course, the occasional university student can always be counted on to take up the cudgel, and Ian Hamilton (Charlie Cox) is an occasional student indeed. Warns his daddy, tired of the lad's idling, "This is a world for doers not dreamers." So the dreamer decides to do, hatching a wild scheme to take back for Scotland what is rightly hers — yes, the Stone of Destiny, a real rock with a legendary rep, swiped by dastardly Edward I those many centuries ago, and used ever since by English monarchs as a sacred slab, a kind of flinty footstool, in the coronation ritual.
And why, you might ask, should any Scot, dour or otherwise, give a tinker's damn about some ancient hunk of rock? Happily, a voice-over narrator pops up right quick to fill us in: "It was the symbol of our freedom, our independence." Hey, it's that kind of movie, helpful to a fault. Anyway, this expository assistance over, the movie lumbers into heist mode, with young Ian off to case the joint — the joint being Westminster Abbey, where, off in a dank corner, Destiny heavily resides under old King Eddie's even older wooden chair.
Back in Glasgow, it remains only to round up a gang of like-minded students — some amiable muscle to lift (Stephen McCole), a shy nerd to drive (Ciaron Kelly), and a ginger-haired lovely to supply the love interest (Kate Mara). So assembled, our aspiring thieves point their car southward for a scenic cruise through heathered highlands, eventually reaching London — a.k.a. the scene of the crime. There, alas, they and writer/director Charles Martin Smith encounter a wee problem.
Smith is working from Hamilton's book about the escapade — trouble is, Smith is working way too closely from Hamilton's book about the escapade. His script neglects to add any narrative structure, any convincing atmosphere and — a strange omission in a heist flick — anything resembling suspense. Instead, the picture is content to do pretty much what the kids did: conclude that, if the best-laid plans always go awry, a shoddy plan is just the ticket.
And so it proves — the gang simply tiptoes into the Abbey after closing time and lugs out the thing. Admittedly, and repeatedly, they're almost done in by their own incompetence, a fact that obliges Smith to play the heist for laughs. He gets a few, but the low chuckles make it hard to swallow the lofty inspiration that is served up right after. No matter. When news of the theft breaks on the BBC, all of Scotland hits the streets to celebrate, or, well, as much of Scotland as a small-budget film can muster — I'd measure the throng as at least a baker's dozen.
What follows is more anti- than climax, all air and no heft, but that's bound to be the fate of a movie that shrinks hard fact into light fiction. By the end, Stone of Destiny barely qualifies as a paperweight.
