A raconteur, a bon viveur, a perfect bastard, an embellisher, a shameless womaniser, a graceful chatterbox, a part-time monster and a part-time saint, he was also a master of his craft and he earned the status of artistic genius. Inside him he had slices of Joyce, quarts of Wilde, bits of Behan, slaps of Shaw, and remnants of Yeats.
'Now You See Me' raises the following quandary. If you enjoy the first third of a film for its own merits - the deceptive camera-work, interesting characters and whip-smart dialogue - get a bit confused in the middle, and then spend the last third laughing at how preposterous the whole thing's got, is that enough reason for a trip to the cinema? You tell me.