It has been a quiet couple of years for Keanu Reeves, who has produced nothing of note since 2008’s lacklustre THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL. In HENRY’S CRIME he plays a “nice guy” deadbeat who just can’t catch a break or get his life out of first gear. The problem is that Reeves is playing a part that should be filled by somebody almost half his age. Henry’s stuck in a dead-end job, unwilling to commit to having children with his beautiful wife (Judy Greer)…but he’s 47! What the hell is wrong with this guy? How is the audience supposed to get behind a man who is fooled into participating in a bank robbery, thinking he’s on his way to a softball game?

Frankly the entire film, directed by Malcolm Venville, whose only other credit is the rather well-regarded British gangster flick 44 INCH CHEST, feels like a relic from the late 90s when everyone was falling over themselves to make hip post-Tarantino crime films about smooth-talking, wise-cracking low-level hoodlums. Had the film been made then, when Reeves was in his mid-thirties then it may have felt believable and fresh. Now, Reeves looks worn out, gangly and after a lengthy first act, which does little more than introduce him to his cellmate, Henry’s motivations for robbing a bank the moment he is released from prison are simply ridiculous.

James Caan plays Henry’s institutionalized cellmate, who is talked into applying for parole, only to wander through the movie cluelessly, offering little in the way of useful criminal expertise. Fortunately, the introduction of Vera Farmiga’s jobbing actress does bring some sparkle to the proceedings, although quite why she sticks with Henry after he reveals to her his unimpressive past and frankly ridiculous plan is hard to swallow. Peter Stormare, Fisher Stevens and Bill Duke round out the cast in notable smaller roles, but Farmiga effortlessly steals the limelight, further cementing her reputation as one of the more interesting American actresses to emerge in recent years.

For all its good intentions, HENRY’S CRIME lacks the wit or freshness to fulfill much of its potential. The attempts to mirror Henry’s plight with the plot of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard feel overly contrived, and it trundles along to its moderately satisfying conclusion without any of the characters really putting forward much of an argument or putting up much of a fight. Most disturbing of all, however, is the inability to shake from your mind the question, “Where did it all go wrong, Keanu?”