It was a joke, obviously-I mean, how could such a mouse of a man be a rat? Yet the thought continues to scurry in our heads. Then Richie laughs, and Leonard joins in.
Without warning, Leonard makes his confession to Richie. Hence the sharpest scene in the movie, amid reports of a snitch in the gang’s ranks. “Why are you such a person?” the Duke of Norfolk asked Cromwell, adding, “It’s not as if you can afford to be,” and that note of condescension recurs in “The Outfit,” as one character after another misjudges the lowly Leonard. The stealthy pace of “Wolf Hall,” on TV, was set by the sight of Rylance, as Thomas Cromwell, surveying great matters of state from his haven in the half shadows. We know better, though, because, having had the privilege of observing Rylance at work, onscreen or in the theatre, we realize that nothing is ever lost on him. In their opinion, the tailor is barely a being: a background presence, who sees nothing and says even less. The wiseguys use Leonard’s store as a place where packages can be dropped off and collected, and you can see why. “Those customers are not gentlemen,” Leonard says to Mable, after Richie and Francis pay a visit. Roy is fond of Richie, but he’d sooner rely on a henchman named Francis (Johnny Flynn). You just put ’em on.Ĭhicago has furnished Leonard with a new breed of patron-folks like Roy Boyle (Simon Russell Beale), a Mob chieftain, and Roy’s son Richie (Dylan O’Brien), a poor reflection of his father’s solid self. You don’t really bespeak a pair of jeans.
The reason that he left his native land, he claims, is “bluejeans,” meaning that the demand for formal wear tailed off after the war. Leonard, on the other hand, was pleased to get into Chicago (which he pronounces “Tchickago”), having fled from London, where he learned his craft on Savile Row, for a fresh American life. “One way or another, I’m getting out of here,” she says, sounding as if she might burst into song. Leonard has a young assistant named Mable (Zoey Deutch), for instance, who grew up down the block. Leonard is the hero of Graham Moore’s “The Outfit.” It is a film preoccupied with stations-with the question of how people slot into society and, every so often, feel a compulsion to change slots. “Is this a man comfortable in his station?” he inquires. Leonard can size up a client at a glance. A suit, we are told, consists of thirty-eight separate pieces of material, and it should, in all respects, become its wearer. He is a tailor by trade, though he prefers to be called a cutter, and, as he brews a pot of tea, dons an apron, and oils his trusty shears, he talks us through the mysteries of his art, in a gentle voice-over. Bespoke.” And here comes Leonard Burling (Mark Rylance), making an early start. Look closely, however, and you see the words stencilled on the window: “L. A storefront so discreet that it could be the entrance to a funeral parlor. A cold Chicago street, on a dark morning, in 1956.
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