Sleeping Dogs

The Russell Crowe renaissance feels like it’s just around the corner. Although I've been saying that since "The Nice Guys," so I could be wrong. He’s undeniably reached a phase of his career in which he has nothing left to prove, and he’s often the best thing about every project he’s in. (He made “The Pope’s Exorcist” so much better than it would have been with anyone else in that part, and I kinda hope they make five more.) It really just comes down to the right filmmaker having faith in his natural ability. This is the reason I was drawn to Adam Cooper’s “Sleeping Dogs,” a film that looked like it could be Crowe’s “Memento,” a twisty noir that plays with memory, perception, and a very unreliable narrator. While Crowe gives more to this drowsy film than it deserves, it actually has me concerned now that the Oscar winner might head in the other direction, getting sucked into the world of cheapie VOD thrillers that have dominated the resumes of actors who used to be more discerning (sorry, Travolta fans). Crowe is better than “Sleeping Dogs.” Most actors are.