A Gambler Trapped in Hell: Netflix’s Ambitious Misfire

On paper, this film should have worked: Netflix did everything right with the director Edward Berger, the actor Colin Farrell in the lead role, and a promising story about a gambler with a false identity.
But despite everything, the final result is far from satisfying.

Most who start watching this film will not finish it, and they would not be missing much.
Netflix has spent hundreds of millions in recent years on failed productions that try to look like Hollywood blockbusters.
Only “The Gray Man” (2022) and “Electric Stage” (2025) by the Russo brothers cost Netflix 520 million dollars.
Occasionally the algorithm allows a break from blockbuster simulations, dropping some crumbs to the “art house” simulation.

“Ballad of a Small Player” is such a film.
This is a cinematic adaptation of a respected 2014 novella by the British author Lawrence Osborne.
The screenplay was written by Rowan Joffe, and the director is Edward Berger, a German filmmaker known for book adaptations.
Berger rose to fame with “All Quiet on the Western Front” (2022), an adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s classic book about soldiers in World War One, which was also distributed by Netflix. The film was nominated for nine Oscars and won four.

Afterwards, Berger adapted “Conclave” by Robert Harris into “Until Smoke” (2024), also receiving an Oscar nomination for screenplay.
Berger brought his regular team to the current film, including Oscar-winning composer Volker Bertelmann, Oscar-winning cinematographer James Friend, and editor Nick Emerson.
The checklist for “quality cinema” is carefully marked.
Nevertheless, it is hard to believe the final result will satisfy Netflix subscribers craving quality films.

The problem with “Ballad of a Small Player” is its misleading nature: two films are combined, both unsatisfying whether viewers focus mainly on the first or the second.
On one hand, it can be seen as a “character study” at the extreme edge of life.
As such, the film seems incoherent in plot and in the development of relationships with supporting characters.
On the other hand, it is a simplistic spiritual-Buddhist allegory about a character trapped in hell.

We are thrown into a recurring nightmare of unknown duration.
A gambler named “Lord Doyle” wakes in a hotel suite where he resides.
The colorful lights of the city flood the messy room.
On the tables are food platters meant for one person but enough for several (the protagonist’s inhuman greed is a recurring motif).
He sits at the edge of the bed, exhausted and sleep-deprived, saying “fuck” as if condemned to another night of gambling in his private hell.

The music of Bertelmann roars against city views, giving a sense of a new low in a long process.
There is a feeling of being trapped in a time loop similar to “Before Dawn” (1993), almost without humor and almost without hope for redemption.
At the opening, something may alienate many viewers.
The shots are full of color, turning the casino area into something both magnificent and intimidating.
This recalls the ultra-artificial cinematography in “Only God Forgives” (2013) by Nicolas Winding Refn.
When the plot leaves the urban space, there is a sharp stylistic shift to natural light and calmer colors.

If it is a spiritual allegory, Berger and cinematographer Friend ensure we notice the significance of these changes.
“Lord Doyle” is not the character’s real name.
He is a British expatriate who fled for reasons that will be clarified, ending up on the other side of the world.
He gambles at “Baccarat Punto,” a relatively simple game where gamblers can win or lose significant amounts of money in a short time.
He dresses in elegant clothing but the color combinations are garish.

His aristocratic pretense likely fools no one, but when you have money to bribe service staff, they care less about the truth.
Now the money has run out, and Doyle is constantly sweaty from stress and poor health.
At the luxury hotel, people wait to collect the debts he has accumulated.
He manages to postpone payment for a few days, hoping his luck will return before the due date.
At the casino table, he gambles against an elderly Chinese woman, the wife of a rich gangster who gave her bottomless pockets.

Repeatedly, she receives the winning cards adding up to nine, the game’s winning number.
Nearby, Doyle also meets Dao Ming, a woman responsible for giving loans to gamblers.
In her work, she made decisions that sealed people’s fates, weighing heavily on her conscience.
A relationship develops between Doyle and Ming,
Allowing the film to exist in the same dimension of narrative improbability. There are illogical jumps between their scenes and in the development of their relationship.
Ming explains to Doyle about the “hungry spirits” in Buddhist hell, where sinners suffer greatly but are gradually purified.

There is also a parable about the casino in heaven, giving gamblers everything they dreamed of, which is actually hell.
Has Doyle already died? Is this “Macau” real? Although Macau is densely populated, the film’s version seems almost empty, likely a deliberate choice reflecting the allegorical nature rather than budget limitations.
The third female character is a private investigator named Betty Grayson, who tries to photograph Doyle.
He committed fraud in England and faked his death, while she seeks proof that he is alive.

Despite Grayson’s determination, she notices Doyle’s desperate need to regain the money he lost.
Another eccentric performance, showing the character’s neurotic tendencies and strange appearance reminiscent of disguises in Bong Joon-ho’s films.

There is a significant gap between intention and execution in Berger’s film. Viewers who consider it a spiritual allegory may find it easier to accept the stylistic overload.
On Netflix, by the time viewers decide if it suits them, they may have already moved to another piece of data.