A frustratingly not-terrible action thriller.
If you live like a villain all of your life, sooner or later you will be 60 and still being shot at. Although violence may be a way of life for the poor, it is a nuisance to the rich, and they try to hire out the work wherever possible. Steven Soderbergh's "The Limey" is the story of two older guys who hire their killers, and another who is a do-it-yourselfer. In its quiet and murderous way, it is like the delayed final act of an old movie about drugs, guns and revenge.
The movie opens with closeups of Terence Stamp's tight, closed, angry face. His features were chiseled long ago, and you can still see the skull beneath the skin. He has been released from a British prison and is flying to Los Angeles to seek revenge for the murder of his daughter. He is not a sophisticate, but a smart working criminal who amuses himself with Cockney slang.
He believes a man named Valentine killed the girl. Valentine, played by Peter Fonda, is a legendary record producer who lives in an architectural showcase in the hills above L.A.--one of those places with a swimming pool cantilevered out over the valley. It is a nice irony that both Valentine and Wilson (the Stamp character) made their money from rock music: Valentine by selling the tickets, Wilson by stealing the receipts of a Pink Floyd concert.
Valentine's security problems are dealt with, we learn, by Avery (Barry Newman), also around 60, with the expensive suit and the tinted glasses. The men have recently been involved in a drug deal. Valentine is nervous; he doesn't want anything to "touch" him. Avery is paid well to reassure him: "The goods have been turned around, the money's been laundered, the guys are dead. This is a good thing." The two men have the kind of relationship you sometimes see between two business partners who have long since lost interest in their business or each other, but stay together because they need to drive a Mercedes.