Although it strives for bigger things, Albert Nobbs proves itself to be a diluted and bland exploration into transgender survival in conservative Ireland, headlined by Glenn Close’s vain gender bending performance.

Close has been nominated for five Oscars in her career with no wins and Albert Nobbs was no doubt created with the golden boy in her sight. Now there is no denying Close felt strongly for the material, which she co-wrote. And sure, this could be a labour of love as well as a desperate grab for awards success. Yet Albert Nobbs reeks of the worst kind of Oscar bait filmmaking and that is only part of the problem in this dispirited, disjointed, bore of a movie.  

Close stars as Albert, a butler at Dublin’s finest establishment The Morrison Hotel. No doubt you all know that Close is playing the role as a woman pretending to be a man, albeit a scrawny, borderline albino, awkward man with a close resemblance to TV late night host Conan O’Brien (only without a personality).

Albert’s goals in life are simple: to save up enough money in order to buy a tobacco store and run it with a sympathetic lady by his/her side. Inspiration is found in Hubert (Janet McTeer) another woman posing as a man in order to find adequate employment. In every way McTeer stands head and shoulders above Close, stealing scenes with ease while providing some energy to an otherwise flat movie.

Key to Albert’s plan is fellow servant Helen (Mia Wasikowska) who he/she is trying to sway into starting a life together. Helen however is embroiled in an affair with Joe (Aaron Johnson). His character is in a long line of male archetypes bashed about and paraded to prove that “men are bad.” Johnson’s Joe is a brute. Jonathan Rhys Davies’ rambunctious guest is a hard partying ladies man. Brendan Gleeson’s doctor is a drunkard. In fact the only men of any integrity are those played by women.

Like most LGBT (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender) themed movies Albert Nobbs has a social/political agenda. Nothing wrong with that. Yet unlike other films of its ilk Albert Nobbs presents its case for transgender equality with neither passion nor empathy. Just like its title character this is a film with no balls and no voice.

Albert Nobbs is directed by Rodrigo Garcia, whose last film was the deeply moving Mother & Child. Whatever skills he had in weaving a good dramatic story and drawing out memorable performances seems to have disappeared, yet Garcia isn’t the main problem. Glenn Close is.

Her performance is curious at best and unintentionally comical in its misplaced seriousness. A scene where she is dressed in women’s garb and runs across a shoreline, hands flapping in the breeze and big smile on her face, feels like a spoof of an Oscar reel moment.

For those who have seen the Hollywood satire Tropic Thunder, this is Glenn Close in “Simple Jake” mode: a desperate attempt at critical glory, with no qualities worthy of it.