While it is a dense morality play headlined by a trio of terrific performances, Felony suffers from an overwrought third act that robs the film of a satisfactory conclusion.

Felony is a movie that can be measured by a long barometer. At its best, it reminds of the powerful corrupt-cop dramas directed by Sidney Lumet (Serpico, Prince of the City). At its worst, it’s rampart with the kind of stodgy plot problems that haunts many an Australian dramatic feature. That it rests squarely in between marks something of a disappointment.

Its set-up is as juicy as they come: Hero detective Malcolm Toohey (Joe Edgerton) accidently hits a young boy while driving drunk after celebrating a bust gone good. Covering up his crime (and department embarrassment) is senior Detective Carl Summer (Tom Wilkinson), while young straight shooting detective Jim Melic (Jai Courtney) decides to pursue the case in spite of Summer’s orders to stand down.

For the most part this Edgerton scripted, Matthew Saville directed drama is a gripping watch. There are many elements at play: Police corruption, alcohol abuse, and the perversion of power. The crux of Felony, though, comes down to what is right and wrong, and the thick grey sludge in the middle that these men find themselves drowning in with every wrong turn they make.

Performances wise there is terrific work on display here. Edgerton has become a master in playing restraint, letting those emotions of guilt, anger and sadness simmer to boiling point. Courtney (the latest Aussie to make it big in Hollywood) is all cocksure righteousness as the straight shooting cop who has his own demons. Good too is Melissa George as Edgerton’s emotionally embattled wife.

The highlight though is Tom Wilkinson, who is ferocious, funny and forthright as the anything goes senior detective, delivering the films best lines often found within well written monologues that Wilkinson delivers with ruthless precision.

Yet while Edgerton’s dialogue is outstanding, his handle on plot gets away from him during a crucial third act, where revelations are muddled in ridiculous character development and border-line pretentious visual symbolism, Saville allowing that tense tone to slip between his fingers as Felony succumbs to overwrought pompousness.  

It’s a shame. Edgerton’s first script for The Square was as tight a piece of genre writing as they come, and Felony had all the potential to follow suit. In the end an unsatisfying and frustrating conclusion to an otherwise tight and taught cop drama stops Felony from becoming a great Australian crime movie. That in itself is a crime.