Domino

2 1/2 stars

Keira Knightley gives a lapdance within the first 10 minutes of “Domino.” Christopher Walken is referred to as having “the attention span of a ferret on crystal meth.” There’s a naked mescaline-induced sex scene with Knightley in the middle of the Nevada desert. Vengeful mob bosses take cast members of “Beverly Hills: 90210” hostage.

In its parts, that’s a perfect action film. But director Tony Scott (“Top Gun”) and writer Richard Kelly (“Donnie Darko”) have tried to make “Domino”—a story loosely based on real-life model-turned-bounty-hunter Domino Harvey—far too complex and the pieces collapse under the weight.

The real Domino Harvey, whom Knightley portrays, was the daughter of British actor Laurence Harvey (“The Manchurian Candidate”) and a Los Angeles bounty hunter. She was recently found dead in her bathtub at the age of 36 after an overdose of painkillers. Scott glamorizes Domino’s life (ignoring her death except for a passing mention in the credits, since it happened during filming) in a pseudo-ironic and very unsuccessful way: he seems to both want to show Domino’s delusional love of her bizarre profession and to seduce his audience with that same seedy side of L.A.

The plot, as convoluted as it becomes after the first 40 minutes, is as such: Domino kicks butt as a bounty hunter alongside her boss Ed (Mickey Rourke) and his angry lackey Choco (Edgar Ramirez); their corrupt bail bondsmen employer and his entourage of “sassy black women” create a scam to raise money for their dying baby; they accidentally double-cross a mob boss and a corrupt businessman, requiring an even more illogical scam; and, simultaneously, Christopher Walken attempts to make a reality show about Domino.

Remember the “Top Gun” scene in which Val Kilmer awkwardly air-bites Tom Cruise? Scott fills “Domino” with similarly unjustified scenes that feel out of place and funny. And not in the funny “ha-ha” way, but in the funny “strange, I thought the romance was between Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis” way.

Kelly’s penchant for absurd plot construction, which won over college-aged cult fans in “Donnie Darko,” simply serves to overcomplicate an already thinly stretched concept. At the unnecessary and melodramatic sexuality between Domino and Choco (Domino was actually bisexual), a plot twist involving Afghani liberation, and the segment on “The Jerry Springer Show,” one can’t help but think: “What the hell was the point of that? Go back to showing half-naked Keira shooting Vietnamese thugs!”

And Keira, in whatever state of clothed-ness she may be, actually is the shining element of this movie. Defying her typecast sweetheart role of “Bend it Like Beckham” or the forthcoming “Pride and Prejudice,” she shows her genuine ability to act and is completely believable as a woman who can, and would love to, hurt you. Yet no one has ever looked so hot screaming obscenities and flinging numchucks.

The film grasps for salvation in many enjoyable moments, but never regains the momentum of the opening scenes. While Scott’s attempt to get meta with the reality television show subplot is obnoxious, Walken, in typical form, gives a hilarious cameo. The screenplay can be quite strong and very funny, but beats its jokes to death—the career-resuscitating turn from Brian Austen Green of “90210” is constantly greeted with some permutation of: “Is that the guy from 90210? He has not aged well.”

The serpentine sting plot, grainy filming, and complex ensemble of characters reek of Scott’s failed attempt to liken the film to the British thrillers “Snatch” or “Layer Cake.” The green-and-yellow tint of the film, quick camera cuts (so typical to Scott’s previous “Enemy of the State” and “Man on Fire”), and voyeuristic shots of Knightley function to inculcate the viewer into the sordid world of the bounty hunter, but become hackneyed and visually exhausting.

As artfully filmed as Scott tries to make his movie, the only thing consistently lovely about his 128 confusing minutes of gratuity is Keira Knightley’s beautiful body.

—­Staff writer Kristina M. Moore can be reached at moore2@fas.harvard.edu.