As businesslike as the immigrants who work several jobs to stay afloat, Dirty Pretty Things grows grimier and more compelling as it builds a head of steam. The movie gets into gear when Okwe, summoned to clean up a blood-drenched hotel suite, fishes an unusual clog out of the room's toilet: a human heart. Eventually he finds a criminal ring that uses immigrants for body parts; they're organ meat in a butcher's window. And unlike the B-picture hysteria of films from the last few years like The Harvest (1993) that tried to wring drama from this idea yet underdramatized the surrounding circumstances, Dirty Pretty Things plays it straight and cool.
And though it has its share of earnest moments, the movie doesn't sink to gaudy moralizing. Knight's climactic story-beat achieves its purpose with a minimum of fuss, abetted by the elegant thoughtfulness of Frears and the no-nonsense charisma of Ejiofor. After watching Frears ply his refined skills in mainstream studio fare, it's enthralling to see him employ that jazziness to spark his ticking impatience with injustice. This is a return to the dancing sympathy that suffused Frears' My Beautiful Laundrette (1985).
This film has a conquering spirit. The dankness is replaced by an optimistic blast of sunlight at the end, a contrast to the earlier lighting dimmed with human misery. Frears blasts away the blight, though he doesn't have to work to restore Okwe's dignity. It shines through from the start.
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