Plus, I wonder if Senay's helplessness is entirely consistent. At first she won't give Okwe a key but arranges to "drop" it where he can pick it up. In other words, she protects herself even against a close male friend. I felt that the moviemakers had her accede to her sweatboss's demands not because she'd be likely to but because they needed to position us on our knees emotionally.

A character like Juliette, on the other hand, is strong while still clearly acknowledging how far from the ideal our experience can get. She is a prostitute, after all. But the vivid, assertive way Okonedo plays her makes her more believably heroic than anyone else in the movie. With a challenging gleam in her eye as she lowers her head at Okwe, a dimply but cutting wit, a self-reliant physicality (we see her return a violent john's punch), and the control to take her time when she's being rushed, Okonedo as Juliette exerts a theatrical command in every situation. Her looks resemble Angela Bassett's a bit and she has something of Stockard Channing's privately amused address, but she's a more natural screen presence than either. She's not trying so hard, she's confident enough to relax and still create tension around her. Obviously, you wouldn't wish yourself into prostitution, but you would hope to carry whatever your burden may be with Juliette's style. The moviemakers are such high-minded numbskulls they didn't realize they had a star in their midst; maybe audiences will be smarter. In any case, focusing on Senay rather than Juliette is a move for people who prefer Giulietta Masina's performance as the true-hearted, simple-minded waif in La Strada (1954) over her less obviously appealing performance as the squalling, contentious streetwalker in Nights of Cabiria (1957).

At the end, Okwe, Senay, and Juliette pull off one last deal with Senor Juan's kidney broker, who is suspicious and asks why he's never seen them before. Okwe says, "Because we're the people you never see," a good answer, but then goes on to make his meaning explicit by adding that they're the people who drive his cabs, clean his rooms, and suck his cock. That's saying too much--the guy was simply inquiring about a change in the personnel of a deal that is illegal and therefore justifies extra caution. Okwe is making a speech. And what's wrong with this exchange sums up what's wrong with the movie, which presents its hokey plot as right-thinking sociology.

Melodrama is a double disaster in a case like Dirty Pretty Things because the interchangeable melodramatic structure prevents the movie from developing a story out of its fresh particularities while the moviemakers' earnestness prevents them from giving us a melodrama we could enjoy without caring that it isn't more than a melodrama. After seeing Touch of Evil, for instance, you don't feel called on to worry about the treatment of Mexicans by American bordertown cops; it's perfectly acceptable to wonder if Orson Welles made any equally juicy-squalid movies. But after seeing Dirty Pretty Things a response like, "Gee, I'd love to see that Audrey Tautou as a Bosnian immigrant getting raped by her boss," would be utterly screwloose. Frears and his moviemaking team are so skilled that you can concede the movie is art while recognizing that it fails at everything it attempts, both entertainment and sociopolitical naturalism.