Guy Ritchie tries for a Tarantino-esque weaving tale of urbane gangsters, but doesn't have the wit or style to pull it off. The discussions of grammar (Get Shorty), pop culture references (Reservoir Dogs), post-modern visual nods to the celluloid medium (Fight Club), an enforcer menacing three druggies in their flat with monologues while helping himself to their treats (Pulp Fiction), pig-fucking-video blackmail (Black Mirror) are not only stale but done without panache. The whole thing ends up feeling shallow and stagey, not helped by an abundance of wobbly accents. The story doesn't hold up either, with heavily signposted twists (Who revealed the location of the secret weed farm? The only person they ever told. Who is the real agitator? It's the dad of the dead druggie who has been a prominent yet otherwise completely irrelevant plot thread.) and a series of deus ex machinas for an ending (Hunnam outsmarts Grant by... being "better than" him. McConnaughey escapes death because... the youth gang decide to shoot up his car at that moment but don't check if he's dead or even still in the car.) Worst of all, the characters are mostly archetypes, and neither endearing nor charming. I was rooting most of all for the weaselly blackmailing pap, purely because of a typically sterling Hugh Grant performance.
It has a few nice moments, like the council estate chase or the fight porn, but overall it's less Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, more Swordfish.
Rating: Bad.
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