No, this is not the direct fault of Tarantino or Ritchie or any conspiracy. This exceedingly trite and uninteresting film is the result of the popularity in recent decades of what I often term "pseudo-hip" cinema, a condescending attitude toward his or her audience by a scriptwriter (as well as a director) who feels more perceptive than the average bloke. Or average filmmaker who came before them (in this case, see the British gangster films of the '50s by the likes of Lewis Gilbert or starring Richard Attenborough.
Both Gilbert, more famous for his later Bond movies and quality feel-good items like "Educating Rita" and "Shirley Valentine", there will never be praise or film-buff adoration. No, it is the pranksters who catch the public's eye, but this followup to the unusual (and vastly overrated, natch) "Sexy Beast" has nothing to offer.
It is basically a one-act play, suitable perhaps for acting class or some limited run at a hard-up local repertory theatre. There's an assortment of gangster cliché figures, hardly worth calling characters, and their victim, an adulterer.
The subject of adultery is run into the ground here as if it were novel, timely or even remotely interesting. Ray Winstone, who I first admired way back in "Quadrophenia" and "Scum" (and even "That Summer") when an independent British Cinema (see: hit "Gregory's Girl") was making its name internationally, is stuck with a useless, unplayable role unworthy of his talents as the sob-story vegetable of a protagonist.
His pals/comrades are written to let the talented actors chew the scenery, with the great John Hurt especially indulgent in delivering a retarded, foul-mouthed zero. Ian McShane fares the best, given literate soliloquies to recite and basically able to stay above the low-life fray as an egotistical homosexual gangster. I first became a fan of his in 1971 watching "Villain" at a local Cleveland drive-in theater and though that gangster film (part of an early '70s renaissance headed by Mike Hodges) was roundly knocked by the critics, its violent power impressed me, as did the journeyman director, like Hodges from Brit TV, Michael Tuchner.
So Ritchie and his imitators sell tickets, and we will see this nonsensical rush to the bottom continue. These films are not entertaining nor enlightening -mere exercises in "Look ma, I'm swearing!" We probably have that jerk Brian DePalma and his "Scarface" to thank for that.
Both Gilbert, more famous for his later Bond movies and quality feel-good items like "Educating Rita" and "Shirley Valentine", there will never be praise or film-buff adoration. No, it is the pranksters who catch the public's eye, but this followup to the unusual (and vastly overrated, natch) "Sexy Beast" has nothing to offer.
It is basically a one-act play, suitable perhaps for acting class or some limited run at a hard-up local repertory theatre. There's an assortment of gangster cliché figures, hardly worth calling characters, and their victim, an adulterer.
The subject of adultery is run into the ground here as if it were novel, timely or even remotely interesting. Ray Winstone, who I first admired way back in "Quadrophenia" and "Scum" (and even "That Summer") when an independent British Cinema (see: hit "Gregory's Girl") was making its name internationally, is stuck with a useless, unplayable role unworthy of his talents as the sob-story vegetable of a protagonist.
His pals/comrades are written to let the talented actors chew the scenery, with the great John Hurt especially indulgent in delivering a retarded, foul-mouthed zero. Ian McShane fares the best, given literate soliloquies to recite and basically able to stay above the low-life fray as an egotistical homosexual gangster. I first became a fan of his in 1971 watching "Villain" at a local Cleveland drive-in theater and though that gangster film (part of an early '70s renaissance headed by Mike Hodges) was roundly knocked by the critics, its violent power impressed me, as did the journeyman director, like Hodges from Brit TV, Michael Tuchner.
So Ritchie and his imitators sell tickets, and we will see this nonsensical rush to the bottom continue. These films are not entertaining nor enlightening -mere exercises in "Look ma, I'm swearing!" We probably have that jerk Brian DePalma and his "Scarface" to thank for that.