Writer/director Martin McDonagh also stuck with the all-conquering eyebrows of Colin Farrell but not as one of the psychopaths. Instead he is a screenwriter dragged further and further into an all too factual distortion of his fictional indulgences as the film progresses. Largely because the craziest psycho of the lot is his best bud, played without trademark ticks but subtle genius by Sam Rockwell.
The plot actually matters less than those of post-Snatch Guy Ritchie movies as the piece is more a commentary on contemporary gangster films than a genuine example of the genre in and of itself. In literature this kind of postmodern larking about is called 'meta fiction'. Doesn't quite work as 'meta movie' apart from a pleasing alliteration, but the concept is the same: not exactly absurdist theatre but intriguing pastiche.
And with figures such as Woody Harrelson, Christopher Walken, Tom Waits, Olga Kurylenko and an uncredited Joaquin Phoenix lending weight to the quality of the ensemble, Seven Psychopaths is elevated up into such exalted company as the work of the Coen Brothers and Charlie Kaufman.
Everyone appears to relish the splendid silliness of their respective roles and the knowing winks to camera delivered within the script rather than directorial instruction. Then again, McDonagh IS the writer and director so perhaps it matters neither where the in-jokes originate nor how they are presented, only that they poke gentle, accurate fun at the rules of the game. Which they do. Both jobs done, Mr M.
As a self-contained story In Bruges is the stronger work and will no doubt be the one that lasts the test of time more effectively but if you're looking for a thoroughly entertaining and mildly bloody way to spend an evening's viewing with occasional uses of the word 'cunt' thrown in, you can do a lot worse than Seven Psychopaths. Plus you get the bonus of trying to work out whether Farrell's eyebrows have already achieved sentience in their own right.
No comments:
Post a Comment