What do you have to do to get your career revoked in England, short of being Gary Glitter? After a box-office-catastrophic two-movie run, Guy Ritchie takes another mulligan and returns to formthough his tics and tricks have never added up to more than cockney-accented novelty mixed with 2 Days in the Valley dross. A new pack of capering yobs (some guy from 300, Ludacris), including a Pete Dohertyesque crackhead savant, run off with one anothers loot, their various storylines cut together and the scenes temporally shuffled with enough sleight-of-editing to keep up a semblance of kineticism. Brick-shithouse-built rough boys are given unexpected colors (something that, in productions of this nature, is entirely to be expected), such as a taste for Merchant-Ivory films. Digressive soliloquies casually linger on such ephemera as American crayfish and the semiotics of a pack of cigarettes, belying looming violence. Why should a movie so titled have one of the most indifferent soundtracks in recent memory? Because Ritchie is a pop tart at heart (see: wife), for whom rock n roll has nothing to do with the weight of riffage, and everything to do with dandyish tailoring and pub-belligerent tude. Sum total of scenes that deserved to stay in the final cut: Thandie Newton doing a little shimmying frug.
Guy RitchieGerard Butler, Tom Wilkinson, Thandie Newton, Mark Strong, Idris Elba, Tom Hardy, Toby Kebbell, Jeremy Piven, Chris "Ludacris" BridgesGuy RitchieJoel Silver, Susan Downey, Steve Clark-Hall, Guy RitchieWarner Bros. Pictures/Dark Castle