Seven Psychopaths (2012, UK)

Despite the absurd volume of bullets in heads, Martin McDonagh’s Seven Psychopaths is essentially a lightweight affair. Whereas In Bruges was a darkly comic take on guilt and hell, Seven Psychopaths examines similar themes with a banana peel. It’s a slapstick bloodbath, with everyone and his brother in tow (as a Boardwalk Empire fan, I can’t get over that first scene, though the secret star here is, as usual, Zeljko Ivanek).  Colin Farrell, so well-used in Bruges, underplays the hapless straight man against the best Sam Rockwell and Christopher Walken performances I’ve seen in years. As Farrell’s alcoholic screenwriter struggles with putting pen to paper, actor buddy Rockwell and his partner in dognapping crime Walken are pulled into his orbit, spinning back out into a great deal of clever wordplay, existential noodling, and not an inconsequential amount of bloodshed. Amusing to no end, Seven Psychopaths still feels like much ado about nothing, particularly as its throwaway ending ruins the promise of the Walken monologue that immediately preceeds it. Now that McDonagh has worked the Hollywood misanthropy out of his system, I’m looking forward to whatever he sinks his teeth into next.