The classic story of the upwardly mobile mobster, retold in fish-and-chips British accents, fish-eye lenses, slow-motion, split screens, coarse and corroded color, flashbacks and flashforwards, not to mention Dahmer-esque or Ed Gein-ian peaks of gore. At the hard heart of the film is the scene (with thanks to Tarantino) in which the protagonist lays out the implements of butchery to the accompaniment of a little Anthony Newley ditty ("Why? Because I love you ..."). Neither the butchery nor the accompanying ditty is the hardest part of the scene to swallow: he has just kicked in the door of his victim's apartment, kicked it clean off its hinges, and then he cranks up the stereo, strips off his clothes, and gets down to business, not a worry in the world that a neighbor might poke a head out into the hallway. Paul McGuigan, in his feature directing debut, clearly means to move in on the turf of Guy Ritchie. (Shall we compare calluses?) Some will feel that all this "edgy" stuff will obstruct the view of the classical lineaments. Those who won't feel that way probably won't care about the classical lineaments anyway. Maybe they also won't care why, after a time-jump of three decades, Paul Bettany must hand off his role to Malcolm McDowell while the rest of the cast (David Thewlis, Saffron Burrows, et al.) are allowed to stick around and dip into the aging makeup. (2002) — Duncan Shepherd