Seven Psychopaths

You remember the mid-Nineties? When every second film felt like a Quentin Tarantino knock-off? When movies like ‘Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead’, ‘Albino Alligator’ and ‘Two Days In The Valley’ all tried to ape QT’s style and sass? Well, Martin McDonagh’s ‘Seven Psychopaths’ is like stepping in a time machine to 1994, to the days of “a bunch of gangsters doing a bunch of gangsta s**t”, to borrow from ‘Pulp Fiction’s inimitable Jules Winfield.

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The opening sees two hitmen (‘Boardwalk Empire’ pair Michael Pitt and Michael Stuhlbarg) prepping to kill their boss’s former love, irreverently discussing the tools and techniques of the trade. “Is it Dillinger who got shot through the eyeball or am I thinking of somebody else?” muses Stuhlbarg, before a masked assailant – the first of the titular psychopaths – comes up behind them and pops a cap each in their skulls. They don’t even have time to order a Royale with cheese.

So begins McDonagh’s LA-set slice of pulp fiction – though in this case, the fiction is provided by boozy, blocked screenwriter Marty (Colin Farrell). When he’s not getting under the feet of his long-suffering girlfriend (Abbie Cornish), he’s killing time with his out-of-work actor friend Billy (Sam Rockwell), who tries to help Marty out on his as-yet-unwritten screenplay – called ‘Seven Psychopaths’ – by advertising for any real-life nutters to come visit. Cue the arrival of Tom Waits’ rabbit-carrying habitual killer of serial murderers and further anecdotal asides about Buddhist assassins and Quaker killers.

All this is promising, especially tied to McDonagh’s zingy one-liners. But ‘Seven Psychopaths’ is nowhere near as lean or mean as the writer-director’s 2008 debut ‘In Bruges’, which also starred Farrell. Events take a turn for the unfocused when Billy and his partner, the elegant old-timer Hans (Christopher Walken), who together have a nice little sideline in dog-napping, steal the wrong mutt – a Shih Tzu belonging to foul-tempered mobster Charlie (Woody Harrelson).

With Marty embroiled as well, all three escape for a soul-searching trip to the desert. But in a half-baked attempt at meta-fiction – think the Charlie Kaufman-scripted ‘Adaptation’, only not as adept – this second-half resembles the evolution of Marty’s own ‘Seven Psychopaths’ screenplay, as if he’s writing what we’re watching. So knowing references to the film’s content are made – complaints about underwritten female characters, for example, just like the ones played by Cornish and Olga Kurylenko (as Charlie’s girlfriend). It’s clever, but not enough to stop it becoming tiresome.

What it does have going for it is Christopher Walken, who offers an understated turn as Hans. While he’s been in more than his fair share of Tarantino and post-Tarantino crime films, here he shows his sensitive side (and not just because he’s wearing a cravat), notably in his relationship with his hospital-bound wife. While Farrell just seems bemused by it all, not least with Rockwell chattering away like he’s wired out, you can sympathise. Like a writer’s notebook, ‘Seven Psychopaths’ is full of good ideas, just without the dots to join them.

Rating: 3/5