REVIEW - SEVEN PSYCHOPATHS

You don't lose yourself in a movie like this. It's constantly reminding you of the fact that it is, indeed, a movie. Self-awareness is its substance. As such, it's a difficult job liking Seven Psychopaths an awful lot, although it's much too cool to care - it merely wants you to admire it, to respect it, which is actually equally difficult. It might be less difficult if you've never seen another movie before. And, in fact, with all that comedy, and all that violence, to fully appreciate Seven Psychopaths would require you to lose yourself in it. But as Martin McDonagh keeps dipping his head back out of the water to offer up yet another meta observation or comically (and exhaustingly) gratuitous murder, there's nothing to get lost in. It's like a game, and you've got to spot all the in-jokes and self-mocking and then you win. And still, there's a laidback charm to McDonagh's callous abandon as he intentionally drives full speed down the wrong side of the road. There are far too many characters, plot holes and inconsistencies aplenty, reason is thrown to the wind as McDonagh indulges his every whim, and as he abuses all of these filmmaking conventions to no apparent end, it becomes increasingly plausible to think that Seven Psychopaths might, in the end, be capable of earning your admiration and respect. McDonagh wants to have his cake and eat another one entirely, and he does so with appropriate gluttony and careless vivacity. Sam Rockwell is in his element, as is Christopher Walken, but limply admitting that your female characters are shit doesn't quite suffice, Martin, not least when your female actors are this talented.