Psychos goin’ Coen

Seven Psychopaths
DIRECTED BY: Martin McDonagh
STARRING: Colin Farrell, Sam Rockwell, Christopher Walken, Woody Harrelson
CERT: 16

Seven Psychopaths is the kind of film that might happen if you pooled the talents of Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie and the Coen brothers, started shooting and told them to make the story up as they went along. Meaning, it’s a bit of a wild mess but it hits the target often enough to be an entertaining mess.

 

Marty (Farrell) is an Irish screenwriter in LA, working harder on his daily booze intake than he is on his latest script, where he seems to be stuck for a few words. He does have the Seven Psychopaths title, though and that’s something.

He also has his best friend Billy (Rockwell), an out-of-work actor who’s eager to lend his buddy a hand with the screenplay. Among his helpful suggestions is the notion to place a classified ad in the paper, seeking psychopaths to volunteer for interview.

Sure enough the real deal turns up, a fellow named Zachariah (Tom Waits), one half of a serial killer double act who specialise in killing other serial killers ­ gentlemen like the Jack of Diamonds killer, who wears a red ski mask while murdering mobsters, leaving behind a distinctive calling card.

Billy, meanwhile, has gone into partnership with Hans (Walken), a dapper gent whose beloved wife is ill and whose mind is perhaps not entirely on the job. The lads run a dog-borrowing enterprise, whereby they kidnap dogs and return them to their owners for a hefty reward.

Which is an excellent business idea, until inevitably they abduct the wrong mutt. Bonny is a prize Shih Tzu, lavishly adored by his owner Charlie Costello (Harrelson), a professional gangster and bona fide deranged individual, who will not rest until the dognappers get what’s coming.

All the while scenes from Marty’s script start coming to life ­ in his head, in his life, in the movie in which Marty is merely a character. It all goes a bit Charlie Kaufman. The more memorable of these involve a Vietnamese monk and the appearance of Harry Dean Stanton as a grieving Quaker with vengeance on his mind. You probably don’t find many of those, but he fits in well in this company.
That said and despite being designated individual numbers, the ensemble is short a few genuine psychopaths and might more accurately be called An Alcoholic Who Writes About Psychos, His Colourful Friends, A Stray Lunatic and A Couple Of Actual Psychotics Who Want Everybody Dead.

But I suppose that’s just not very catchy.

If real madmen are in short supply, writer/director Martin McDonagh certainly compensates with violence; though over-compensates might be more accurate. It’s pretty excessive stuff.
There’s no shortage of McDonagh’s sharp dialogue either but, like the violence and the sheer number of characters you have to keep up with here, it’s laid on much too heavily, even if it’s worth the wait when it does hit the mark.

It’s the kind of heavy hand McDonagh displayed a few years back with In Bruges, but cranked up to 11 this time around, no sign of restraint in any department, except maybe in Christopher Walken’s performance. The man has been starring as himself for years now and he doesn’t stray far from home territory here but Walken doing Walken has rarely been this much fun.

Sam Rockwell is an actor who always looks like he’s bursting to fly over the edge and as Billy, he clearly didn’t need much direction. In contrast, Farrell is the straight man of the piece, a chap who really wants to create something of deep worth, while simultaneously indulging in the dark side.

It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed watching Farrell in anything but he’s in fine form here as the tormented writer. It’s a character we’ve seen before, notably in the form of the Barton Fink by the Coens, who are clearly an influence on McDonagh, though he hasn’t yet attained that talent for character and genuine wit.

McDonagh’s film has its moments of comedy, but nothing about it is subtle. It’s overkill almost from start to finish, an unrelenting bombardment of madness.
Which can be a lot of fun, but mostly it’s mentally draining.

So Undercover
DIRECTED BY: Tom Vaughan
STARRING: Miley Cyrus, Alexis Knapp, Kelly Osbourne
CERT: 12A
There’s no real reason for a film like So Undercover to exist, even as a vehicle for Miley Cyrus, who hardly needs a thing like this on her CV. Though it does serve the purpose of proving that Kelly Osbourne should be kept away from the movies, so maybe it isn’t an outright waste.

Cyrus is teenage private investigator Molly, making a living by snooping on wayward spouses. It’s a long way from Hannah Montana, but a sparkly new life is only a makeover away. Assigned by the FBI to a gig at a fancy New Orleans college, our plucky heroine gets the high fashion treatment before going undercover ­ infiltrating a sorority to act as bodyguard to a gangster’s daughter (Lauren McKnight), who may have evidence that will send a big mob boss down.

This involves a lot of mingling with the catty house sisters, romantic interest in the shape of Joshua Bowman and occasional encounters with roommate Kelly Osbourne, ­ who I imagine is supposed to be funny.

It doesn’t work for me and unless you’re a Miley Cyrus fan, there’s nothing much else here to detain you.