Seven Psychopaths

Seven Psychopaths opens with two mobsters casually sharing anecdotes on unusual methods of assassination (“I once stabbed someone in the ear with an ice pick”) with the sun-drenched Hollywood sign standing in the background. The fact that said mobsters are played by Michaels Pitt and Stuhlbarg, both of whom also happen to play mobsters in TV series Boardwalk Empire, is the first hint that we’re in for some seriously meta entertainment.

In fact, you could argue that most of Martin McDonagh’s latest effort is shamelessly self-referential. Colin Farrell plays an Irish writer called Marty who is struggling with his latest screenplay, which of course is called Seven Psychopaths. In a film almost entirely populated by larger than life male individuals, one of them tells Marty that he can’t write female characters. And during one segment that borders dangerously on self-aggrandising, Marty is referred to as “the greatest writer of his time”. The tongue is so firmly in cheek, it’s a surprise it doesn’t rip through the flesh like a bloody exit wound.  

When Seven Psychopaths is not busy flattering its director/screenwriter, it revels in poking fun at the conventions of cinema and Sam Rockwell’s unhinged schizoid is the perfect mouthpiece. Everything from articulate French films to the tried and tested Hollywood shootout is homaged before being mercilessly dissected to great comedic effect.

However, there is something missing from the bigger picture, something vital to go with all the satire and OTT characters. McDonagh’s previous film, In Bruges, managed to successfully blend drama and comedy thanks to a simple yet well written script. Seven Psychopaths on the other hand has a killer set-up – hapless protagonists steal a gangster’s beloved dog, escalating mayhem ensues – but lacks a half decent plot to live up to the premise. No amount of quips, bare breasts or Christopher Walken quirks can make up for that.

There is plenty of quotable material here. There’s even one scene involving a hooker and a suicidal Buddhist that somehow comes off as being equally hilarious and extremely moving in a zen sort of way (not making this up, seriously). Yet somehow the overall result feels like a brilliant idea for a movie that hasn’t been properly thought through. Martin McDonagh may well turn out to be the greatest writer of his time, but he’s got to stay focused.

3/5