> REVIEW
_____________________________________________________
Seven Psychopaths (2012)
Bloody language…
_____________________________________________________
By Danila Lipatov | December 2012
DIRECTOR: Martin McDonagh
WRITER: Martin McDonagh
For his second feature as a director revered playwright Martin McDonagh swaps the murky cobblestones of In Bruges for the sun-baked streets of LA in an elaborately rambunctious deconstruction of the American crime genre.
Hard drinking Irish screenwriter Marty Faranan (Colin Farrell) is struggling to find ideas for his new screenplay Seven Psychopaths. Despite its alluring title, the story is intended to be a noble departure from the contrived plotting and gratuitous violence often found in the Hollywood genre picture. Best buddy and failed actor-turned dog-kidnapper, Billy (Sam Rockwell) suggests placing an advert inviting the more articulate psychopaths in La La Land to come and spill their tales for inspiration, but things soon take a turn for the dramatic when Marty is (un)willing propelled onto a collision course with unhinged gangster, Charlie (Woody Harrelson), whose Shih Tzu Bonny has been stolen by Billy and his partner in crime Hans (Christopher Walken.)
From the deliriously surreal premise it’s clear that McDonagh is attempting to flex his budding cinematic muscle, enthusiastically adopting such cinematic tricks as flashback, rapid change of setting and elaborate action and fantasy sequences. In Seven Psychopaths McDonagh’s staple theatre of the absurd eagerly transforms into a highly baroque cinema of attractions that thrills and bemuses with its slew of colourful characters and cultural references.
Delightfully odd sub-plots introduce the titular pseudo-pacifistic psychopaths: the ghost of a decent silent Quaker (Harry Dean Stanton) avenging his daughter’s death, a Vietnamese priest (Long Nguyen) plotting revenge for the My Lai Massacre and a well-mannered maniac Zachariah Rigby (Tom Waits) with a broken heart who only targets serial killers and walks around fondling a rabbit.
However, unlike on the stage where McDonagh’s use of violence and labyrinthine word games appears unique and unprecedented, in cinema his post-modernist depiction of Americana follows well-trodden territory already blazed by the likes of Quentin Tarantino and the Coen brothers.
Although compared to Tarantino and the Coens, McDonagh’s cinematic style feels undercooked and lacks the precious moments of stillness required to absorb the narrative’s many curios. While regular Coens collaborator Carter Burwell’s playful score only punctuates the accumulating similarities.
There is still a lot to appreciate here, none more so than the glorious trio of Farrell, Rockwell and Walken who turn their two-dimensional characters into something almost otherworldly adding an earnest, melancholic dimension to the narrative. Farrell (just) pinches the film from Walken, portraying Marty with commendable credibility.
Seven Psychopaths certainly isn’t the definitive deconstruction of the American crime genre, however, in McDonagh’s vision of Hollywood things get decidedly more exciting after the final showdown. In fact, the ending may very well be interpreted as a cautious nod to all aspiring filmmakers and while McDonagh claims to never having experienced writer’s block his film clearly shows that finishing a piece of screenwriting is literally like surviving a catastrophe.
Script…………………………………………………………………………………………….
Often smart, ridiculously hip and hilarious, yet, McDonagh’s wild narrative
struggles for focus and clarity playing more like an everything-but-the-kitchen-
sink first draft than the disciplined final polish. 3
Direction………………………………………………………………………………………..
McDonagh shows great confidence and genuine flashes of potential in his second
feature as a director but at times his cinematic vision strays dangerously close to
those more established filmmakers interested in pastiche and linguistic jokes. 3
Verdict…………………………………………………………………………………………..
Reality collides with fiction in a flawed but bloody entertaining farce. 3
