His Jerry Lynch is a loose cannon with a fondness for boxing and Celtic music, who bases his self-image in his bullying of suspects and informants, including his chief nemesis, the brutish Lehiff (Colin Farrell). Accordingly, the movie, written by Mark Rowe, is a mostly unvarnished tour through the mean streets of an unnamed lower-class Irish industrial town, an ensemble piece constructed with some of today’s most respected Irish actors.Ĭolm Meaney plays against type as an abusive, bumbling police detective with delusions of grandeur. John Crowley’s first feature film comes after a distinguished career as a theatrical director in his native Ireland. It all feels like an odd exercise in self-correcting transgression. Ugly events occur, but by the time the credits roll, virtue has been rewarded and vice has been punished. These digressions threaten to steer the film into the bleak landscape of dark comedy, but in the end, it’s just too sweet. There are perhaps a dozen scenes that jar the viewer by introducing seemingly random developments. Intermission repeatedly frustrates audience expectations. To use a familiar metaphor: when your narrative suddenly switches gears, you leave viewers in the lurch. It has a similar effect on the audience: too many abrupt transitions and sudden changes wreak havoc on their patience. If you say no, even as a punch-line, then you bring the scene to a sudden halt, forcing your fellow actors to compensate for the abrupt change in direction. The idea is to keep the scene’s forward momentum constant. One of the first rules you learn in improvisational theater is never to say no.
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