London Boulevard

London Boulevard is a mess, a fascinating, exhilarating, infuriating, emotional, tragic and euphoric mess, but still a mess all the same.

A stylish if familiar tale of a man hopelessly entangled in his past.

It doesn't really hang together, not really. But when a picture is this sleek and pleasurable, why complain?

In trying to take a bite out of crime and another out of fame, [Monahan has] ended up with more than he can chew for his first time in the director's chair.

Monahan's trademark tart dialogue is as strong as ever, and Farrell and Winstone make for a formidable pair of opponents.

There is too much to be absorbed in too little time and not enough tissue connecting abbreviated, sometimes unnecessary subplots.

Monahan delivers a messy-if-mildly-enjoyable crime movie that should entertain, but won’t wow, fans of both the genre and these performers.

Cool. Hip. Slick. Loving London Boulevard.

I particularly enjoyed strong performances from David Thewlis as Charlotte's quirky caretaker Jordan, and Pushing Daisies' Anna Friel acting the hell out of her role as Mitchel's train wreck of a sister, Briony.

The best remedy for films like London Boulevard is pure denial. If you don't go and see it, don't do it the courtesy of talking about it -- then it doesn't exist.