Having absorbed the critical/commercial equivalent of Billy Batts' barroom beatdown via the get-your-fucking-shinebox combo of SWEPT AWAY and REVOLVER (culminating with this butcher knife to the gut from Roger Ebert), it's more than a little startling to find Guy Ritchie swaggering back to his old gangster stomping grounds with his most dialed-in picture to date. Apparently, Ritchie is one of those knockaround blokes who can't get right until he tastes his own blood.

Feel free to call ROCKNROLLA a comeback; just don't call it a creative rebirth. Ritchie is on very familiar footing with this rough-and-tumble caper comedy about a trio of small-time hoods - One Two (Gerard Butler), Mumbles (Idris Elba) and Handsome Bob (Tom Hardy) - who invite big-time trouble when they try to make a splash in London's cutthroat real estate market. When they get their knuckles rapped by Lenny Cole (Tom Wilkinson), the "headmaster" of the old school criminal underground, the boys suddenly find themselves heavily in debt and absent their prized, potentially lucrative property. Meanwhile, Lenny is attempting to make a killing off of Uri Obomavich (Karel Roden), a Russian billionaire who's none too shy about flaunting his wealth (he does business out of a luxury box in Wembley Arena) while doing all kinds of dirt behind the scenes to keep his burgeoning empire secure. Though Lenny knows Uri (or, at least, guys like Uri) represents the future of corruption in the fast-changing metropolis, he's not about to roll over for this "new school" Eastern European interloper; London is Lenny's town until it's forcibly taken away from him.

Funny how something as insignificant as a "lucky" painting - lent to Lenny by Uri - can undo a lifetime of successful transgression.

As was the case with Ritchie's first two features, ROCKNROLLA cheerfully piles one contrivance on top of another until the whole endeavor is nothing more than a risible mess of crooks and eccentrics behaving badly. The difference this time, however, is that the director is no longer trying to convince the audience of his filmmaking virtuosity with a lot of superfluous visual flourishes. Whether a sign of maturity or simply a reaction to the rancor which greeted the laboriously tricked-out REVOLVER, it's a relief to see Ritchie reining it in; for once, he'd rather work within the gangster film framework than explode it.

It's strange to praise a film for its lack of ambition, but that's actually ROCKNROLLA's primary virtue. Aside from a couple of bravura action sequences, the film amiably settles for a low-key ensemble dynamic that allows Butler, Wilkinson and Toby Kebbell (as Lenny's drugged-out, faking-dead rock star son) to register as something more than archetypes. Butler is especially engaging as the brash One Two, a just-competent-enough thief whose affection for and loyalty to his compatriots goes well above and painfully beyond (particularly with regards to Handsome Bob, who asks an unusual favor of One Two before doing a lengthy stint in jail). Unlike many in Hollywood (where he's been largely squandered in bland leading man roles), Ritchie understands that Butler works best as a guileless, lunkheaded, Steve McQueen-like protagonist; he's the kind of guy who'll probably get the job done, but not before inviting far more calamity than necessary. The scene in which One Two pauses pauses in the middle of a foot chase to taunt a seemingly unstoppable Russian hitman, only to find his equally (seemingly) unstoppable partner charging after him is a perfect illustration of this idiotic, but oddly likable, bluster; the audience may be rooting for him, but they also get off on his self-inflicted misery.

Wilkinson is suitably loathsome as the ruthless kingpin Lenny, but he's much more interesting when forced to grovel at Uri's knees when the aforementioned painting comes up missing; the character isn't written with any great panache, but, as always, Wilkinson finds a way to make the commonplace exceptional. While Wilkinson underplays, Mark Strong tears into the role of Lenny's muscle, Archy, with a vicious brio; his stinging demonstration of how to deliver a proper backhanded slap (using one of his lackeys as an involuntary test subject) is one of the film's high points. Thandie Newton, on the other hand, is boringly attractive as Uri's manipulative accountant, Stella; though she capably acts the desirous part (Newton can't help but look lovely), fucking is of scant interest to Ritchie - which he seems to acknowledge with a humorously truncated sex scene.

Though most of the actors blend harmoniously into the labyrinthine narrative, the film does boast one grandstanding turn. Toby Kebbell evidently has a following in England, but he's fairly new to American audiences, which makes his half-bratty/half-pathetic portrayal of pop star Johnny Quid something of a revelation. Slight in stature, but consumed with a unpredictably homicidal bent, Quid is the wildcard who causes grief for the tale's many schemers. He's the chaotic motor of the piece, and, not surprisingly, closest to Ritchie's bruised heart. Quid's a survivor. And so, perhaps, is Ritchie.

That which doesn't kill your career just might make you a stronger filmmaker.

Faithfully submitted,

Mr. Beaks