seven pschopaths

n 1930, literary critic William Empson published Seven Types of Ambiguity, explaining the different types of... well, ambiguity in writing. They include metaphor; multiple metaphor; connected ideas; opposing ideas; the author’s act of discovering his idea in the act of writing; empty, interpretation-inspiring statements; and finally, a fundamental division in the author’s mind.
Martin McDonagh’s weird black comedy contains, as per the title, seven psychopaths, Empson’s seven types of ambiguity, and at least seven genre-skips. Sadly, his morbid, ramshackle ride loses its way in the final act, a potentially superb film sadly adding up to less than the sum of its parts.
Colin Farrell heads up the all-star cast as Marty, a struggling alcoholic screenwriter dragged into the Los Angeles criminal underworld when his oddball friends (a brilliantly gonzo Sam Rockwell and wonderfully understated Christopher Walken) enrage a sociopathic gangster (a nuttily nasty Woody Harrelson). Things quickly go from bad to bizarre.
The first half of Seven Psychopaths beautifully blends biting humour, Tarantino-esque violence and sly cinematic commentary, with McDonagh putting Marty’s artistic conflict to good use as a self-referential prop. Dramatic double-crosses, a brilliantly witty score and some ingenious cameos such as a bunny-loving Tom Waits keep the laughs flowing and the audience guessing. McDonagh seems on-track for a kinetic, Peyote-fuelled masterpiece.
However, the film loses focus and the many narrative puzzles refuse to come together. The hell-raising tempo eventually burns itself out and the final overlong showdown is an anti-climax.