Review of Outlaw

Outlaw (2007)
1/10
Dire from Dyer
20 April 2008
Warning: Spoilers
All over the world talented young writers and directors who can't raise funds for their projects must be wondering which devil Nick Love did a deal with to kick-start his own movie career, because after the unconvincing FOOTBALL FACTORY, we now have this risible piece of nihilistic nonsense.

It isn't just that it's morally skewed – though it is, horribly (while the heroes start out merely beating criminals, they soon end up hanging them and then shooting at the police, and we're still expected to regard them as heroes), but the overall execution is appalling. The camera-work is a nightmare, but the greatest weakness is the script, which is so underwritten as to be incoherent. We've got a vague idea what this movie's about, but we never learn anything about any of the characters, save that each one has got a grievance.

Sean Bean was dishonourably discharged from the army, but we don't know why (and it must have been serious, because if he fought in the Falklands as well as Afghanistan, that means he served on the front line for over 25 years – which if it wasn't so ludicrous would surely be worthy of better reward?). Danny Dyer is constantly on the verge of getting married – his girlfriend is clearly very important to him, but one day he gets punched by an irate motorist, and his life falls apart so spectacularly because of it that he can't go ahead with the wedding (work that one out, if you can). Bob Hoskins is a veteran copper whose main grump seems to be that he never got promoted, which in his mind – and in the writer/director's apparently – means that every other copper but him is corrupt. Sean Harris is a creepy, voyeuristic security guard, who doesn't have any major issues except that he sees the bad side of hotel guests through his CCTV – oh, and he's also a racist, though this is a theme we never explore. Lennie James and Rupert Friend have the most reason to start fighting back, both having suffered terribly at the hands of criminals, though neither role is satisfactory written or performed. Civilised barrister James resists and resists and resists – until it becomes boring, and then suddenly joins in enthusiastically, even to the point where he shoots at and kills police officers, while Friend is the one who finally walks away, though he's said and done so little in the whole film that you can't help wondering why he was even in it.

The plot is ridiculously contrived. As usual, we're expected to buy into Nick Love's favourite myth, namely that violence is so addictive that you'll only need to do it once and then you'll want to do it again and again. We're also expected to believe that this disparate bunch of individuals, who come from every walk of life and never knew each other beforehand, can meet up once and bond so quickly that they'll go out and commit very serious crimes together.

The underworld elements are particularly silly: street-corner drug dealers do not tell the first person that comes along which gangland superboss they are selling drugs for; gangland superbosses do not deliver pay-offs personally; gangland lieutenants do not make unsubtle threats to prosecuting barristers in courthouse toilets – especially when there are cameras there; if it's well known which high-ranking police officers are in the pay of gangland superbosses, those officers are investigated and punished – Britain is not a banana republic.

Other moments don't so much stretch your credulity as leave you baffled. What's the beginning all about? Does Danny Dyer's character regularly have premonitions of disaster? Why does the sparing of Furlong's life mean an automatic death sentence for Bob Hoskins? How does Hoskins have access to the case-files relating to so many high-profile crimes – he's supposed to be retired, isn't he? Even if he isn't, he's certainly not in the Flying Squad, because he said his application was rejected. Why are we even talking about the Flying Squad – they deal with armed robberies, not mainstream organised crime? At one point Bob pins a miniature microphone on his friend Lennie James, and spies on him. How did he get his hands on that gear? Why did he do it? How did Bean and Harris ever hook up in the first place – surely we're not saying it's because Harris was blackmailing him over the illegal weapons stash? Later on, Bean executes Harris merely because they have a fall-out. What's that supposed to mean – that Bean is a tough boss? Because for most of the film he isn't.

I guess what it boils down to is that we're back in the simplistic mind of Nick Love, where the main message is that men must assert themselves through violence. Love seems to have the attitude – as exemplified both by this movie and THE FOOTBALL FACTORY – that an uncaring world and sordid environment are sufficient reason for people to go and do violent things, and if the rest of us disagree it's because we're gutless. Yet isn't this exactly the attitude that criminals themselves take? It's a weird juxtaposition that the goodies in this movie in many ways are carbon-copies of the baddies, and yet there's no irony or post-modernism intended. Men indulging in extreme violence as an end in itself is apparently quite understandable and even acceptable to Nick Love.

If that's his warped attitude, there's nothing we can do about it. But this seems like a very strange movie for actors like Bob Hoskins and Sean Bean to be involved with.
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