Snatch (2000)

Snatch reminds me of arrogant basketball superstar Dennis Rodman. It's all swagger, flashy tattoos, flexed muscles, amorality, and profanity. And it has a rather discomforting connection to Madonna.

Director Guy Ritchie, Madonna's new husband, delivered us the best yet of the Pulp Fiction wanna-bes, a little crime caper called Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels just a couple of years ago. That stylish, hyperviolent film was like a big cartoon. In it, small, dumb, young men made a bad gamble and got stuck in power plays between big, dumb, malevolent villains. We cared about these poor souls because they were just naive and stupid, and really needed a chance to learn their lesson and go on with their lives, but the major nasties chasing them were like wild dogs. Lots of blood was shed, and somehow the heroes slipped through it alright, in a catastrophic collision of accidents, coincidences, and close-calls that kept us gasping, wincing, and laughing.

While the movie was too indulgently violent for me to give it much of a recommendation, I appreciated how its storytelling worked like a well-wound watch, and that it had a conscience (however feeble).

Snatch is like a remake of Lock, Stock with the moral backbone ripped out of it and the style turned up several notches.