Normally I wouldn't stoop to reviewing or even watching one of the endless glut of embarrassingly poor mockney gangster romps that have tainted the British film industry ever since Guy Ritchie decided to give birth to said genre, but in this case, given the believable authenticity and blindingly scripted nature of said venture; I'll make an exception. Smack is the drug of choice in this tale, and likable user Cyrus plays the doped up protagonist finding himself on the receiving end of a particularly vicious and shamelessly corrupt detective looking to manipulate him into delivering a mammoth stash of brown. Fortunately Cyrus has sterling backup in the form of a pair of welsh gangsters who provide a wealth of snappy dialogue and brutish ballistics. Adding to the comedic energy are an equally deranged mob of Russians who the detective calls in to balance the odds. Every other character has their own podium of eccentricity on which to shine, and grimily they do. Naturally, there is foul language aplenty, but deployed in all the right places for a change, and the frequent incidents of gunplay are air- punchingly superb.
Review of London's Finest
