Review of Snatch (2000) by Blake P — 05 Dec 2015

The legacy of Quentin Tarantino was at its most illustrious in the mid-to-late '90s, when copycats and swag-jackers still didn't seem like such - then, his career was too young to make his filmmaking obsessions iconic in the way they are now. And so rounds of movies similar in nature to his "Pulp Fiction," such as Doug Liman's ingenious "Go" (1999) and Steven Soderbergh's indelible "Out of Sight," set the stage for a cinematic land where sly comic thrillers with tangled plots and colorful characters could be more glowing in the eyes of the public than the Arnie moneymakers of the 1980s could ever be.

Over the years, critics and audiences alike have noted that only one filmmaker has really emulated Tarantino's '90s with the same sort of ambitious spunk - he is, of course, Guy Ritchie, whose uncanny ability to squeeze laughs out of criminal buffoonery and whose deft balance of multiple characters and storylines has made him an icon in the grand scheme of renowned Generation X pulp.

Unseen by me, his 1999 debut, "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels," has become a minor classic, seen as the best Tarantino wannabe of the decade simply because it strove for genuine caper jitters rather than stooping to rip-off filler like expected. Its soundtrack and tonal vibrations made for chatter that suggested Quentin and Robert would be in for some major cinematic competition.

So before 2002's "Swept Away" shut down the buzz that surrounded his budding filmography, working as a widely panned vanity project featuring then-wife Madonna in a role that proved that she wasn't anything even resembling a decent actress, he furthered the fever that surrounded "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels" with 2001's "Snatch." A stylistically matching comic thriller characterized by a serpentine plot, truckloads of characters, and dialogue ready to burst with kooky comedic slickness, it never, for a second, lets us lose interest.

The story, though meant to be the sort of plot that seems complicated but somehow fuses together seamlessly, is supremely hard to follow, but that doesn't mean that the situations that arise aren't confidently set. It involves a sought after diamond always ready to fall into the wrong hands, whether it be the palms of businessmen Turkish (Jason Statham) and Tommy (Stephen Graham), who are in the process of making a deal with a sadistic gang leader (Alan Ford), or Franky Four Fingers (Benicio Del Toro) and his dim-witted associates, who are employed under American jewel dealer Cousin Avi (Dennis Farina).

However likable and funny it may be, "Snatch" has a difficult time tying its interweaving stories in the same breathless way Tarantino so easily can, with too many faces and names to really keep track of; without a Bruce Willis or Uma Thurman to act as heavyweight markers detonating where the story is going, it all feels rather aimless, even when it's inspired. At least the performances, ranging from truly fearsome to fantastically funny (particularly Statham's smart-ass portrayal or Brad Pitt's almost incomprehensibly accented Mickey), keep us entertained, and at least Ritchie has a knack for natural comedy - we sometimes forget that we have no idea what's really happening.

But I am in awe of "Snatch's" inexhaustibility - Ritchie seems to have an immeasurable assembly line of criminal-based comedic scenarios to throw at us, and he's a writer, a director, with extraordinary enthusiasm for his craft. So however flawed it is, "Snatch" is a great deal of fun, and Ritchie never lets us forget it.