directed by Malcolm Venville
If you have watched the trailer for this film, then you are aware that Sexy Beast writers Louis Mellis and David Scinto penned this gangster stroke comedy stroke drama thing called 44 Inch Chest, starring Ray Winstone, John Hurt, Stephen Dillane and Ian McShane. And if you did watch the trailer, then you may have sensed that someone was trying to a little too hard to sell the film to you. Your spidey sense served you well if that’s the case, because 44 Inch Chest is as anticlimactic as they come. Actually, anticlimactic is an understatement; we’re talking about a complete and utter climactic vacuum in which nothing can escape. Though the film features a dazzling cast and a strangely promising premise (Winstone finds himself on the chump end of an affair and calls in the support of his sinister buddies to hold his hand as he attempts to exact mortal revenge on the guy who did the deed with his wife), the film fails to deliver. Don’t get me wrong, the movie has its moments, but they are nothing more than wink into the camera flashes that seem to assume a level of cool that simply did not match the reality of this film. Amid the monsoon of Cockney vulgarity and twisted cutsieness, talents like McShane, Hurt and Winstone flex their muscles with wonderful effect, but whole story just left me cream crackered, pissed and without a sense of finality. But perhaps I’m just one me Jack Jones about the film.