There's simply too much typecasting going on in Fitzgibbon's stock gangland piece, with Cillian Murphy as an opportunistic waster on the lam from Brendan Gleeson's mob boss, after money and revenge for Murphy accidentally whacking one of his goons. Jim Broadbent's inclusion as Murphy's deceptively batty father, convinced he'll die the next time he sleeps, redresses the balance a tad, but it all goes south of credibility and surprises from the word go, with the usual array of token feisty female support, shaven-headed nutters with tats and dogs, and only just short of gypsies with fiddles for stereotypes. Uninvolving.
5/10
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