Flak Magazine: Review of Snatch, 1-26-01

Little has been made of the latest British invasion of pop film. Trainspotting flew in under the radar in 1996 and gained esteem in smaller circles before the masses caught on. The Full Monty was timed well, bringing Robert Carlyle back as a familiar face and earning that “little brother” fifth Best Picture nomination.

When Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels landed in 1998, however, it fell into a void; word-of-mouth incorrectly promoted it as the heir to Trainspotting, which at that point was undoubtedly unmatchable, and it surely wasn’t Oscar material. In addition, Guy Ritchie, a quickly stereotyped director, perpetuated the theory that the Brits would keep pushing forth “lad” films and nothing else until laddism ran rich in the hearts of Americans.

Enter Snatch, Ritchie’s 2001 entry. With it, Ritchie will get quickly pigeonholed again, but for the better — like Kevin Smith on our side of the ocean, he sets up Snatch (and Lock, Stock alike) as a comic book, with characters known by gutsy nicknames and nothing else. He employs hypnotic fast-cut sequences to engage viewers, and rewards them with intricate plots and snappy dialogue. This is not just another Brit film; though it leans heavily on British conventions, this is the Guy Ritchie School of Filmmaking. He shows the viewer exactly what he can do with a pen and a camera.

Like other lad films, Snatch is all about debts owed, crimes committed and plans blundered. Frankie Four Fingers (the ubiquitous Benicio Del Toro) heists an 80-plus carat diamond from Jewish diamond dealers in Antwerp, who bring in Doug the Head (Mike Reid) to retrieve it, who brings in Cousin Avi (Dennis Farina) from New York, who calls on Bullet Tooth Tony (Vinnie Jones), who targets Boris the Blade (Rade Serbedjia), who sold a broken gun to Tommy (Stephen Graham), who’s the unwitting partner to Turkish (Jason Statham), who’s the underground boxing manager for pig farmer Brick Top (Alan Ford).

But isn’t Brad Pitt in the movie? Ah yes. Mickey (Pitt), a slurring gypsy piker, gets put into Brick Top’s ring when he knocks out Gorgeous George (Adam Fogerty) on a bet. At the same time, Brick Top is handling issues with Tyrone (Ade) and his partners, hired by Cousin Avi to track down Frankie Four Fingers for the diamond. Mind you, most of the aforementioned are after this diamond.

Thus goes the design of Mr. Ritchie. All superbly written, all superbly acted, highlighted by Jones’ tongue-in-cheek delivery and Pitt’s quirks. Snatch is, of course, the same successful narrative formula of Lock, Stock: three, four, sometimes five strands of story all wrapped up into an ironic and quasi-fitting ending. Viewers get a lad film, fully stocked with guns, comedy, music, crime and puns, with an immaculate plot structure.

In the eyes of us damned Americans, Snatch is the movie about Brad Pitt in a comedic fight club and Guy Ritchie is Mr. Madonna (think the royalties from including her “Lucky Star” on the Snatch soundtrack was a Christmas present from husband to wife?). The accolade praising Snatch as “the next Pulp Fiction” illustrates all that’s wrong with our reception of the film, however. Quentin Tarantino can write killer dialogue, too, but he doesn’t dare breach the topic of closure that Ritchie has mastered. Tarantino’s films, from Reservoir Dogs to Jackie Brown, rest on the coincidences of random walks, but Ritchie pitches the complete game and neatly ties everything together.

Most every other thrill about the assembly of Snatch is lost through our red-, white- and blue-tinted sunglasses: the presence of Vinnie Jones, “football” star turned criminal turned actor; the significance of Avi, a Brit-hating petty criminal; and the ultimate insult of Pitt as a boxing diletante, the antithesis of a Tyler Durden-esque ultraviolent social activist, to name a few. Hopefully, viewers will walk away with an appreciation for Guy Ritchie’s statement and technique, and not just another cheap thrill from Brit culture.

It’s unfortunate that this is Ritchie’s last lad film for a while; he has already vowed to make his next piece a medieval Ottoman wartime piece. He has the ability to turn visual America on its ear, weaving a Moby-esque quilt over media and meriting mention in introductory film classes — if America will take it. The early weeks of Snatch’s US release will decide if it’s a craze for the many (seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon yet?) or a flippant Brit clip for the few, remembered only for a plot twist and a Madonna gag.

— Andy Stilp (andy.stilp at gmail dot com)