In London, a real-estate scam puts millions of pounds up for grabs, attracting some of the city's scrappiest tough guys and its more established underworld types, all of whom are looking to get rich quick. While the city's seasoned criminals vie for the cash, an unexpected player -- a drugged-out rock 'n' roller presumed to be dead but very much alive -- has a multi-million-dollar prize fall into...
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A botched card game in London triggers four friends, thugs, weed-growers, hard gangsters, loan sharks and debt collectors to collide with each other in a series of unexpected events, all for the sake of weed, cash and two antique shotguns.
A young man who was sentenced to seven years in prison for robbing a post office ends up spending three decades in solitary confinement. During this time, his own personality is supplanted by his alter-ego, Charles Bronson.
Lenny Cole, a London mob boss, puts the bite on all local real estate transactions. For substantial fees, he's helping Uri Omovich, a Russian developer. As a sign of good faith, Omovich loans Cole a valuable painting, promptly stolen off Cole's wall. While Cole's men, led by the dependable Archie, look for the canvas, three local petty criminals, the Wild Bunch, steal money from the Russian using inside information from his accountant, the lovely Stella. Meanwhile, a local drug-addled rocker, Johnny Quid, is reported drowned, and his connection to Cole is the key to unraveling the deceits and double crosses of life in the underworld. Written by
The house number where One-Two lives is three four. See more »
In the scene where Lenny tells his henchmen the painting's been stolen, Bandy asks "where was it then?", his shirt collar is unbuttoned, sticking out of his jacket. Though when the camera cuts back to him, he is wearing a tie and his collar is buttoned. Then when it cuts back to him, his collar is unbuttoned and sticking out again. See more »
People ask the question... what's a RocknRolla? And I tell 'em - it's not about drums, drugs, and hospital drips, oh no. There's more there than that, my friend. We all like a bit of the good life - some the money, some the drugs, others the sex game, the glamour, or the fame. But a RocknRolla, oh, he's different. Why? Because a real RocknRolla wants the fucking lot.
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There is a scene in the closing credits: the complete scene of One Two dancing with Handsome Bob at the gay bar. See more »
I have to admit that I have a soft spot for Guy Ritchie's mockney gangster films. I don't know what it is. I know that they're not very profound and have nothing to say, I know that they're a pure fantasy vision of British crime and I know that if you've seen Lock Stock, you've pretty much seen them all. And yet, as Ritchie returns for a third iteration of the only formula with which he's tasted success , I still find myself walking out of the cinema massively entertained.
RocknRolla does absolutely nothing new. A quick list of things it shares with Lock Stock and Snatch would read thus: fast paced, witty dialogue; complex, interwoven plot threads; central McGuffin driving the mayhem (#1 antique shotguns, #2 huge diamond, #3 a lucky painting); smart, rapid editing; a mountain of Cockney crime stereotypes. Even things such as hard-as-nails Russian henchmen return. It completes the upward curve of scale in Ritchie's crime films: from a rigged card game to a rigged boxing circuit to rigged property development. The crime lords get larger in stature, the sums of money owed have more zeros on the end and the capers required to resolve the situation more grand, but it's still the same concept.
You'd think this was a list of criticisms, and if you found Snatch wearingly familiar you shouldn't need it spelling out that this film won't impress you. Looking for originality? Look elsewhere. RocknRolla may be pushing the formula a little bit, but if you accept that it's still enormous fun. Ritchie's directing is as proficient as ever, it moves at a merry old pace and the plot just about stays on the rails. The characters are endearing and there's plenty of laughs to be had. Other than its dearth of invention, the only real flaw with the film lies in the opening fifteen minutes, where Ritchie sets up the plot strands which will then unravel. Whereas previous films did this in a smooth, unforced way, here Ritchie lathers it with a liberal helping of voice-over narration so there's absolutely no confusion possible as to who is who and what they're after, which on many occasions extends to pointing out the bleeding obvious. Show don't tell- it's the first rule in the book Ritchie! It may be getting to the point where RocknRolla must go down as a guilty pleasure, but guilty pleasures are often the most fulfilling kind. And so it is here.
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