This movie is fucking horrible, but in a good way.
Our lad Bex, spiralling deeper into what they – you know, the broadsheet columnists cocooned in their ivory towers, sucking on lattes and all that – deem ‘toxic masculinity’, clearly has issues. As do all his chums.
How the sport of football somehow inadvertently bred mass hordes of cretinous thugs is a sociological question beyond the scope of the movie, but the broader context is at least established beyond the lurid bar brawls and messy Stanley knife shenanigans.
It’s grim viewing, but like American History X (1998) or Bad Lieutenant (1992), it’s rather mesmerising in its gritty, guerrilla style
A soap-colliding curiosity as we also have both Corrie Street’s Jim McDonald and EastEnders’ Phil Mitchell share the same frame. Two hooligans for the price of one.
It’s so meta.
