Mark M Thompson

For all its comic book in-jokes, stunning costumes, superb casting and set design, this is a movie that just doesn't feel very finished. Fight choreography jars with the editing, characters are randomly glimpsed during set pieces which feels as though they've been wedged in during a last minute editing process (for the sake of story-line coherence, no less) and there's more loose ends than you'd find in Harleen Quinzel's self-cut hair. The juxtaposition of PG-certificate slapstick against 80s-esque super violence also grates and confuses, but that's a minor niggle compared to the cavernous difference in ham-acting: from Rosie Perez' straight laced Renee Montoya, to Ewan "I can be mental, too!" McGregor's Black Mask, the tone is constantly skewered, although the cinematography's neon buzz is a wonderful constant. It's a gas, just not a very cogent one. By the third act, you'll be wondering why Edgar Wright hadn't been offered the gig.