IN BRUGES ****
Starring: Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes
Dir: Martin McDonagh

Martin McDonagh is an Irish theatre writer and director. For his first foray into film he nods towards Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction by presenting two hit men who, as they do in Pulp Fiction, spend a lot of the film talking.
But this is a very different beast.
In place of flashy Americana and pop culture conversation, these two are most definitely Irish, the older more world-weary Gleeson – effortlessly inhabiting the character – and young, impatient, foolhardy and haunted Colin Farrell, who, playing Irish and blessed with a great script, proves how good he really is, and who has justifiably picked up awards for his performance.
The set-up has the two of them packed away to Bruges to 'cool down” after a hit of theirs in England has clearly gone slightly wrong. Gleeson is enchanted by the city; Farrell is bored. But things pick up for him when they run across a film crew who are, as Farrell delightedly discovers 'making a film with midgets”. He likes midgets. He also meets a girl there.
But the romance – which involve him largely beating up people, as he appears to have an unstable dislike for Americans – is interrupted by threatening news from their boss in England, a completely unhinged and very impressive Ralph Fiennes.
Any more of the story would give too much away, but each actor is superb and the intricate plot and sparkling dialogue, and well as the beautiful look of old Bruges, make this into a pleasure from every perspective.

Death Race (***) was originally a Roger Corman cheapie from the seventies, a camp social satire starring a very young Sly Stallone. It was really fun. This has little to do with it but is, similarly, quite fun. It basically takes the plot of Running Man (and many others) and adds cars. So, in jail of the gladiatorial future convicts are forced to race in souped-up armoured death machines for the entertainment of the world's television-viewing public. Jason Statham is the innocent man railroaded into jail and forced to race. Simple as that. The racing is indeed brutal and spectacular, Joan Allen's mean warden is a treat, and the whole thing does exactly what it says on the box.

After Fight Club many people probably wanted to make Chuck Palahniuk books into films. But it ain't that easy. Choke (***) is the second crack at it and, though less successful than David Fincher's epic, it raises quite a few black laughs and will provide many surprises for those that haven't read the book. Central is Sam Rockwell – making a decent fist of a strange role – a sex addict who fakes seizures in restaurants for money and more, and works as an historical re-enactor in an olde American theme park. He may also be a descendant (or clone) of Jesus. It's weird stuff but those who appreciated the angry humour of Fight Club will be right at home.

The Lost (***) is apparently based on a true story of a troubled teen in Nowhereville USA who put crushed beer cans in his boots to look taller, wore makeup, and killed a whole bunch of people. And it's pretty good. It starts with a couple of killings and three years later the cops know who did it but can't prove it. And all the time the killer ticks away like an unexploded bomb. Broadening its focus to suggest a whole society that is lost and hopeless, and with a very watchable central turn, this rises above typical fare and will still surprise with the violence (not gore) of its finale.

The I Inside (**) is one of those intentionally illogical mysteries where all is revealed at the end. Ryan Phillippe wakes in hospital after what was probably a car accident. But he keeps flipping between the hospital in two different time frames. Who is he really? Who is his wife/girlfriend? What really happened? These things depend on a wrap-up that delights with its ingenuity and sadly the ending here is the same cop-out used in Jacob's Ladder, The Machinist and so very many other films with similar structures. Shame.