The Irish in Hell's Kitchen, New York, maybe but rather in Satan's brine of a brain. Five kids swear to be friends forever but they want to get the moon without working their backside too hard. So they do small mediocre little deals under the complacent and tolerant eyes of the local Irish gang-leader and the local Irish police inspector. What happens is the natural consequence of that mediocrity. One of the five will one day dream big and go to the gang-leader who will see him as a competitor, so the gang-leader will trick him into a complete funky flunk and one will be killed by another, and a third one will commit suicide and a fourth one will have to have a bloody fight with the gang-leader under the protective eye of the cop for the cop finally to clean up the place in the most ineffective way possible: by terminating the gangster with a good old police bullet. And the other tricked one will finally pass justice over himself and jump from the roof. One will survive happily married and the other one will escape with the sister of the first one who got killed. More melodramatic you die. Sickening by excess. This vision of Irish crime or Irish police work or even Irish love does not compare with the nearly mundane bel canto of the mafia, or the rustic gory pitiless vociferations of the Russian or the Georgian mafias, or even the sly treacherous vicious praying mills of those who lock themselves in some kind of exclusive religion, no matter which, Christians Born Again or Islamic Fundamentalism or yoga transcendentalism. The film in other words sounds pretty critical of the Irish, if not plainly racist towards them: they are not even able to be good gangsters exploiting their brothers and sisters.
Dr Jacques COULARDEAU, University Paris Dauphine, University Paris 1 Pantheon Sorbonne & University Versailles Saint Quentin en Yvelines
Dr Jacques COULARDEAU, University Paris Dauphine, University Paris 1 Pantheon Sorbonne & University Versailles Saint Quentin en Yvelines