"It's not too subtle, but effective"

Rating: 7/10 (6 September 2000)

Guy Ritchie is not a satisfying writer-director and nor do I ever think he will be. The cocksure, pop video excesses and smart-arsed, stilted, would-be clever dialogue is the same as ever in Snatch, a mite better than "Lock, Stock..." but still a clear "5".
Snatch, the smug, self-satisfied title, is, as well as a word for stealing; also a slang term for the female member, a point that I doubt was lost on the producers. Rather appropriately then, this is a male-dominated film, with women having no role (apart from the wooden-as-a-crate twin daughters of "Tony the Head") except to bare their breasts. This laddish, sixth-form sexism goes hand-in-hand with the usual sub-racism and homophobia that punctuates a Ritchie endeavour.
In many ways this is worse than the comparatively laid-back Barrels, as its clumsy post-modernism is even more apparent: a quote from Pulp Fiction is used, the Michael Caine homage is more heart-felt, and Reservoir Dogs is referenced even before the close of the beginning titles.
The contrived plot and action-led pace are, however, thrown together with such veracity that, like Lock, Stock..., it is readily watchable, if not actually any good. For a first time viewing, at any rate. What crushes it is Ritchie's need to make every line a "funny" line, which takes away all sense of reality. Look at the scene where a betting shop assistant is held at gunpoint, refusing to hand over money, and being told: "I ain't f****** buying that!" "Well," she replies, a tad unrealistically as she's under threat of death, "that's fine, cos I ain't f****** selling it." You suspect that if Ritchie had the guts to make a serious, sincere UK gangster movie then it would be more bearable, rather than one which gorges on the rotting carcasses of superior stablemates.
Where the film crucially falls down is in it's casting. How so many bad actors could be in one movie is staggering. What is worse, the few that do give a decent performance are given minimal roles, or roles that make the least of their talents, with a "was he actually in the film?" appearance from Trainspotting's Ewan Bremner. Alan Ford is okay as Brick Top, though others – most notably Ade in his movie debut – are awful, though doubtlessly hindered by the weak script. Mike Read appears as Tony the Head (which sounds less like a gangster, more the male equivalent of Linda Lovelace), though is wasted by being reduced to a cursory cameo role. He doesn't even get to say "wot are yer, some kind o' pilchard?"
The other two decent performances come from Brad Pitt, and, surprisingly, Vinnie Jones. After humiliating himself with a lame turn in Gone In Sixty Seconds, he does better here than most of the "professionals" with him; even though when he uses big words, you doubt if he knows what they really mean. Brad is, of course, the main appeal, almost unrecognisable as a tattooed, nonsense-Irish speaking bare-knuckle fist fighter. When he's on the screen, it almost lights up, only to darken again when he leaves it. Not a wholly successful addition, the standard of his acting and obvious presence make you think he's in a different film to most of the third-rates walking around pretending to be Bob Hoskins. Yet it is clear Brad loved his role in a low-budget Brit movie, and even appears to ad-lib his obscenity to an over-zealous dog. (Also look out for the hastily cut scene where Vinnie starts to crack up as another dog gets carried away and attacks an actor he wasn't supposed to). There are precisely three laughs in the movie, all of which are unintentional. The first two I've just detailed, the last sees dance artist Goldie indulging in some attempted thesping. "Stick to being a gangster, Lee, leave this game to me and Sol," he is told by Robbie Gee.
One last moan? The self-consciously cool music score (soundtrack already available in stores), which, idiotically, has no relevance or association with what's on screen; be it The Stranglers' "Golden Brown" being set, for no reason other than it's a good song, to a bout, or "Ghost Town", The Specials' satire of my home town, being commercialised and stripped down to gain brownie points from muso-nostalgists.
This is a film that will be lauded by Loaded readers, a lazy retread of a weak first film that largely wastes its resources. The picture concludes with Huey "Piano" Smith singing "ha, ha, ha, ha" through the end credits. Good luck to you, Huey – you're the only one laughing.
POST SCRIPT - September 2015. I can only conclude that I was in an incredibly bad mood when I wrote this somewhat churlish review 15 years ago. Yes, Snatch isn't especially deep, but it's very entertaining, something only highlighted further by the existence of the YouTube spoof "Snatch Wars" in the interim. There's a lot I didn't mention in the review above, such as the inspired metaphorical underwater sequence, and the performances, in hindsight, seem a tenfold better than I gave them credit for. 7/10.