A shameless and empty retread of Get Carter by the director of, er, Get Carter.
Clive Owen is Will Graham, Britain's best looking and most thoughtful hardened former gangster, but he's had 'some sort of breakdown' and grown a symbolic beard. He's now a (cough) lumberjack in a forest that's about as convincing as a department store Santa's grotto. Even there the cards are stacked against him - it's all numbers these days, you see... Will Graham's brother gets raped by a car salesman for no apparent reason, and then said brother kills himself in a bath. He's traumatised, you see; we know this because he's unconvincingly sick into his bedsit toilet.
From there it's a series of barely explained encounters and stilted, badly acted scenes before Clive enacts bloody revenge on his brother's attacker (Malcolm McDowell). Clive's traumatised too; we know this because he's slightly more convincingly sick next to some waste ground. Gritty.
The script sounds as if it was translated from a French existentialist film written by a sixth former, who has included Ms C Rampling in the cast as some sort of vague former love interest of the Clive Owen character. Obviously, gangsters are always getting together with quasi intellectual restaurant owning older women.
Even the costumes look like they were chosen by someone on work experience; selecting from a collection of nasty mid 1990's numbers. At least we know who the (mid-lower level) baddies are - they're signposted by having peroxide blonde hair; a strange henchman penchant for the Marilyn look.
The most affecting scene in the film is 'Mickster' (a character in the film....) finding 'Davey' (the barely introduced and unsympathetic younger brother character in the film) after Davey's suicide - no no no no no he cries. Should you bother watching this film? Ask Mickster.