Directed by Martin McDonagh

Two hitmen hole up in the medieval centre of Bruges waiting for instructions from cockney capo Harry (Ranulph Fiennes). Older, wiser Ken (Brendan Gleeson) finds he likes the city with its churches, canals and fine old buildings, and tries to win over his rookie companion Ray (Colin Farrell) who sees it as ‘a shithole'. A soft-centred, dim young man whose answer to everything is violence, Ray's mind is nevertheless preyed upon by his truly horrible, though accidental, act in the recent past.

This hitmen-buddy film tries to straddle the ground between Beckett and Tarantino, by way of Father Ted. Imagine how Father Dougal might have turned out if he'd turned to crime rather than the church - and you have Colin Farrell's Ray, a touch of the holy innocent about him, with Brendan Gleeson's Ken as would-be mentor and protector in the Father Ted role.

Eventually they're joined by sharp-faced boss Harry, a very enjoyable tongue-in-cheek performance by Ranulph Fiennes in a role that he seems unexpectedly made for. The script, by playwright Martin McDonagh, sparkles, one minute with wisecracks, the next with unexpected profundities. Ken's wry, hard- bought wisdom is beautifully played by Gleeson. A discussion focuses on a Hieronymous Bosch picture of Purgatory - somewhere in between heaven and hell, neither one thing or the other (‘like Tottenham', as Ray says). Bruges is a clearly a kind of purgatory for the pair, though of course in the medieval mind it isn't really somewhere in between heaven and hell, but the finite place where suffering for misdeeds purges one for heaven, and maybe that is what Bruges will turn out to be.

Although the first half of the film is mostly about waiting at a loose end, there's plenty of action, kind of comic, involving mostly Ray in a series of misadventures concerning a film being shot in the streets starring a dwarf, a smart drug dealing blonde, who softens at the very sight of those doe eyes, and her nasty pimp/companion-in-crime. Jokes that mostly run out of steam, with too many dwarf jokes, too much daft violence on Americans purely because that's what they are, too much insinuation that ‘poof' equals evil. All part of Ray's world view, of course, but it sits uneasily on the profound-ish but enjoyably witty and absurd view of life that involves such topics as redemption, guilt and death. Not that one craves political correctness, but it feels like the film tries to have it both ways - being heartlessly hip and warmly meaningful at the same time. Ray's dumb face, twitchy manner and the feeling in the air that he was really oh so lovable underneath cut no ice with me, so the requisite sympathy was not forthcoming from this quarter, though despite the film's smart-alec tone, I think you're supposed to care.

Lots of blood spatters the beautiful cobbles of Bruges by the end, but surely this film, so lovingly shot, will only boost its tourist potential, with its sombre mists, perfect medieval streets, swans, fabulous towers, and doughty hotel-keepers. With drugs, Dutch whores and stray bullets optional extras.

Seen at Empire Cinema, Sunderland, 20 April 2008