Clearly the timing is unfortunate. We’re still reeling from three horrific rail accidents — two couples arguing on the track resulted in fatalities; an art teacher walking across the line got her shoe caught and was run down. Sensitivities are heightened. If you work in a frontline job trying to keep people alive — or dealing with the fallout of depression — this is not going to have you rolling in the aisles. But, frankly, can anyone defend such a lazy fantasy about manslaughter? Of course it’s the role of cutting-edge art to make us confront taboos about death. American film and TV is enviably daring in its treatment of gothic sensibilities (think Dexter, American Beauty or Six Feet Under). But who can defend Three And Out’s puerile jokes about the Samaritans, cannibalism, knocking off old folks and penis size? There is no big concept behind the nastiness. The film starts playing for laughs, segues into Oirish sentimentality as Crook encounters suicidal Colm Meaney and his extended family, then delivers a final dodgy blast of existentialism. Our hero is even rewarded for his actions by getting the girl and writing a hit novel.
