Guy Ritchie has an innate grasp on pacing and energy – for all my misgivings about his geezery obsessions, the finale’s kinetic one-upmanship was undeniable. But his filmmaking is not. Guy’s screenplay has an odious, unpleasant streak, and the rogues’ gallery of characters he asks us to root for are unrepentantly so. That renders his Long Good Friday-tale a miscarriage from the start. I can’t get behind a film with no heart, not when it expects us to treat it like it does.