THE PLOT: Bear with me while I untangle the plot into a more manageable narrative. A California kid (McConaughey) with a penchant for dealing weed and a nasty temper rises through the UK underworld to become the greatest dope peddler the British Isles have ever given immigration status to. But when he goes to sell his, rather substantial, operation to a diffident American billionaire (Strong) other parties want in. Namely a brigade of bloodthirsty Chinese nationals who won’t take no for an answer.

THE FILM: As any of his fans will openly admit, (and I include myself among their number) we’ll sit through Sherlock Holmes and King Arthur – we’ll even grind our way through Aladdin – if it means this jolly Englishman has another one of his cockney crime films coming somewhere down the pipeline. The Gentlemen almost seemed to have came out of nowhere. Rumors of a choppy production and script issues will, I’m guessing, soon be replaced by accusations of gross negligence when it comes to racism and sexism. Though, if you’re bearing a specific genetic hull, meaning you’re insensitive to insensitivity, none of this anti-buzz is going to smother out the very real supposition that The Gentlemen isn’t just a great film. It’s easily Ritchie’s best crime film.

And take it from someone who just spent the last three weeks, and a whole lotta’ love, writing in-depth about Ritchie’s English crimewave for another WEBSITE – The Gentlemen isn’t just Guy Ritchie’s return to form in this genre, it’s his crowning achievement.

The interesting thing about this director’s body of work is that you can actually measure his prowess as a filmmaker by which class of criminal he sets the focus of his story on. With Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch, (there’s a bawdy nod to Snatch in The Gentlemen by way of a screenplay for a film called ‘Bush’ wink-wink) we follow unranked hooligan amateurs through London’s West End underworld. These films are street hustlers – flashy and rough around the edges. By the sincerely underrated RocknRolla, we’ve progressed to ranked criminal heavyweights and white collar pit bosses as core figures, and the caliber of filmmaking finesse has jumped up in quality exponentially. We arrive at The Gentlemen, and its central character, Mickey Pearson, is a bonafide crime lord. A boss player much in the bloodline of Hatchet Harry, Brick Top, or Lenny Cole. Meaning, as a director, Guy Ritchie’s a made man now. He’s the king of the jungle. And as Mickey Pearson says in the opening of The Gentlemen: “In the jungle, the only way a lion survives, is not by acting like a king, but by being a king.”

I’m happy to report that as far as The Gentlemen is concerned, Guy Ritchie’s jungle royalty. He’s the Mufasa of felony-class cinema.

The Gentlemen still has the merry, masculine immaturity which is a staple in the Ritchie Brand. Hence the future allegations of homophobia, racism, and sexism. (to which I must remind the critical caste – these are, after all, glorified gangbangers we’re in the company of) It’s just been melded with Ritchie’s considerable appreciation as a filmmaker. Guy has grown as a director and storyteller. He was confident enough during RocknRolla to forgo the hyper-editing and post-production aggrandizing – and that preternaturally serene tone he seemingly stumbled into while making The Man From U.N.C.L.E.? I’m happy to concede that it has found it’s way into The Gentlemen. This is a cool, confident crime film. Never serious, but provocative and muscular in a way that only movies about rakish gangsters speaking King’s English and stirring hot tea with their shillelagh handles can be.

The dynamic cast works wonders with the ostensibly convoluted plot. This is a tale told by a fool – Hugh Grant’s Fletcher. Easily the greasiest chum ever to represent tabloid reporting. (it’s this character in particular that will earn the insensitivity uproar methinks) Matthew McConaughey’s Pearson is the object of his considerable desire. McConaughey commands the role. He looks every bit the lion part. Mane and teeth included. But it’s Colin Farrell’s Coach who is genuinely going to steal your heart. Coach is The Gentlemen’s secret sauce. He’s a slap-happy Irish boxing mentor, with a rough brogue and clever disposition. In a film full of thieves few steal the scenery as only Colin can. It’s easy to forget the sophistication of this actor’s ability to charm an audience. He’s supernaturally charismatic here.

Much of the hallmarks that have made the Ritchie Brand so appealing – and appalling – round out the subject matter and subjects of The Gentlemen. Skeevy Russian gangsters. Handsome English muscle. Irish boxers. Jewish financiers. Snot nosed street hustlers and junkies. They’re all here. Mostly intact. Mostly dressed to the nines. Mostly disorderly.

THE VERDICT: I absolutely loved The Gentlemen. It’s hip and hilarious. Punchy and penetrating. It can be a mean film but it means well. Its central goal is to keep the mob in the audience gratified and giggling into their popcorn buckets. In that respect, it’s a home run. I’m honestly hopeful we’ll see the sequel hinted at in the third act.