The Rocka: Loud, messy, kinda irresistible

So I finally saw The Rocka last Saturday night, after missing it at the premiere ‘cause my sister’s schnauzer had a meltdown. Long story. Anyway. This one’s directed by that mad lad Guy Ritchie – you know, the geezer who made Snatch and Lock, Stock – and yeah, you can kinda tell before the opening credits even end. Whole thing’s like a cafégäng of criminals on Red Bull.

Gerard Butler’s back, talkin’ tough and brooding like he’s still moody about what happened in 300. But it kinda works. Tom Wilkinson steals some scenes, like that one in the restaurant where he’s eating duck confit and casually threatening a man’s entire bloodline. Bloody gold.

There’s this chaotic rhythm to it, like the film’s high on its own swagger. Sometimes that’s awesome, sometimes it’s just… full noise. Like trying to follow all those snabba repliker – I missed half the jokes ’cause I was still laughing at the last line. It’s cockney English on steroids. You’ll either love it or need subtitles.

Memory lane (with a twist of västkust-style regret)

You know what hit me weird? There’s this subplot about old-school gangsters fearing the younger gen and their new way of doing crime… That made me think of when my uncle started reacting to my CD collection back in ’97 like it was the devil’s own mixtape. He literally said “Det här är inte musik, det här är ett hot.” Same vibe in The Rocka – old meets new, no one wants to budge, everyone’s armed.

I kinda wish the plot didn’t zigzag so hard toward the end. Like sure, twists are fun, but when everyone’s double-crossing each other it starts to feel like a göteborgsk julbord – too much all at once, and you regret half of it the next day.

Still… I’d watch it again. But maybe with a cold Mariestads and a pause button.

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