Bottom life It's terrifying. Retired boxer Arm (Cosmo Jarvis) serves as a bouncer for some murky family, and he, as if on a leash, is dragged along by a guy swollen from insomnia and coke, Dymphne (Barry Keogan), leading to another victim for reprisal, why, having gathered his conscience, our main character, still visiting his ex-wife with an autistic son, who announced the move to another town, goes.
What kind of man is this Arm, unwittingly lurking behind the disgusted Dimphna, what does he think, what does he want? A pile of meat with drug-smothered consciousness. A complete rejection of his own guilt and responsibility, which the team of the picture suddenly decided to turn into a tragedy of a big boy, which in essence is only a payment for monstrous infantilism, making him a second and unnecessary child for his wife, afraid to admit it to himself.
This character becomes repulsive at the moment when Ursula, talking to her ex, complains that the district is talking about her guilt for the peculiar behavior of the child, reproaching him with all sorts of excesses, while the idiot sitting opposite Arm just advises her to “score” everything and not to worry, as if the father is different, and he is not involved in anything half.
Someone really wanted to show us the rupture of the aorta, but instead stretched a streak of turmoil of ridiculous characters, presented under the guise of a criminal thriller, devoid of realism, and logic, where the actors hang on the gallows, made of the sins of a rough script, with wedges of all sorts of clichés, treacherously exposing the student timidity of Joe Murt, white stitches sewing ripped flaples, representing the bottom world of the Irish province with the attributes of a rough-coatted script, with the aimless act of derly impeacherously in order to their labor.