Marching Powder

Powered by copious amounts of lager and cocaine, Marching Powder will do little to quell the stereotyping of middle-aged football hooligans but does admittedly provide the occasional laugh amidst the gratuitous violence and drunken punch-ups. In some regards, it feels like it's harkening back to the early days of Guy Ritchie, however, not even Danny Dyer's boyish charm and undeniable screen presence - when he does manage to recapture the raw intensity that made him a star in the first place - can redeem Director Nick Love's script. Maybe one day I'll actually bring myself to watch his remake of The Sweeney if only for the car chase the Top Gear lads directed. For all the foul-mouthed aggro, the predominant tone is one of mollycoddled smugness, aiming to shock by reviving taboo language and jokes about sitting on Gary Glitter's lap, it's more toothless than dangerous but I can't deny I still had a degree of fun watching Marching Powder. It's awful, don't get me wrong, but in that oh-so-special way that makes it endearingly crap than outright crap but maybe Danny Dyer should stick to popping up on Celebrity Gogglebox now and then.