In Bruges (2008)

Colin Farrell plays self-pitying without going overboard, Brendan Gleeson is great as usual, and Ralph Fiennes does a fantastic job of unleashing his inner unbridled id. This is the kind of movie I wanted to make when I was younger and full of Tarantino-fueled gangland fantasies...hitmen wandering around a scenic urban landscape talking trash to kill the time.

The melodramatic version would have been made by Wong Kar-Wai and involved choppy cinematography, melancholy inner-thought closeups and lots of rain. But In Bruges plays it with whimsically brash Irish charm, Farrell's character somewhat wantonly tossing insults at Americans, little persons, and anything else that crosses his path. Some may find it too clever by half (particularly during a bit of negotiating near the climax), but I found myself guessing all the way to the end, an increasingly rare occurrence and therefore one I value highly.