Imagine a trio of bumbling, English lads who fantasize about becoming megastars while knocking back a few pints in a grimy pub somewhere in London. Picture the guys chortling and trying to one-up each other's idealized visions of the future with a series of increasingly glitzy fantasies in which their fame leads to access to groupies and lavish parties on luxurious boats. Imagine these men are actually characters in a film - one filled with hyperkinetic smash cuts to action sequences in which they're fighting or running from armed goons. This movie might be the sort of feature you'd expect from directors like Edgar Wright or Guy Ritchie. But …
The Guardian 
