The movie possesses an undeniable vitality and momentum that’s rare to see in crime stories, and even rarer to maintain throughout its runtime. The world depicted – complete with stylish clothing, constant use of slang, and a palpable sense of entitlement – is alluring, noisy, and disordered. However, under this flashy exterior lies a more subtle deterioration: bonds weakening, boundaries being crossed, and devotion shifting into self-preservation. The filmmaking demonstrates assurance and an uncompromising approach. Moments of brutality appear almost casually alongside jokes, and the shift from allure to dread happens without hesitation. The camera seems to exist with the characters, drawing viewers into their environment of both exclusion and acceptance, courage and anxiety. And when appearances are dropped, the acting is remarkably precise; you can sense the repercussions. Perhaps the most notable aspect is its ability to make you connect with individuals who aren't inherently likable, even finding yourself briefly supporting them. Then it serves as a reminder of why that support isn’t warranted. That push and pull between empathy and aversion forms the core of the film. It refrains from preaching; instead, it simply observes both the appeal and the consequences, sometimes at once. A potential reservation is that the movie doesn't guide you toward resolution. The ending feels less like a satisfying conclusion and more like a gradual breakdown, where narrative tension gives way to remorse and monotony. Some might find this jarring; anticipating a sweeping declaration, one receives fractured quiet instead. Ultimately, it’s an audacious, honest portrayal of power, devotion, decline—and the tempting peril of a life founded on spontaneity and privilege. It's a significant achievement in filmmaking.

Source on TMDB