"We're in deep shit," says one of the perpetrators of a bungled drug heist in Frédéric Jardin's expert thriller. It's about to get deeper. Vincent (Tomer Sisley), a crooked (or is he?) narc and his partner steal drugs from a dealer, but the pair are spotted and the dealer kidnaps Vincent's estranged son to trade for the stolen goods. Kind of like Oliver Stone's Savages or French director Fred Cavayé's Point Blank, but without the nonsense. Instead, Jardin winds up his diabolical toy and sets it in motion, following with a jittery camera the mishaps of his rogues gallery of mobsters, cops, undocumented workers, and some guy whom Vincent keeps bumping into in the poolroom. The poolroom is in the dealer's nightclub, which with its dance floor, ventilation ducts, crowded restrooms, and busy kitchen provides Jardin with ingenious ways to make his characters' lives more miserable. Less successful are his attempts to make us care about them; that just spoils the fun.
