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The recently deceased Jude Law plays voyeur at his own wake. His friends, including Ray Winstone and (real-life) wife Sadie Frost have gathered, but Law (using hidden cameras) has been secretly filming them for months. The mourners watch his film and, as their secrets are revealed, each undergoes a journey of humour/anger-based self-revelation.

Proclaiming itself a cutting-edge film in the fact/fiction fusion mold, Final Cut is instantly revealed as a cripplingly self-conscious piece of clever-clever indulgence. That no one noticed the cameras at any point is the major flaw. But there's more. The characters (malicious, back-stabbers one and all) don't make believable friends, Winstone's expletive-heavy menace is tiresome and Frost's `acting' is excruciating.

Amid the clichéd, clunking, sub-Mike Leigh script, it's only the semi-shock ending which raises this ambitious, but oh-so badly executed film, from purgatory. Final Cut? Half - Cut more like.


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