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Throughout Guy Ritchie’s best movie, Brad Pitt – in a wonderfully energetic cameo as a pikey pugilist, mumbling his lines so intently that you really can’t tell if his accent is any good – constantly demonstrates why his character is called One-Punch Mickey, decking a series of opponents on their arses in bare-knuckle boxing matches. But, with his ma already torched to death at the behest of Alan Ford’s psychotic Brick Top, One-Punch is under no illusions about his final fight: he goes down in the fourth. And for the most part, he takes the pummelling of his life, at one point plunging into a metaphorical pool of water. Finally, though, he gets it together, rising off the canvas to lay his opponent out with one glorious swing of his rippling right fist. Is his fate sealed? Is it bollocks.
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