There resides Filth not as fascinating as—perhaps—its predecessor, Pulp Fiction. Its protagonist's disorder and style of presenting its characters through the dank protagonist's POV just validate that it is going to be a Man vs. Man - he averts his own goal. Honestly, I am never fond of male protagonists with a smug spunk — that doesn't mean I like cowardly boys. Unfortunately, Bruce is a mixture of both. And again, that doesn't mean he deserves to be loathed. But throughout the film, all he did was conquer himself. Eventually, he found out an idiotic way of halting his troubles. On the other hand, the film tends to persist its abnormally blunt humor. Aside from its color grading which perfectly captures Bruce's giddy plight and its trope, Carole, which reminds the protagonist's past, there is nothing much to glean in the film. To sum it up, the film offers humongous humor, persistent psychedelia, and yak that don't bolster its cookie-cutter plot. What Filth lacks is making Bruce in charge of his own life. 1.5/5