The second collaboration between Irish rapscallions Martin McDonagh and Colin Farrell rides a more absurd route than 2008’s In Bruges, but the director’s affinity for throwaway violence, blunted female characters and the psychologically impotent men who love/hate them is as alive as ever. Like McDonagh’s debut, Seven Psychopaths tangles up the criminal world with the cinematic — but the director doesn’t intend to prove the two have anything in common. Rather, the creative-class freedom of an alcoholic screenwriter’s day-to-day life permits the plot to lumber in any direction it pleases, with varying results. Working on a freewheeling script that attempts to Tarantino-glue a crew of murderers together, Marty (Farrell) is struggling with his craft, to the frustration of his girl (Abbie Cornish) and amusement of his oddball bud Billy (Sam Rockwell), who makes rent with partner Hans (Christopher Walken) kidnapping dogs and returning them for reward cash. The pair has crosshairs placed on their heads after nabbing a shih tzu belonging to gangster Charlie (Woody Harrelson), but this isn’t a typical locked-and-loaded caper comedy. About an hour in, McDonagh gets smart, braiding together Marty’s scribblings with new and existing characters in a burly swing for the postmodern fences. At its most congruous, the trickery works, especially thanks to Rockwell and a jamming Tom Waits, who are let off the leash and told to run. But McDonagh’s cutesy passes at the audience beget a leaden byproduct: plot points that are more sneering than steering. The fence-free setup is truly anything goes, but that doesn’t mean everything should. —Drew Lazor