There’s a moment early in Capone where the titular character stands on a small boat in a body of water somewhere in Florida, curses at an alligator for stealing the fish he was trying to reel in, and subsequently shoots it, resulting in the water turning a bright shade of red, accompanied by a bevvy of demented insults that one normally reserves for their biggest adversaries. Surprisingly, despite having taken place in the first twenty minutes, it is one of the least-absurd moments witnessed so far in this putrid excuse for a story, a film so deranged, any attempt to rationalize it is pointless. It’s difficult to discern exactly what Capone is – Josh Trank’s film-shaped disaster is impossible to categorize – it seems to stake its claim as a biographical drama, a harrowing psychological horror, a subversive dark comedy and a gleefully violent crime thriller, and succeeds in absolutely none of them, often being a profoundly regressive in all areas. Its the kind of film that doesn’t only fail to realize its boundaries, its a work without any artistic, or even human, merit that can be easily discerned. There are many films along these lines that are just as flawed as Capone, but very few of them are as morally and culturally bankrupt as this atrocious example of filmmaking, quite possibly one of the newest entries into the canon of dismal cinematic failures, and probably the first truly reprehensible film of the new decade. Just about as close to a traumatic experience one can get from a film that doesn’t actually feature any of the awful actions it depicts, Capone is a prime example of everything that should not be done when making a film. To discuss every nuance of failure present throughout this film is categorically impossible since it is just 104 minutes of pure, unadulterated artistic iniquity.

There’s so much confused anger brewing beneath the surface of Capone, and perhaps it makes sense that a viewer can only have one of three possible reactions to this bevvy of abhorrent images some have liberally called a film: there’s unmitigated fury at seeing the lengths to which a group of proverbial artists can go to eviscerate their craft. There’s complete and utter bewilderment that such a film could be made, especially considering the relative talent involved, in a time where so many people try desperately to get their films made. Finally, there’s quiet resignation to the fact that this might not be a film at all, but rather one of the many firm signs that we are living in the end-times – perhaps a dramatic estimation, but when you have a film as singularly disinterested in being anything other than an overindulgent cacophony of misguided ideas, awful performances from actors playing despicable individuals (even when they’re not supposed to be), and an execution just about as subtle as a brick being thrown in the face of every viewer, it’s difficult to not experience all of them. Normally, I try and look for something positive in even the most flawed films – but the further I ventured into Capone, the more I realized how truly insidious it is. Filled to the brim with a kind of visceral putridity that is rarely glimpsed from any self-respecting artist, it gives new meaning to exploitation. Trank has made a film so morally corrupt, had it not been made with such a well-known cast (whose involvement in such an atrocious excuse for a film makes me wonder to their own standards), it would be relegated to the annals of infamy, where only the most dubious works of unvirtuous turpitude reside. In short, Capone is one of the worst films ever made, and that’s far from an exaggeration.

Without wasting any time, let’s talk about the precise reason we are here in the first place: Tom Hardy. An actor who has proven himself to be capable of some diverse and challenging work, but also the occasional foray into unhinged insanity in some of his roles, he seemed to be an interesting choice for the role of Al Capone. Certainly not the actor I’d personally task with bringing the notorious mobster to life (although, based on the ghastly lifelessness of this performance, I somehow doubt the veracity of such a statement), Hardy was always going to bring something unique to the character and considering he’s managed to use his lack of restraint to great effect in the past (consider his star-making turn as the titular criminal Bronson), it would, at the very least, be something worth looking into and giving the benefit of the doubt. Absolutely nothing could have prepared current and future audiences (as well as a few that have since been deceased, but undoubtedly found themselves spinning in their graves at the idea of what Hardy was doing here) for what was about to transpire the moment Hardy donned the dirty robe and cigar-shaped carrot. A performance that can best be described as a sight to behold, Capone sees the actor doing the impossible – setting a new standard while hitting an all-time low.

Admittedly, I was impressed at first – for the first thirty minutes, I marvelled at Hardy’s bravery in giving a foreign-language performance, until it dawned on me that he was speaking English, with the intermittent spatterings of grunts that can be vaguely recognized as Italian. When a character played by Matt Dillon tells Hardy that he “sounds like a dying horse”, I wondered if this was a part of the script, or a brief moment of Dillon breaking character and trying to convince his scene-partner to calibrate his performance to something plausible, or at least provide something that could be considered close to realistic (not that he was any better, considering his big moment towards the end of the film is one of the most nauseating scenes I have ever witnessed). The intention of the film seemed to be to humanize Capone in some way and present him as someone who went from a larger-than-life public figure to a sad, broken man who is desperately trying to hold onto his sanity, which is bizarre, considering the lengths to which Hardy went to strip the character of anything even vaguely human. His performance is an amalgamation of a villainous cartoon character, combined with a failed draft of a 1980s slasher killer, tied together with the scraps of every extraterrestrial represented in fiction. To witness Hardy embody the spirit of Al Capone borders on being a religious experience, the kind normally involving frequent visits from the likes of Jason Miller and Max von Sydow.

In actuality, there was a moment where quite a sobering thought crossed my mind, and I still truly believe Capone to be a piece of elaborate performance art – however, with every moment where it appeared to be some kind of carefully-curated satire, there were a dozen where it became clear how everyone involved was taking it extremely seriously, and you have to admire the extent to which Trank and Hardy genuinely believed they were making something great. Not only did they not make a good film, but we can also question whether Capone counts as a film or not. Its easier to categorize this as an infantile set of moments, strewn together by a director and his equally combative star, in the hopes that throwing absolutely everything out will result in something sticking. Every possible mistake a film can make is found in Capone, right to the final-resort of having Hardy’s character defecate himself – which becomes something of a recurring motif (I’d call it a running joke, had it not been done as a way of supposedly adding nuance to a notorious figure). I am certainly not a fan of Al Capone or the abhorrent deeds he committed throughout his career – but you have to question whether or not even he deserved such a portrayal. When the emotional climax of the film compares your character unfavourably to Adolf Hitler, you have certainly crossed moral boundaries that are best kept tucked away, far from the sight of anyone with even an iota of self-respect.

Throughout the film, the camera inches closer to Hardy, capturing more of his insatiable artifice and somehow falling deeply in love with the ferocity he presents on screen, without even thinking for a moment to try and justify some of these decisions, which is the precise reason why it would be unsurprising to find out that Capone was some kind of joke. However, bordering at nearly two hours, and without a punchline in sight, it becomes very clear that this was a film made with the heart of a filmmaker who genuinely believed this was a modern crime masterpiece, instead of an insidious attempt to venture into the crime thriller genre, without the effort, elegance or fundamental humanity to convey even the slightest amount of truth. It’s difficult to determine who to blame for this disaster – is it Hardy, for thinking that he can get away with what is undeniably one of the worst performances ever captured on film, or could it be Trank, who not only allowed it to happen but seemed to be enthusiastically spurring him on. Capone isn’t camp – its the definition of “trailer-park chic”, a film that would be lucky to be called lifeless, since at least that would imply that it was boringly flaccid. Rather, Trank has made a film so detached from reality, calling it hopelessly offensive seems far too gentle, and a more adequate way to describe it would be to forego words entirely, and just scream into the nihilistic void that this film creates. It has its moments of unintentional entertainment, and the viewer might be fooled into thinking this film actually had some artistic integrity – however, much like the notorious mobster it focuses on, the film treats us with nothing but contempt, insulting our intelligence while presenting us with some of the most abhorrent imagery ever put on film, which is truly saying something. Capone is quite honestly an unforgettable film, in the absolute worst way possible.