The opening titles to Kari Skogland’s Fifty Dead Men Walking note that several of the film’s events are alterations of the actual events, and two hours later, after several explosions, many a round of bullets, and some kinetic chase sequences, it is really no surprise.

Skogland, whose best-known work is the middling suspense thriller Liberty Stands Still (starring Wesley Snipes and Linda Fiorentino), directs here with an eye clearly attuned to mayhem and chaos. Savagely violent from its opening scene, and replete with a pulse-racing soundtrack, Skogland has sought to mediate the true events through the buoyant force and accessibility of the thriller genre, which invariably includes a wealth of action as a prerequisite. Nevertheless, the film still has its historical head on straight, and is agreeably narrated by Ben Kingsley’s Fergus character, ensuring the uninitiated never lose track of proceedings.

The film opens with Irish street hustler Marty McGartland (Jim Sturgess) being arrested by the police for selling stolen goods, wherein he is offered an ultimatum by smoldering police officer Fergus – infiltrate the IRA, or serve a jail term. Initially, the story is told from the point-of-view of Kingsley’s Fergus, and whilst his narration almost suggests an air of partiality on the part of the filmmaker, the film’s sense of morality soon enough becomes rather soupy, and in a welcome nuance, this narration dissipates.

The manner in which Marty is welcomed into the IRA is somewhat convoluted, and the film knowingly pawns this off simply as dumb luck, and such is the film’s conceit in its opening stages – it lacks authenticity. Notably, as Marty engages in a fight with a soldier, mere seconds later do bricks and Molotov cocktails materialise out of thin air and are thrown by angry citizens at the soldiers. With its expedience, it feels rather disingenuous.

Still, what is most respectful about the film is its accessibility – it makes all pains possible to keep the viewer in the know, even displaying the names of the key players on-screen at critical points. It is this accessibility through genre conventions, though, that causes the film to seem a little overlong at times – a romantic subplot, for instance, lends the film far too much generic familiarity, where Marty and his love interest, Lara, chew over unimportant dialogue which does little to benefit the film.

Indeed, many of the film’s scenes have been cherry picked from mere thriller formula, yet they are lent undeniable credibility from the sheer charm of these lead performances. Sturgess, following from some fluffy outings such as Across the Universe and 21, proves his acting chops with a demanding and impressive performance, whilst Kingsley is the ever-commanding screen presence. It must be said, however, that Rose McGowan’s appearance in the film’s second half as an IRA member is undeniably distracting, for whilst her character is clearly intended to be physically attractive, to allow someone with the starlet beauty of McGowan to penetrate the film simply reveals another layer of artifice. To her credit, however, her performance is fine.

Although there’s certainly much unneeded expository content that could have been trimmed from this film, personal pressures such as Marty’s girlfriend becoming pregnant at least demonstrate why he is so motivated to proceed with his financially stable position in the IRA, if not for the incumbent legal imperative. However, the film misfires with its chance to be profoundly moral, for Marty is let off the hook of performing any truly heinous crimes (such as when he is forced to execute an incompliant suspect, but refuses), never allowing the audience to consider the true righteousness of Marty’s actions, and under an already skeptical eye, the situation feels manufactured.

As such, the concoction just feels a little narratively sparse – the cop-crook relationship between Marty and Fergus becomes familiar and friendly far too easily, and although a few scattered tidbits of character development are sprinkled throughout the dialogue, the film just doesn’t seem to earn the pathos it seems to be shooting for. It isn’t seamlessly woven into the story, and Skogland never makes us feel the mutually desperate dynamic between Marty and Fergus.

Miraculously, things cohere into something resembling a meaningful whole for the film’s unrelentingly tense finale, in which all manner of waste product hits the fan, and the action, although evidently low budget, is kinetic and well-staged. Even in scenes of post-carnage contemplation, there is an underlying fear of an IRA strike – the uncertainty is a shared experience by the viewer, and this keeps the pulse racing through the third act, right up until the film’s redemptive but unmistakably tragic finale.

Fifty Dead Men Walking may have only superficial depth and run about fifteen minutes too long, but committed performances and a saucy plot makes this an engrossing and energetic thriller. Although surely a beefed up account of true events, it is certainly an entertaining one.