Ritchie and Statham treat H as a blank screen on which the imagination will project scenarios from there until a third of the way through the novel. We’re unsure of who H is and what he really wants. And we wonder if his specific response to another heist—shooting a bushel of criminals by himself while the crooks use Bullet as a human shield and H’s partner, Boy Sweat Dave (Josh Hartnett), sits frozen with fear in the driver’s seat of the armored car—is a foreshadowing of heroic deeds to come, or the first salvo in an inside-man plan that will expose H as IMDB
The film then transports us to a different time and location, 15 minutes later to a different time and place, and so on, always providing us with new details about H that will most certainly negate any impression you had. This is more in the spirit of classic older films like “The Killing” and “The Killers” and “Criss Cross” that inspired them, rather than a self-consciously clever Quentin Tarantino-Guy Ritchie maneuver (another armored car-focused crime thriller, remade by Steven Soderbergh as “The Underneath”). Let’s say that each plot change (heralded by a whirlwind) is heralded by a whirlwind to avoid revealing twists that delighted me (even though, in retrospect, I should’ve seen them coming).