It's ironic that The 51st State changed its title to Formula 51 for its U.S. release, given that the United States is the only country where "the 51st state" is actually a geographical pun. The title change is the last of many colossal mistakes -- far more than 51 -- that make Formula 51 one of the most excruciating post-Tarantino films out there. Starting with Samuel L. Jackson as a kilt-wearing chemist carrying a bag of nine irons, Stelios Pavlou's script pathologically assigns a quirk, "funny accessory," or nickname to every character, not to mention endowing them all with a hair-trigger instability that might explode into violence. Is this what Quentin Tarantino had in mind when he penned Reservoir Dogs? Taking into consideration the London setting, director Ronny Yu also seems influenced by the films of Guy Ritchie, but these coattails become frayed and worn long ago as well. It's hard to be style over substance when there's none of either, and when you can't even get a clean film stock. Formula 51 centers on an ecstasy-style super drug, so the desperate viewer hopes for some exploration of what this drug is all about, as a break from the criminal posturing. What the film offers instead is a bunch more red herrings and a bunch more noise. Compelling actors like Jackson, Robert Carlyle, Emily Mortimer, and Rhys Ifans all look sorry and confused. Maybe they hoped that instead of sitting on the distributor's shelf for a year before its stateside release, this 51 would just get 86ed altogether.