It clearly set itself up to be the UK ‘Goodfellas’, but instead it stands as a lesson in ‘how not to make a film’.
Frankly, it’s actually hard to know where to begin with this one. How about my decision to watch it knowing that it wasn’t going to be very good by default? Okay.
Right… Well I’d made the decision to watch it earlier in the afternoon, I think as part of my ‘hey, maybe Danny Dyer’s actually alright’ therapy. I think this is because I wouldn’t mind, due to okay reviews, seeing Severance and I read something in The Guardian about his relationship with the director being compared to de Niro and Scorcese, or some such. (Shit).
I can’t stand DD (the Dagenham Dildo) I think he’s a crappy actor always playing the same cockney-lad hard-nut, despite looking like a 14-year-old weed with the charisma of a floating turd who’d jump if you gently burped across the road from him. That being said, I decided to give it a shot – despite the Football Factory I hasten to add – which is unreviewable without resorting to filming a ritual-killing.
The plot is ridiculous to the point of farce, not even worth consideration as it’s so badly conceived it makes James Herbert seem like Dostoyevsky. The sewer pipe scene… I can say no more for fear of heart failure.
In terms of casting I can’t complain, all the cons look suitable connish but the little aspect of acting seems to have been ignored. This is born out by the fact that I’ve not seen a single actor in it, before or since. They couldn’t even cast the films ‘totty’ without bothering to look below her neck.
The acting is truly exceptionally dreadful, more wooden than the cross on which Jebus was nailed, though not as interesting. The direction, the cinematography (or lack thereof) and (my personal pet hate in a lot of British film’s output) the lighting is so dire I truly refuse to believe anyone had any experience of their jobs previously. This is particularly depressing when one considers that the money used to make this muck deprived another British movie of funding. Filming me masturbating for an hour and a half until I finally squeeze watery yoghurt onto a tissue would’ve been a fucking boon.
The 80’s soundtrack isn’t actually too bad; it was nice to hear a few long forgotten tunes despite my ‘punk’ self, but to organise them in such a way they actually sucked out whatever life the film had (exposing a tiny frail skeleton with osteoporosis) seemed to me to be counter productive. An example being Echo Beach by Martha and the Muffins. I actually screamed when they faded it out even though the ‘plot’ was at it’s most critical, theoretically of course.
But perhaps the most dreadful aspect was the script, or rather, the combination of the script and the supposed acting, especially with regard to one word: ‘cunt’. The word is spoken with such acute self-awareness, I’m sure it was only at the last minute they did away with a flash bearing a fist blasting on to the screen every time it was uttered. Everyone said it repeatedly, when the women said it we were treated to a close up of a snarling mouth to emphasise the ‘shock’ value. The ‘fucks’ came thick and fast but ‘cunts’ were delivered with such diligence and care it genuinely felt as if the Director had gathered the whole crew together before shooting and said. ‘Oh, you can all be very proud of yourselves as I can confirm, THIS IS THE FIRST FILM IN THE HISTORY OF FILM TO USE THE WORD ‘CUNT’’ The cast and crew look at each other jaws dropped, ‘really?’ says one, not believing his ears, ‘YES’ replies the director and they all embrace one another, yell with delight, even a few tears are wiped from shining eyes…
What a fucking heap of shite.