Filed under: Arts, books, creativity, Hibees, humour, language, movies, music, Rants, Scotland, stories, swearing, theatre, writing | Tags: Begbie, Danny Boyle, Ewan Mcgregor, Ewen Bremner, Heroin dependency, irvine welsh, John Hodge, johnny Lee Miller, Middle age, redemtion, renton, Robert Carlyle, Scotland's drug problem, Sickboy, Skag, Skagboys, Spud, T2, T2 Trainspotting
On the day that the infamous ‘Banana Flats’ in Leith were accorded ‘A listed’ architectural heritage status I was in the cinema to see the sequel to the movie that contributed to the Brutalist building’s cultural credibility.
Trainspotting left me cold in 1996. Danny Boyle’s casting of Ewan McGregor as Renton sat extremely uncomfortably with his characterisation in Irvine Welsh’s mind-blowing source novel. The stage adaptation that featured both Ewen Bremner and Susan Vidler was much more mind-blowing and credible than the movie.
A public schoolboy from Creiff simply did not fit my vision of an, albeit relatively educated compared to his peers, junkie from West Granton.
The low budget special effects were largely corny.
The baby on the ceiling? Come on.
The filthiest toilet in Scotland? With crystal clear water? Come on.
But the music was outstanding and it clearly nailed a cultural moment (I hesitate to say zeitgeist).
So, my expectations of a sequal, especially of a cult youth movie, twenty years on, were hardly sky high.
They should have been, because in my view this is everything that Trainspotting was not.
“Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family…. “ Renton’s cynical rant in the original is a sardonic take on the AIDS campaign that fitted so perfectly with the drug addled HIV capital of Europe moniker that Edinburgh ‘enjoyed’ in the mid 1990’s. The city’s unique needle-sharing skag culture had contributed to a minor epidemic, and choosing life was not a decision, merely a potential outcome.
This underclass had zero control.
Only Renton (who at least had supportive parents) had the wherewithal to escape; not just from the vicious circle, but from the country itself. Set up with £12,000 of his mates’ money, the proceeds of a London drug sale that he had, admittedly, part funded (That gets overlooked and is a slight plot-hole for me.) he escaped to Amsterdam and a new life.
That he chose.
T2 opens on Renton’s return to the Promised Land, an Edinburgh where the airport meeter greeters are Eastern European. A family without his mother (he didn’t make the funeral). A Leith that is part-gentrified, although Sick Boy’s Salamader Street flat symbolically overlooks a massive scrap metal yard, the graveyard of dream cars. A metaphor for life’s finite span.
The movie (very) roughly adapts Welch’s Porno, but with many flashbacks and additional scenes from the Trainspotting novel that could have been in the original (not least the scene in Leith Central Station).
The budget is six times the original and it shows. In a good way. The cinematography bristles from start to finish (Anthony Dod Mantle) and the script bristles with comedy and tragedy in almost equal measure. The scene in the King William Bar (1690) is a classic.
Not all the characters have fared as well as Renton.
SickBoy, although lithe (thanks to the Charlie) owns his Aunty’s boozer (the beautifully named Port Sunshine – Hibees ya bass) it’s a doss house and in need of investment. His Bulgarian girlfriend Veronika is the only new character to join the fray and cleverly plays the tart with, half, a heart.
Spud’s still a, now suicidal, junkie.
Begbie’s still a fucking bampot on the run from the jail.
Spud, Sickboy and Renton join forces to turn the Port Sunshine into a cultural heritage landmark in Leith attracting considerable public investment. (For cultural heritage read brothel, sorry, sauna.)
It turns into a hilarious revenge thriller with Begbie on the rampage.
In a turnkey scene Renton sits with Veronika in the fancy Harvey Nichols Forth [sic] floor restaurant. He reminisces on the Choose Life soliloquy but reframes it, every bit as cynically, for 2017.
“Choose Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and hope that someone, somewhere cares … Choose reality TV, slut shaming, revenge porn. Choose a zero-hours contract, a two-hour journey to work. And choose the same for your kids, only worse …”
This is the point of the movie. I don’t think it’s about nostalgia as so many reviews have said. What was great about the foursome’s life in 1996? Fuck all.
No, this is about regret and the search for middle aged redemption. A new opportunity to escape the cycle of shit that the trio (Begbie couldnae give a fuck) have immersed themselves in.
It’s an echo of the 1996 dream that, for Sickboy and Begbie, was stolen from them in that London hotel room. But you know, deep down, it’s not going to work out. Is it?
Danny Boyle and John Hodge have created a monumental movie. Poignant, funny, beautifully nuanced and reflecting (not nostalgically) their acknowledged masterpiece of 1996. The weaving together of three generations of the key chartacters’ respective lives is effortless and the music mirrors that extremely subtly.
Ewen Bremner is the real star with his beautifully sad performance as Spud. Ewan McGregor has grown into Renton’s skin and can finally be forgiven the original miscasting. Robert Carlyle’s Begbie just manages to steer clear of charicature, and delivers moments of high camp scary bastardness.
The whole thing is a fucking blast.
Go see it.
By the way, credit to Harvey Nichols for granting the rights to use, and adapt, their outstanding shoplifting commercial as part of the movie.
Filed under: Arts, creativity, family, life, movies, religion, stories, swearing | Tags: Albinoni's adagio, Casey Affleck, gibberish blog, Kenneth Lonergan, Manchester by the sea, mark gorman, michelle williams, oscars, think hard
About one third of the way through this, quite long (137 minutes) movie the swelling strings and organ of Tomaso Albinoni’s Adagio for Strings and Organ in G Minor start to stir and build through 8 minutes and 35 seconds.
Unlike traditional screenplay music the classical piece, performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, does not subtly grace the background, it grabs you by the throat and dominates the proceedings to the point, almost, of discomfort.
(Some reviewers feel it is heavy-handed, I felt it was well judged.)
The fact that it is in a minor key and is achingly melancholic bursting with sadness, despair and grief absolutely encapsulates the mood of Lonergan’s creation.
I found these lyrics written for the Adagio and they could in fact be the inspiration for Kenneth Lonergan’s Screenplay although I very much doubt he has seen them…
So turn away!
Turn away, turn away
I am alone, I am alone!
I am alone
I am alone
I am alone
Go turn away, go turn away
Turn away, turn away
Turn me away
Gone in darkness
All, is one now!
All, is gone now!
All, is gone
I am gone.
I don’t recall a Hollywood movie so built around grief and that grief is etched into every pore of Casey Affleck’s face. Surely he is a shoe in for best actor at this year’s Oscars.
Lucas Hedges, as his orphaned nephew who Casey Affleck, as Leo – a dead end Janitor – suddenly becomes guardian to after the death of his brother, plays a nuanced role as the troubled teen who can at least find solace in school, sex and band practice; even if his band is dire.
(Actually, there are also a lot of laugh out loud, mainly awkward, moments in it which were entirely unexpected to me.)
It’s essentially a two header between them although Michelle Williams plays a strong support role, albeit brief in screen time.
To be honest, even calling it a two-header is to downplay the importance of Casey Affleck in this movie. In truth it is really a study of him alone with supporting characters used ostensibly as dramatic devices and props.
The trailers do not reveal the depth of the storyline, which is devastatingly sad, and for some almost too much to bear. My wife sobbed almost uncontrollably throughout the third act.
But despite all this, personally, it didn’t quite capture my heart.
Maybe I was in the wrong frame of mind. It’s a great, albeit slightly one dimensional, movie with a brilliant central performance and a strong screenplay with a good ensemble supporting cast, but that’s not enough to make it the movie of the year.
That said, I would strongly recommend it.
Filed under: humour, life, movies, Scotland, swearing | Tags: comedy, John Henshaw, Ken Loach, Kes, paul lavety, The Angels' share
Wow, Ken Loach’s 21st movie (might be more) further deepens his fondness for documentary style movie making in Scotland. As a child I was supremely moved by Kes. My Uncle took me to see it as a 7 year old and it scared me. The anger and bitterness of a Northern life of poverty, dominated by a glowering Brian Glover as the bullying PE teacher and the innocence of the lead character played by David Bradley left me all aquiver. Since then I’ve followed Loach almost universally. Riff Raff, Raining Stones, My Name is Joe, Carla’s Song, Looking for Eric. All brilliant. All gritty, all uncompromising.
Looking For Eric raised his box office bar by ingeniously casting Cantona and described as a comedy it had the odd laugh, but was no comedy. And this in some way compares.
This man is a national treasure.
And, so, to a movie billed as a proper comedy.
Well, it is very, very funny. Paul Lavety has made sure of that with a brittle acerbic, cynical script that bowls along spewing expletives faster than you can say “see you next Tuesday”. The plot itself is a little fantastical but you can forgive that because the performances are extraordinary, not least by British TV stalwart John Henshaw in a career defining role. In some ways it’s Henshaw’s movie and the denouement, which features him, is extremely moving.
I said it was a bit fantastical but the overall effect is fantastic. At one moment gut wrenchingly violent. The completely believable East end of Glasgow Gang culture that it’s set amidst is quite shocking at times, and at others it’s laugh out loud especially with its liberal use of top notch gratuitous swearing.
Don’t take your mother (although my mother had been the week before me and loved it!).
This is a great movie. A certainty for award victories and a life affirming way to spend an afternoon or evening in the cinema.
8.5 out of 10.
Filed under: books, business, creativity, humour, jokes, life, Rants, stories, swearing, work, writing | Tags: apostrophes, death of the apostrophe, lynne truss, proper syntax, waterstones
Some fucking dick in the Waterstone’s marketing department thinks the apostrophe is an inconvenience in the digital age.
Yeah sure it is in a url, but we all know that urls don’t need punctuation and everyone, even Lynne Truss, will live with that.
However, to use that as an excuse to rebrand Waterstone’s as Waterstones is absurd.
It’s a fucking bookshop.
It should be the last bastion of proper syntax for fuck sake.
It is utterly unforgiveable.
It’s like the Driving Standards Agency hiring blind people to take driving tests.
Before you know it we’ll have section’s for biographys, comic’s, childrens book’s, and busine’ss section’s.
Or is that bastards’ or bastards or bastard’s or bas’tards or bas’tard’s or bas’tard’s’
I give up. In apoplexy.
Filed under: advertising, business, creativity, for sale, humour, jokes, life, photography, swearing | Tags: fail, Japanes department store sale fail
It’s Point of sale from a Japanese Department store.