Review #715: 'Filth' (2013)

I wanted to get through this entire review without mentioning Trainspotting (1996). But Danny Boyle's British classic was so brimming with dark energy and so tapped in to the Zeitgeist of the 1990's that comparisons are unavoidable when faced with a movie adaptation of an Irvine Welsh novel. The problem with the adaptations that followed Trainspotting - The Acid House (1998) and Ecstasy (2011) - were that they were so caught up in recapturing the spirit and iconic imagery of Trainspotting, that they failed to find a tone of their own, and as a result, were very bad films indeed. Thankfully, with the adaptation of Welsh's most difficult novel, Filth, director Jon S. Baird has found of a verve of his own, and has entrusted much of the film's success to lead star James McAvoy, who is uniformly excellent.

Repulsive bipolar Edinburgh Detective Sergeant Bruce Robinson (McAvoy) spends his time drinking, snorting, shagging and bullying his way through life. When he's not being the despicable racist, homophobic and misogynistic bully that he is, he indulges in what he calls 'the games' - a collection of sociopathic manipulations he projects onto his colleagues and rivals for the upcoming promotion to Detective Inspector. His best friend is soft-spoken doormat Bladesey (Eddie Marsan), a wealthy fellow Freemason who is married to Bunty (Shirley Henderson), a bored housewife who Bruce regularly makes prank phone calls to in the voice of Frank Sidebottom.

There isn't much defining plot to the film, and instead simply follows Bruce on his various self-destructive exploits, such as having rough sex with the wife of a work colleague, forcing an under-age girl to perform oral sex on him or stealing a suspect's inhaler only to repeatedly blow cigarette smoke in his face as a form of effective interrogation. The movie begins with the murder of a Japanese student by a gang of punks led by Gorman (Martin Compston), and Bruce is assigned to the case by his boss Toal (John Sessions). It gives the film a story to build around, but it features very little, and instead we are forced to witness the complete mental deterioration of a truly disturbed, utterly depraved, yet - thanks to McAvoy - highly charismatic man.

If you're easily offended, then this isn't the film for you. Shockingly, the film tones down Bruce's character from Welsh's book, knowing that without a narrator, Bruce could have been so off-putting that he could be beyond audience redemption. So, with McAvoy giving absolutely everything to the role, his bullying and manipulations, regardless of how evil and cruel they are, are hilarious. Knowing his work partner Ray Lennox (Jamie Bell) has a tiny penis, he suggests everyone in the office photocopy their penis and have the girls match the genitalia to the face. The camera pans from penis to self-satisfied face, only to pass Lennox, his face in his hands.

But Filth certainly has its share of dark moments too. As more about Bruce is revealed throughout the film, the clearer his mental illness becomes. Only rookie Amanda Drummond (Imogen Poots) can really see through his outlandish antics, and with her being a woman and all, that drives Bruce even crazier. In the novel, Bruce has a tapeworm growing inside of him that narrates a lot of the book, revealing to the reader more about Bruce's history, but for the film this has been changed to some hallucinatory episodes with his doctor Rossi (Jim Broadbent). These moments didn't work for me, as they seemed forced and trying to recapture some of the 'cold turkey' stylings of Trainspotting, as well are interrupting the manic pace.

While the ending (which is also different from the book) may be a little too much for some people to take, it is certainly consistent with the fast-paced, twisted energy of the movie's first half. It is tragic, amusing and pathetic, much like Bruce himself. Filth is daring cinema, especially for a dark British movie that doesn't revolve around football hooliganism or Danny Dyer. It doesn't try to be forcefully iconic or deliberately provocative, instead relying on and trusting Welsh's twisted and socially aware text. It also has a fine cast to boot, lining up one of the finest displays of British (mainly Scottish) talent in recent memory. It's far too dark a film to grab the attention of the Academy, but McAvoy, an actor I had never really taken to, deserves every award under the sun for his unflinching performance, and Filth deserves to be talked about without a single reference to Trainspotting.


Directed by: Jon S. Baird
Starring: James McAvoy, Imogen Poots, Jamie Bell, Eddie Marsan, Shirley Henderson, Joanne Froggatt, Jim Broadbent, John Sessions
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie