It's the sound of da police...
DIRECTOR: Jon S. Baird
CAST: Hippy Professor Xavier, Billy Elliot, a Jew at the world cup final, funny name Poots, village of the year obsessive, Moaning Myrtle and Billy Elliot's dad...
PLOT: You'll be asking how Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson (McAvoy) ever got this far in his career during the adaptation of the same name from Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh, chronicling the efforts of the filthy, STI riddled, inhumane, hallucinating, immoral pig as he heads a Christmas-time murder investigation whilst attempting to cheat his way to a promotion.
Anyone that knew absolutely anything about the source material before the film was released wouldn't have been blamed for scratching their heads regarding the casting of the immensely likeable James McAvoy as the protagonist(?) of this potentially mental-scarring film for anyone whose mettle isn't up to the test of seeing a supposedly respected police officer blackmailing an under-aged girl into giving him a blow-job and then criticising her technique and comparing it to a "cheese-grater".
That morally obscene event happens fairly early on in the film and it doesn't get any sweeter when exploring the seedy sides of Edinburgh. But for people whose only knowledge of the film before the viewing is only that of the trailer and a short synopsis, you may be surprised to find that Filth also has a more serious dark edge to it, as all of the injustices are met with equally downbeat and harrowing repercussions.
This isn't simply a straight-up comedy watching McAvoy get his kicks from harassing witnesses and his co-workers (a superb cast featuring Jamie Bell and his on-screen dad in Billy Elliot, Gary Lewis), using copious amounts of cocaine, and indulging in hardcore pornography and erotic asphyxiation; it's also a dark and demented exploration of a broken human spirit being haunted by terrifying hallucinations and a frightening Jim Broadbent as his bulbous headed doctor. In one scene you will be keeling over with your sides splitting, in the next you will feel guilty as the phenomenal James McAvoy (quickly becoming one of the most exciting and unpredictable actors in the world) picks at your emotions and molests them one at a time and, against the expected style of the film, genuinely makes you feel for a complete wanker.
And it's a good thing that Filth director Jon S. Baird and McAvoy succeed in doing this else the film would be borderline unwatchable, apart from those that are literally affected by nothing. It could be clever marketing, but more than likely completely coincidental, that its release came so close to World Mental Health Day, because if it wasn't for the consequences and the justification of evil acts and exploring Sergeant Bruce Robertson's tortured soul, this film would merely exist to provoke with bad taste. The only better time that this film could have been released would have been to mentally scar your Christmas this fall.
Aside from the dirty plot, this is also a terrifically made film, shot brilliantly giving a Hollywood-like feel to proceedings. Some may wonder why the cinematography was given the glossy treatment instead of taking on a more gritty visual style, but it could be read as Robertson's highly perched ego constantly giving himself more importance and credit than he deserves. Accompanied by a fantastic soundtrack which bi-polarises the subject matter, it all gels together perfectly. Albeit with a strange, disgusting gel that you wouldn't want to touch despite its ability to intoxicate.
Don't be surprised to see fellow audience members making their way towards the exits early on. Even if your resolve is tested too, do stick with it, as this is more than just crude behaviour, graphic sex, and Scotsmen swearing, it's much, much more than that.
* * * * ½
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https://soundcloud.com/take3-podcast/03-10-13
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