Perfume: The Story of a Murderer - Film Review

Torn from the pages of German novelist Patrick Suskind's genre crossing novel of the same name, Perfume is an uncharacterisable, unforgettable and ultimately disturbing thriller from fellow German and Run Lola Run director Tom Tykwer.

Crossing the boundaries of the supernatural and surreal, and occasionally lulling into mild horror and erotica, the film is led by the least filmed of the five human senses: smell.

In 18th Century France, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw) is sentenced to a brutal execution for multiple murders, the young man now a focus of both deathly retribution at the hands of authority and the baying mobs outside the court house. Narrated by John Hurt, we track back to Grenouille's origins and the path that has led to him being condemned.

Born in the filthy slops of a Paris marketplace, an unwanted illegitimate son to a fishmonger back at her stall within moments of birthing, Grenouille is sent to a local orphanage. Resisiting death from the start, Grenouille survives and discovers he has an incredible talent: an almost supernatural sense of smell, able to identify the contents of unseen ponds by scent alone. An other quirk of his reality is revealed: the tragic consequences of parting company with him for those around. Grenouille is sold to a hide tanner, allowing him to discover more of the poverty ridden, disgusting streets of the largest city in Europe. During his delivery runs for local businesses, Grenouille becomes transfixed by a girl selling plumbs (Karoline Herfuth), following her throughout the back streets and alleys, intoxicated by her scent. Their final encounter proves deadly, Grenouille's desperate enthusiasm accidentally killing the girl.

Heartbroken in the knowledge he will never experience this smell again, Grenouille seeks out ageing, out of touch perfumer Giuseppe Baldini (Dustin Hoffman). Baldini is a shell of his former self, tending a shop never entered, and failing in his efforts to work out the ingredients of a new, highly popular perfume from a rival. Grenouille, delivering hides, works his way into Baldini's shop and earns an improptu trial, successfuly decoding the perfume's contents. He offers the Italian a deal: Grenouille, short on technical know how but boasting the best nose in France, will create new perfumes that will rejuvenate Baldini's business; In exchange, Baldini must teach Grenouille the art of distilling scents. After being blown away by the upstart's sample, Baldini agrees and buys Grenouille off the tanner.

While the pair work together on new products, giving Baldini a new lease of life, the venerable master teaches servant the ways of preserving. With his new found knowledge, Grenouille begins 'experimenting', going to immoral lengths in his efforts to capture scents. Animal lovers in particular will not approve of his methods. Eventually, after recovering from a bout of ill health, Grenouille convinces Baldini to let him visit Grasse, a paradise town in the countryside boasting some of the most wonderful smells in Europe, essentially on a collecting exercise. Baldini agrees, and with papers in hands, Grenouille's mission begins. He now intends to create the greatest perfume the world has ever smelled, one of extreme emotional potency.

Upon his arrival, Grenouille has no interest in chasing for flowers and wildlife, instead seeing women as being the carriers he needs. Unable to acquire their scent willingly, he begins a series of murders in order to meet his goals and fill his twelve beakers. Grasse turns into a state of dissaray as the killings go on, with only the bereaved local Governor Antoine Richis (Alan Rickman) understanding the significance of the deaths. But Richis's fervour for catching the monster is beset by his conviction that his daughter Laura (Rachel Hurd-Wood) will surely be among the chosen. Little can you predict or fully understand the climax of these events.

Approaching Perfume, it is almost impossible to comprehend the spell created by Tykwer's vision and execution. In a wonderfully reconstructed post-renaissance France, the tale is played out like a folk legend, with lapses in logic and realism strangely improving the aptmosphere and gravitas of the story. With the director co-writing and co-composing the wonderful score, he traps the viewers in a demi-world created by beautiful cinematography and perfectly planned pacing, with some scenes lengthy but neccessarily so to impart significance and emotional purpose, while the more Hollywood but ultimately irrelevant murders are almost skimmed over in pursuit of that which matters. It's in a trance like state that you enter the final twenty minutes, and a stupour that sees you exit them as the credits roll.

Ben Whishaw, as the almost silent and fatally obssessed Grenouille, is superb here, bringing a childlike naivety to a monstorous part with his eyes, mumbled words and pensive body language, almost creating sympathy for a truly extraordinary but frankly dangerous man. Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman shine in significant and wordy parts, although both have about twenty minutes of screen time each, while alot of stock is put in bit part players portrayed by unknowns. This isn't a character piece, instead putting storytelling ahead of all else and allowing the people within it to become a means to an end.

Tykwer has no qualms about getting his hands dirty in the small details, from the harrowing start to his life that Grenouille endures, all the way through to the uncompromising end results of his mission, a scene that will live long in the memory and is one of the most original, unfathonable sequences put on film. Even the conclusion, almost swimming in symbolism and campfire sensationalist endgames, finds a way to both make sense in the greater sense of things as well as shock, a full circle completing a brief, spectacular life. There's an air of unsettling unreality throughout the piece, with no one scene proving particularly disturbing, but rather the whole film possessing a dreamlike quality which makes it impossible for you to be fully comfortable, yet refuses to let you be anything other than spellbound.

Fascinating and intoxicating, Perfume is perhaps one of the most original films of the 21st Century, and certainly one of the most unforgetable. What Tykwer does here isn't simply bringing a story into your reality, it's forcing it upon you, for better or for worse. A stunning achievement.

9/10

Moon - Film Review

A curious hybrid of film genres, motifs, philosophical pondering and low scale, low budget indie pop, Duncan Jones's debut is a pure Sci-Fi story that evokes memories of Solaris and 2001.

It's the near future, where it's been discovered that clean energy can be harvested from the surface of the moon. Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) is currently approaching the end of his three year contract alone on the site, when things start taking a rather strange turn.

After the briefest of brief prologues explaining the back story of Lunar Industries and their solo touring employees tending to mostly automated resource gatherers, we jump into the tale with little pre-amble.
Sam spends his days at the moon base attempting to keep busy, whether it by working on his meticulous model village, staying fit on the exercise machines or playing one man ping pong games. His only responsibility is monitoring and adjusting the work patterns of computer controlled harvester crafts on the surface, and keeping an ear out for messages from headquarters. His only company is an AI drone bot, Gerty (sublimely voiced by Kevin Spacey), a quirky invention that both operates within the mainframe and displays emoticons to express mood while expressing humourously polite behaviour. His main motivation comes from the occasional video logs he receives from his wife Tess (Dominique McElligott).

Though he is buoyed by his return planetside in two weeks time, Sam starts to encounter glitches in his life, starting with a hallucination of a young woman in his armchair. Distracted, he crashes his buggy into one of the harvesters while on a mission. He awakens in the infirmary being treated by the caring Gerty, without any memory of the accident and a newfound unfamiliarity with his surroundings. While recuperating from his concussion, he becomes suspicious of everything around him. When he overhears Gerty having a live feed conversation with his superiors, despite the communication antenna supposedly making this impossible, he decides to investigate for himself.

Outmaneuvering Gerty, Sam is able to reach the crashed buggy and discovers a man inside: himself. After carrying his apparent exact double back to the base, he is tossed into a surreal existence in the same environment of a second version of himself, apparently the original. While the injured Sam displays an outward enthusiasm for company, as unworldly as the set up is, Sam 2 is less bright at the prospect, showing an aggressive attitude and desperation to work out the cause of the anomoly, as the two bicker and theorise. Sam 2 is convinced his companion is a clone of himself, an apparently paranoid delusion, but more evidence piles up to back up his claims. When a message is received from HQ announcing the imminent arrival of a rescue team to fix the damage caused by the accident, the two Sams finally begin working together to both decode the puzzle and ensure their survival.

Considering the unconventional setting of this mindbedding, challenging drama thriller, it is easy to begin piling up possible explanations while watching, ranging from the increasingly outlandish to the simplistic. Throughout the story, you will find yourself pondering insanity, non-reality, human cloning, doppelgangers and alternate universes in an attempt to rationalise the impossibility of two Sams. That the film resists modern Holywood trends for shock twists and juxtaposition makes it both more respectable and ultimately improves the emotional appreciation and pathos of it's hubris.

In this sense, it's no wonder Duncan Jones is already on the fast track for big things, his second picture being the bigger budget, critically acclaimed 'better than it should be' Source Code. He shows extraordinary confidence in his vision (though the script is not his, the idea is), with a healthy focus on character, making clear this is a human story, and some almost subliminal hints towards the plot's destination that mean you're never certain despite the story refusing to toss around red herrings or rely on MacGuffins to power itself. In that vain, the subtle, nicely understated script brings an edge of modest realism to an extraordinary occurence, choosing to have more interest in the isolation and mental strain, giving Sam Rockwell plenty of material to get stuck into for his duel role.

And Rockwell, for so long a highly underappreciated chameleonlike supporting character actor, thrives on his new found focus, displaying versatility as the two Sams, seemingly on the opposite ends of an emotional cycle. He also brings a much needed charm and sympathy to their characters, anchoring us emotionally into their plight and struggle, both at the unforgiveable surroundings and also at the stomach wrenchingly unreal conundrum they face.

Backed by some mind boggilingly good effects (considering a highly modest $8m budget), great set design and cinematography, and a memorable and effective score from Clint Mansell, Moon is a film that draws you in gently and keeps you there, making you feel like a bystander to events, almost addicted to the isolated setting, the unseen third human character in proceedings. The odyssey passes in an almost dreamlike passage, troublingly personal and strangely optimisitic in places, despite it's apparent hopelessness. As explanations are provided, and the elephant in the room is addressed, there is also a philosophical issue raised in Blade Runner fashion.

A great slice of original, enchanting, hypnotising yet modest storytelling that relies on the sci of the sci-fi purely to make the story work on it's own merits, Moon is both a statement of intent from Jones and an incredibly high calibre piece that will doubtlessly be looked back upon as a classic of it's time. With Rockwell on this form, with the next level of his career havingly seemingly been reached, it is also totally unmissable.


9/10

Bronson: Film Review

A unconventional, art house semi-biopic of a genuine, bizzare and twisted human being, Nicolas Winding Refn takes an almost stream of conciousness approach towards the true story of Britain's most notorious prisoner Michael Petersen, aka Charlie Bronson.

Using some bizzare cinematic techniques, namely not so much breaking the fourth wall as much as obliterating it while refusing to show any dependence on chronology, Refn attempts to get us into the head of Bronson, in an almost misguided effort to allow the viewer to understand the man.

Tom Hardy is the titular character, and carries the film on incredibly musculed shoulders, going for long stretches with no other character on screen and the traditional inner dialogue replaced by pantomine pieces to camera, in which Bronson is performing a one man stage show and recounting his life.

Michael Peterson, born and raised in Luton, quickly develops a thirst for fame as unquenchable as his penchance for violence. But, after scrapping for much of his life, he deduces that he lacks the traditional talents for such a walk of life: namely acting or singing. Instead he robs a post office with a sawn off shotgun, bags £26.18 for his trouble, and is promptly jailed for four years.

As the film takes a free flowing, uncertain narrative, Peterson indulges in his main love, getting naked and then fighting. His constant attacks on prison guards and hostage taking situations simultaneously makes him a cult hero with his fellow inmates and a permanent thorn in the side of his jailers. While his reputation behind bars grows, so does his prison sentence. With much of his time spent in solitary confinement, the sentence dissolves into an indefinite lock in. Not that Peterson much minds, seeing his cell as a hotel room and prison as his home and a stepping stone to something much greater, yet unspecificied.

Over the years, Peterson finds himself in the faces of different wardens, staring at the walls of increasingly smaller stone rooms, enduring a stretch in a creepy psychiatric ward, where he kills a fellow patient, and even making the news by leading a prisoner's vigil atop the roof at Broadmoor. Eventually, almost by way of resignation, the judiciary system sees fit to release him back into soceity. Almost sarcastic in his attempts to re-adapt into the real world, Peterson finds an opportunity for the fame he seeks in the form of flamboyant talent seeker Paul Daniels (Matt King). As the subject of some bizzare art-fighting, Peterson adopts the professional name of Charles Bronson (after the actor), which he later decides upon as his identity. After a hopelessly doomed love affair sees him steal an engagement ring from a jewellers, he is sent back to the slammer.

This second spell on the inside, as it turns out, lasts decades and the real man is still behind bars. Despite efforts by his warders to find sedation, and a few more chances presented for Bronson to make more of himself, particularly in the form of art teacher Phil (James Lance), he constantly falls back into old routines, taking hostages in his cell, stripping naked and fighting gangs of baton wielding guards in an increasingly meaningless ritual. By ironic turn of fate, or by twisted design, the film itself perversely justifies Bronson's approach towards finding fame; he's better known now than ever, even without the stage show.

Looking back at a such a blistering feast, there are two factors which stand out and ultimately demand each other to make the film work. The first is the direction. Refn, the Danish Director behind the Pusher trilogy and soon to be released Ryan Gosling vehicle Drive, makes no apologies and attempts no coercion in his approach, allowing Bronson to tell his story on his own terms, so to speak. While the piece is for the most part set in prison, there are no constraints on the style, and minimal attention played to plotting and gritty realism, with creative license and artistic metaphor prominent. The non-linear scope gives the film the feel of somebody telling you a story.

And this is where the second factor comes in: Tom Hardy. Let's not beat around the bush, this a one man show and for such a showcase a truly talented actor must step forward. And step forward he does.
Delivering one of the most memorable performances of the decade, a physically transformed Hardy sheds any previous conceptions to disappear into the part. As the poster states, "Tom Hardy IS Bronson". He takes on the man myth with a certain humanity never too far from the surface, but is frank enough to know that Bronson's self made image and projection are the keys to the legend. At various turns hilarious, frightening, amiable, loathsome and tragic, he brings a quirky and honest face to a frankly dishonest aura and framing. From his twitchily unpredictable and pent up stage outings, to his silent and deadly reading of other characters, right down to the film's final shot, he brings a wide range of thought, energy and occasionally emotion, although almost all are at one end of the spectrum. Make no mistake, Bronson is, first and foremost, a maniac.

Throwing in some Kubrick references and old fashioned filming style and 70's/80's design, Bronson has the look of retro-grade cult film, completely defying it's release date of 2008 and throwing you into a surreal, occasionally disturbing sub-genre. Comparisons to A Clockwork Orange may be simplistic and potentially damaging to viewer expectations, but are ultimately in the right ball park. Both films enjoy a similarly amoral aptmosphere that skirts the small details of morality and pumps up the gallows humour at the expense of unneccesary pathos. The use of classical music presents the tale as operatic, which in many ways it almost is. One man vs the world in the Klaus Kinski mould.

One of the most fascinating side effects of watching the film, however, is the almost desperate pursuit of answers at the final curtain. The viewer desperately attempts to work out Bronson, asking themself why he went through nearly forty years of incarceration and isolation, what could possibly justify such an extreme anti-social mentality and constant self destruction. Seeing him as some sort of one man army, a vigilante type figure and some sort of little man hero, is deluded, as is the notion he ever went to such lengths for anyone other than himself. A megalomaniac psychopath, devoid of a path and consoled by delusions of grandeur and the belief in his own importance? Probably. This is as definitive as things get, which bizzarely makes the piece far more satisfying.

Overall, a stunning character piece of one of the 20th Century's most bizzare figures, reaching operatic levels of storytelling and led by a sensational turn by one of cinema's brightest up and coming talents. While no attempt to justify the man's life is made, it is a life worth watching.


9/10

Red Riding (1983): Film Review

The conclusion to an epic trilogy, based on an even more epic quartet of novels, arrives with the reigns in the hand of Anand Tucker and with it a mountain of information, explanation, revelation and some shocks to bring to an end the nine year tale of corruption, murder and greed in West Yorkshire.

Foregoing the previous plot method of making inroads into the mythology of the story by way of a single, unknowing protagonist, this time we are treated to three major character arcs of varying significance, size and literal method.

The three men in question are the long silent, conflicted and guilty Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), series survivor and escapist BJ (Robert Sheehan) and rotund, good hearted solicitor John Piggott (Mark Addy).

The film opens with a flashback, one of many to appear throughout the film, and takes place at the wedding of a high ranking officer's daughter, where a group of officers including Jobson, and led by head honcho Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke), thrash out the building blocks of their scheme, putting themselves into the pocket of ambitious developer John Dawson (Sean Bean) in exchange for the dividents of a hugely prosperous retail park on their land, one which will be the largest in Europe and make all of those involved hugely rich.

Back in the present, Jobson is placed in a bind when yet another young girl disappears, in identical fashion to Dawson's victims back in 1974. Given responsibility for clearing up the matter quietely and conveniently, Jobson is partenered by dirty copper Dick Alderman (Shaun Dooley), and his enquiries lead him from a psychic medium (Saskia Reeves), to jailed fall guy Michael Myshkin (Daniel Mays) and constantly back to his own illegal practices.

Meanwhile local lawyer Piggott finds himself morally bankrupted by Myshkin's mother (Beatrice Kelley) into launching an appeal against her mentally challenged son's incarceration, since the latest disappearance seemingly puts him in the clear. Although hugely reluctant to become involved in a case of such magnitude, and attempt to free a man who had confessed to the crimes, he finds himself drawn further in by curiosity at the inconsistencies in the initial trial and also at the constant involvement of a dodgy lawyer he knows personally.
Amidst all this, BJ makes his way back to his old haunt of Fitzwilliam, a garage for a home and a sawn off shotgun for company, with his poetic voiceovers outlying his own revenge mission against the source of his long term suffering.

Jobson, always the reluctant participant in the schemes concocted by G-man Harold Angus (Jim Carter) and Molloy, continues to crumble morally and emotionally in the face of yet more brutality and illegality in his line of work, brought to a head when Myshkin's old friend Leonard Cole (Gerard Kearns) is tortured into a confession in a police interrogation room. While Jobson embarks on an ill-advised romance with the medium, Mandy Wymer, he also spends much time thinking back on the original case, during which we learn of the involvement posed by Reverend Laws (Peter Mullan) and the other officers. His protests at the time, much like those now, are shouted down by stronger men.

Piggott's continuing efforts see him run into Leonard Cole himself, whom he intends to represent, but an endeavour cut short when Cole 'kills himself' in his cell, seemingly putting a nice convenient end to matters. More and more suspicious and cynical, Piggott hastens his efforts, taking him down the trail left by Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield) and ultimately leading towards men in the community such as his high standing father. As the truth is finally revealed, a shocking web of cruelty and perversion that spawned murder and subterfuge as a method of enforced silence in the pursuit of money, the three protagonist's stories come to a brutal, clarifying end, redemption and retribution mixed with limited closure.

As the final chapter in the story, much of 1983's responsibilities are explanation and, in an unfortunate neccessity, exposition. Therefore it is easy to get lost in the thick plotlines that occasionally lapse into flashback and chronological free flow without a great deal of warning, with certain scenes requiring some time to decode and some hints and answers being almost lost in the tale. Despite that, the scripting is able to both carry off this series of answered questions while retaining a strong part three story that pits three hopeless men into a war that is almost over, one final effort to bring to the surface years of despair, greed and shocking secrecy.

And what better way to reach this endgame than with men sidelined in previous installments. David Morrissey and Robert Sheehan take centre stage with gusto, bearing the heavy weight of significance on their shoulders with ease and delivering pained, tragic performances at different ends of the spectrum. While Morrissey's Jobson is a man destroyed by regret, little more than a shell before finally reaching his own event horizon, Sheehan's BJ is a long term sufferer who's life has been left so empty that his only goal is a bloody payback against a man who was once his shepherd. Both are terrific performances, and they are backed by a great turn by Mark Addy, as his character develops from chirpy and ignorant to angered and crusading by events he is caught up in.

In the flashbacks, we see a great deal of old faces, with Warren Clarke showing a different side to the ultimate corruption incarnate Bill Molloy, and Sean Bean returning to shed more light on the mysterious and depraved Dawson. Both past and present, Peter Mullan enjoys greater and greater significance until he is ultimately revealed to be one of the series's most vital characters, in essence the wolf of the Red Riding Hood parable. There is further good support from Saskia Reeves and particularly Daniel Mays, in a warts and all perfomance as tragic and disheartening as any other seen before.

As well as finally learning the truth beyond the riddle, we see a number of minor plot questions answered in well scripted fashion, such as the revelation that Jobson tipped off Dunford to the burning of the gypsy camp in 1974, and the explanation for 1980 character John Nolan's betrayal. Other hints and tips ("under the beautiful carpets") are finally addressed and, although some details are left open to speculation, the bulk of the story is brought to a close. There are however, some frustrating elements to this. On the whole, Peter Hunter is ignored despite his leading status in 1980, while other characters are never heard from again.

With the progressing use of camera, 1983 has a distinctively different look to it's predecesors, and the set design and general production is excellent and in keeping with the times. Music is again top notch, as is the editing. Tucker's direction, though, does on occasion leave something to be desired. When it veers into creative license, it causes confusion more than anything else. One particular flashback sequence which is experienced by Piggott is almost infuriatingly hard to work out.

Despite this, 1983 is able to avoid becoming too convuluted by it's labyrinth story and turns, giving some degree of finality and bringing to light the truths of the series in an episode packed with raw intensity and emotional power. It ultimately becomes a tale of redemption, and the victory over a long standing culture of closed doors and unwilling ears. An appropriate and satisfying finale to a deeply unsettling, highly memorable and superbly constructed trilogy.

8/10

Red Riding (1980): Film Review

Part two of the trilogy, 1980 sees a host of old faces return, a few new ones introduced and a mythology hidden behind the genuine cultural occurences in West Yorkshire expanded. In this case, the bridge back into the tale of corruption and foul play in the North is the Yorkshire ripper, as Man on Wire director James Marsh takes up the reigns of the huge story from Julian Jarrold.

With the aforementioned 'Jack from Hell' continuing his terrible deeds, his body tally stretching to thirteen, the Home Office responds by drafting a new 'super squad' into the investigation. This comes in the form of Mancunian detective Peter Hunter (Paddy Considine), and his subordinates Helen Marshall (Maxine Peake) and John Nolan (Tony Pitts).

Hardly popular with the beat cops, with whom he is referred to as PC C word, Hunter's trials are made difficult with head honcho Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke) being taken off the case following a bizzare televised appeal to the killer, and a general feeling that the local force have taken the killings far too personally, leaving command of the man hunt to his right hand man Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey).

Hunter immediately plows into the background of the killings, pouring through the details of the previous killings in the build up to Christmas, 'helped' by a liason in the form of now detective Bob Craven (Sean Harris), one of the two heavies who sideswiped Eddie Dunford in 1974. The other man, Tommy Douglas (Tony Mooney), is now off the force following these events, bitter at the police force and potentially useful as an informant. Indeed, it is revealed that Hunter had initially worked on the investigation of the Karachi Club shoot out, which served as the end of the previous film and has seemingly been covered up with talks of an impossible gunfight taking place.

The team quickly find a potential discrecepancy in the files, regarding one of the victims, Claire Strachan. Formerly pimped out by a now dead police officers, the woman's death does not match those of the other ripper killings, and Hunter's suspicions are confirmed by a visit from BJ (Robert Sheehan), a survivor of the first film, and Reverend Martin Laws (Peter Mullan), the community support worker. Working on this information, Hunter begins to find evidence of a cover up within the case that suggests yet more corruption, stretching all the way back to Karachi and John Dawson. No sooner does he begin making progress, however, is Hunter reprimanded by superiors for mistreating the investigating officers, while he is concerned by his subordinate Helen's new found intimacy with Laws, compromising the enquiry.

With his superiors seemingly content to cut loose the case, and with his supposed colleagues hindering his efforts with every step, Hunter faces an unwinable battle amid a hail of blackmail, false allegations, journalistic pressing and intimidation from the rank and file as the body toll rises and witnesses are gotten rid of, culminating in an attempt to force a staged success story when the killer Peter Suttcliffe is finally caught.

1980 adds more weight to the second of the trilogy school of thinking. While 1974 stood up on it's own feet, not entirely independent, but easily acceptable as a solo effort, it's successor at times feels far too much like filler, a lack of the plot which the made the first packed with story instead leaving gaps and leading to an abrupt ending one step beyond a cliffhanger.

James Marsh employs workmanlike direction, never quite grabbing the visual flair and distinct appearance of Julian Jarrold's work but still managing to maintain the bubble of the era, albeit losing some of the more internal musings conveyed in part one. The scripting once again is excellent, with good character points scored and opportunity for some great internal rifts and sniping heading up towards the restrained and composed, but ultimately impotent Hunter.

There's also an opportunity for overlapping character arcs, with Craven and Laws enjoying expanded coverage, while there are room for brief cameos by the likes of Eddie Marsan, which plays well into a sense of the trilogy being one whole rather than the sum of it's parts. However, the flip side of this is that virtually everyone involved aside from Hunter and his detectives know exactly what's going on, and that includes the viewer. It's maddening watching the likes of Craven, Molloy and Jobson walking free of any punishment, and the new mystery created which drives the plot is rather bungled in it's elaboration near the end, with exposition from one character filling in too many gaps and making much of the already seen police work irrelevant. The conclusion is disheartening on too many levels.

Despite this, the ensemble steps up to the plate once more, with the always excellent Considine delivering another conflicted, torn performance as the straw man Hunter, and he's ably backed up by those around him, particularly Maxine Peake and Peter Mullan, who oozes mystery having previously only been seen in a single scene. The one weak link is the undoubtedly talented Sean Harris, who strains to keep up a Yorkshire accent during longer stretches of dialogue than before, at times distracting when compared to the genuine speach patterns of his fellow actors.

Music choice and cinematography are once again excellent, and a good use of locations certainly adds the feel of the piece, particularly the Hades like gloom of Fitzwilliam. The opening sequence of the film, using archive news footage covering the reign of terror inflicted by the Ripper is both highly evocative and educational in detailing the impact the murders had in the area, as well as setting the tone brilliantly and allowing the story to naturally flow into the quasi-reality. 1980 lacks the cultural significance of 1974, but keeps up the brooding mood.

Suffering from being a relay messenger of sorts, keeping the story running for the concluding 1983 at the expense of it's own standing, 1980 is still doubtlessly watchable and enjoyable, albeit on a disappointing note when contrasted with the trapesty weaved by it's predecessor.

7/10

The Debt Collector: Film Review

A relic of the Channel 4 Films era, The Debt Collector is writer/director Anthony Neilson's first, and sadly, only film, and tells a rather cynical, bitter and gritty story inspired by everything from Jimmy Boyle to Macbeth, and focussing on the concept of nemesis, forgiveness and redemption.

In the 1970's, with Thin Lizzie playing quietly in the background, rookie undercover copper Gary Keltie (Ken Stott) finally manages to bring down Glaswegian enforcer Nicky Dryden (Billy Connolly) in the gangster's own Edinburgh haunt, earning himself hero status with a big future ahead.

Fast forward two decades. Dryden, rehabilitated and released, has developed a new career as a sculptour and artist, having discovered the trade while in prison. He is married to journalist Val (Francesca Annis), lives in a large house by the sea and is presenting art exhibitions at museums around the city as the festival prepares to start.

It's during one of his exhibitions chaired by Edinburgh's artistic royalty that Dryden's night is ruined by an unexpected guest: Keltie. Taking a switch knife to one of Dryden's sculptures and bluntly stating that his one time haul doesn't have everyone's forgiveness, the manic cop sparks off a personal battle between the two.

While Dryden has become stronger, richer and happier after incarceration, Keltie's life has stalled depressingly since the arrest. He lives with his elderly mother (Annette Crosbie) in a miserable council house, fights with his superior officers and cuts a lonely, angry figure in a police force that once saw him as a legend but now treat him as a laughing stock.

On top of the harrasment he suffers at the hands of Keltie, Dryden also is forced to deal with his past misdemeanours and career, as well as the overtures of a psychotic young hood, Flipper (Iain Robertson), who has become enamoured with him. But while initially being irritated and distracted by those trapsing into his life, Dryden's life is turned upside down when Keltie ruins a wedding within his newly adopted family by bringing a van full of the former hard man's victim's to the service. As each swing of revenge becomes more feral and desperate, the pair move from battling to warring, threatening those around them in a pained, hopeless fight that loses it's meaning in violence and savagery.

Played out almost like a stage play, Neilson's story establishes a firm battle between the ferocious, vengeful and seedy Keltie and the regretful, baffled and restrained Dryden. Each turn of the screw ups the ante, culminating in personal loss and blurred lines in both Keltie's mission and Dryden's attempts at self defence. It moves and feels like a classic tragedy, with two deeply flawed men caught in a mostly needless and unwinable scrap caused more by bitterness than righteousness, more jealous hurt than moral crusading. This leaves the stage free for Connolly, fresh off the back of his superlative performance in Mrs Brown, and Stott to channel all manner of ugly energies and honest human traits in a film that constantly threatens to be a psychological thriller.

The two do not disappoint. Connolly's hard checked personality and approach perfectly portrays a man desperate to remain composed, years in prison and the promise of a second chance at life stalling his violent tendencies and mortal resolutions in a wonderfuly subdued, subtle performance. Stott goes down the other road, a hard boiled ebbing and flowing man pushed on by bitter hatred of the world, of the unfairness of his existence and the indignity he feels at Dryden's new found happiness. Only his dottery mother (superbly played by Annette Crosbie, often ignored as a dramatic actress since One Foot in the Grave) is spared the walking, burnt out fury. Stott throws his all in, giving his finest performance and delivering virtuoso turns. Both men's world weariness is encapsulated, making the final confrontation almost despairingly pointless.

The script really works wonders, Neilson's best contribution. Using minimalistic means to control the plot, with a sparse use of action and unlikely set pieces, the movement of the story feels natural and entirely plausible, while giving almost every character some form of moral conundrum or internal splits. A very grim mood fills the tale, even beyond the duel taking place in it's centre, creating a melancholy which makes the blood hatred perversely apt.

A quiet but high calibre character piece which forgoes extravagant leaps in an attempt at false thrills, The Debt Collector is a human drama of very good quality which supplies material in full to two leads on top of their game, creating a memorable but dark performance art.

8/10