Welcome to Redeeming Features. The blog where I (poorly) review movies that are underappreciated, underrated or under the radar, in hopes of convincing you to give them a second chance.
THIS WEEK’S FLICK, WHILE FUN, IS TOTALLY F**KED.
PLEASE HIDE YA KIDS, HIDE YA WIFE, AND HIDE YA HUSBANDS.
AND ANY CUTE ANIMALS. LIKE BUNNIES, OR HAMSTERS WITH BIG CHEEKS.
OK, now that we got that out of the way – let’s get filthy. This week, we’re talking about, well, Filth. The movie’s titled Filth. And boy does it live up to its shame. To give you frame of reference, Roger Ebert f**king haaaaaated it. So, it’s gotta be good.
Filth, while being completely depraved and devoid of any true lightheartedness, is actually filled with some shining young (and a couple old) stars. Starring James McAvoy (yeah, that dude from Wanted), Jamie Bell, Eddie Marsan, and Jim Broadbent, Filth delivers a surprisingly interesting story with everything from pedophilia, drug abuse, gay prostitutes, pig masks, and comparing a series of wieners scanned with the company copier. And you see the wieners, too.
*Internal thought: this is the second post in a row I’m mentioned wieners…*
Anywang, this coked up c**k-swinging contest is brought to us by none other than Irvine Welch, the same creepy cat who wrote Trainspotting, another staple in the gory, gritty, shitty genre of sex, drugs, and punk rock-and-roll. Bless you my child. You gave so many angsty teens something to look up to. And then inevitably look back on and think, “Why did I get two birds tattooed on my back?”
If you’ve read any of my other reviews, then you know I’m an absolute, doe-eyed sucker for quick, and at times, confusing action. This is no different. Right outta the gate, we open with an angelically lit, pale-skinned lady, staring right into camera, giving us a taste of what’s to come. Who her husband is, what he’s like, and how she’s so proud of the man he chooses to be. Or so we think.
Straightaway we snowball into a pit of, well, snow. They do coke in this. Not like in Blow, but enough. (See: movie poster.) Quick paced and ramped up, we sniff our way to the plot: seemingly good detective guns for big time promotion in a bad way. And he’ll concoct an elaborate pill diet/plan to get to it.
Unrelentingly f**king over, and through, all of his partners in crime, Bruce starts to pick them off. Fun by fun. That’s right; that terrible pun exists for a reason: Bruce actually enjoys this. He loves it all. From convincing his friends they’re gay, allllll the way to masturbating to old reruns of a papier-mâché headed character named Frank Sidebottom while simultaneously eliciting explicit phone calls to a coworker’s wife. He works with such chaotic precision, that it’s hard not to appreciate his skillset. And so intriguing, it’s hard not to want to write his wrongs. Pun by pun.
All of thes “fun” wrongdoings begin piling up, and appropriately enough, weigh on him. Heavily. He begins to, what’s the word? Feel? And after a series of pill-full fistfuls, sporadic hallucinations, and tongue-in-cheek sardonic voiceover, we finally see our slain character recognize his remorse. Only to hang his head like a petulant child on a rainy birthday.
Eight ball in all, Filth is definitely a fun watch, if you’re into this sorta thing. If not, that makes a lot of sense too. (RT: Ebert) But while it does seem to easily slide into an all-too-familiar crude category, at the very least it acts as a nice reprieve from the massif of movies that leave you saying, “Oh what the f**k?” instead of, “OH. WHAT THE F**K.”
TL; DR – A corrupt cop manipulates and hallucinates his way through a bid to secure a promotion in hopes of impressing his wife, or merely impressing himself.
Cody Tidmore is a Level Two sketch student at DCH. He’s been watching movies for as long as he can remember. Seeing it all – the good, the bad, even the ugly. And when it comes to annoyingly working movie quotes into regular conversation, he’s the reel deal.