Review: Filth

Filth is an example of an alright film that is elevated to a great one due to a brilliant lead performance. The film tells the story of Bruce Robertson, the cocaine snorting, self-destructive detective sergeant who is hell-bent on getting promoted whilst dealing with his own demons in very fucked up ways. The film never condones his horrifying behaviour and yet manages to evoke some sympathy for what is truly an unlikable characters. It really is James McAvoy’s show: the scenes without him just don’t stand up to the same level and the other actors are elevated when they’re opposite him. McAvoy revels in the hilariously shocking scenes and well as dealing with the emotionally shocking ones.

However, it does end up a bit messy in the third act, then tries to redeem itself with a twist that isn’t quite executed well enough. From that point onwards, the structure seems to fall apart and its shock after shock that leaves you walking away from the film trying to work out if any of it was really necessary. Not all of the surreal scenes work either. Although funny, Jim Broadbent’s role seems superfluous as did the car sing-a-long.

That said, I really did enjoy the film. It balances the funny and the harrowing well and at only 97 minutes, it never overstays its welcome. Eddie Marsan as Bruce’s best pal Bladesey and Shirley Henderson as his wife Bunty are brilliant. Imogen Poots and Jamie Bell also hold their own as his rival colleagues. If you’re from Edinburgh, you’ll also get all the extra references that may pass over other audiences’ heads and it’s exciting to see your hometown on screen – even if it makes us look awful. It’s also a nice change to see a film made specifically for a Scottish audience instead of catering to an international market. Because of this, and also the pretty disturbing nature of the film, it may never receive American distribution which really is a shame as McAvoy deserves at least a nomination for his work.

Overall, it may not be perfect, but for wee Jamesy boy alone it’s worth it.

Beth Johnston

Review: Trance

I cannot begin to describe how frustrating it is to write a review about one of the greatest pieces of cinema to be released this year (well, so far anyway...) and barely be able to talk about it. But then, in a way, I suppose I just did. Trance is the 10th cinematic release from Danny Boyle, flying high off the back of the triumph of the Olympics opening ceremony last year. Sadly the Queen and Mr Bean are nowhere to be seen here, replaced instead by the superior acting talents of James McAvoy, Vincent Cassel, and (Boyle's former girlfriend, so I'm told) Rosario Dawson.

The basic premise of the film, if you're unaware, is that Simon, McAvoy's art auctioneer, is in cahoots with Cassel's smooth ganster to steal a Goya painting worth £25,000. However, after being hit on the head in the midst of the heist, Simon suffers amnesia and manages to forget where he's hidden the painting. Enter Dawson's hypotherapist, Elizabeth, who tries to get the secret out of him in any way necessary. But really, it's so so much more than that. This film, like any really good thriller, sets out of one seemingly predictable path before violently veering off into completely unpredicted territory. Trance may be contemporary in its plot and look, but deep down it borrows cliches, just as any good thriller does. Double indemnity, femme fatales, violence - it's all in there, it just might be subverted in ways that you may not expect.

As well as its bafflyingly brilliant plot, Trance looks incredible. Boyle offers us a vision of London inspired by last year's Olympics - clean, minimal, all reflections and steel and mod-cons. Yet underneath that, there's still the gritty version of our capital that we're all too familiar with. However both versions of London are made to look both dazzling and sinister. Cost-wise, it's quite a step-up for Boyle, especially some of the film's later set pieces, definitely more Sunshine than Shallow Grave. Mirrors and reflections - often cracked or distorted ones - are used constantly, as not-so subtle metaphors for the characters betrayals and secrets. While not the subtlest of metaphors, it works on an aesthetic basis purely because it looks so damn good. And speaking of good, Dawson is simply luminous here. I don't know whether Boyle was aiming for a Tarantino/Uma Thurman thing here, but in every shot she's in, despite the circumstances, she literally glows.

I can't reveal anymore for fear that revealing even more minor plot detail will cause a ball of wool effect and slowly cause you to unravel the whole plot. But all I can do is beg, from the bottom of my heart, that you take a chance and see Trance as soon as possible so that you too can be shocked and wowed by its twists, turns, and visuals, just as I have been.

Grace Barber-Plentie