Now here's an odd wee surprise. Just finished watching this new Scottish film. Came randomly onto my radar on social media, made a mental note to watch it, you know how that goes. Went to watch it tonight, to find it hasn't been released in its home country for streaming yet. Thought I would be smart, rented it (high definition! Extra $1!) on Youtube, using a VPN set to the USA. Then I went to watch it...and it wouldn't bloody run on my PC! That's what I get for trying to circumvent fine, moral, upstanding legal streaming laws.
But I felt no guilt, as I had actually paid the $4.99 for the thing. Thought I would just have to chalk it up to a failed gambling experiment...but no. Went and lay in bed on this cold, rainy (as usual) Saturday night and brought it up on my phone. And it worked! So I may and watched it. Not the optimum way to view a film, I must admit, and I don't think I have ever actually watched a full film like that - maybe the odd comedy special, but never a feature film - but at least I got to see it.
The main character in the film is Tales (Scottish actor Lorn Macdonald), a Glaswegian tattoo artist living in his shop. He's a pretty standard character for a Scottish male, unfortunately, in that he's angry, self-destructive, and on a mental and emotional spiral. He's an acerbic, vitriolic manchild who has been kicked out of his ex's gaff, and cannot face up to his adult responsibilities as a father and a decent general human being.
Tales demands a selfie. Tummy says no, Again and again, repeating the phrase "Rub your tummy or I'll think you're an asshole." Again, again and again and again. He says this fucking annoying childish phrase so much that you never want to hear it again in your life, and think that Tales is going to skelp something off his head. But no. The tattoo piss artist decides that this is a competition of some sort between he and Tummy, and that he can rub his tummy all night, if need be. And so commences a bizarre battle of the wills that becomes increasingly strange, strained, surreal, and quasi-spiritual. Things may not be as they seem with this musician. But then again, they may just be. To say any more would ruin it.
As I said, this is an odd wee film. I found myself watching it and wondering just where the Hell it was going. It started off as straight grubby realism, and ended up going in directions that could not have been predicted at the start of the film. It became much more ambiguous as events (and Tales) unravelled, more like an intervention or therapy sesh than a straight psychological thriller, until we didn't know where we stood by the close of shop.
One thing's for sure, though: there is not a bad performance in the film. I don't keep up-to-date with what is going on in modern UK telly and cinema, to be honest, so had personally never seen any of these three actors in anything that I can recall before, but they were all great. Macdonald especially was utterly superb. His - god I almost wrote fucking 'journey' - transformation from slightly edgy, cynical drink-and-drugs-soaked wannabe-cool prick (he reminded me of jakey Bing Hitler-era Craig Ferguson, but that's only partly cos they look a bit similar) to mentally and emotionally assailed edge-teetering psycho was absolutely flawless from start to finish, one of the best Scottish performances I have seen in many years. I felt it in every bone.
The claustrophobic film is worth watching just to see that alone, and I might watch it again just for that. But the performance by Norman, as the super-cool, laconic musician-cum-head-game-player, was absolutely superb too, a svelte, laid-back, perfect foil to his Scottish costar's more manic machinations. Although Akinsulire doesn't have as large a part as the twin engine heads of the production, his bodyguard-fixer certainly never puts a foot wrong, and you'd swear he and Norman were American. I also enjoyed Gudron Roy's brief turn as the annoying, needy, clingy teen goth Shimmy. She was pitch-perfect, rolling about the shop shutter and covering her face, moaning immature lovelorn shite as Tales cringed behind the steel barrier thankfully keeping her from him.
There's not much music, just the odd spot of quietly atmospheric haunting piano, and a death metal blast at the start and end. The credits reminded me of Into the Void by Gaspar Noe. Cinematically, the film is gorgeous to look at, as lensed by DoP David Liddell. There really is only one main location, the tattoo shop, with a couple of outside shots of Truth sitting in a car in the street. But the shop is beautifully filmed, dark shadow pools and blazing neon light juxtapositions giving everything a slightly surreal, first-ecstasy-rush aesthetic. The puddles of deep red and green reminded me a lot of the lighting schemes of Dario Argento, complemented well by the use of spotlights and queasy monochrome strobing. Absolutely superb stuff.
Any criticisms? Well, I suppose they would be mild. The film seemed to drag a bit during the first third, when the strange almost-unspoken ethereal wager between Tales and Tummy was being set up. That could have been shorn of a couple of minutes. The way things built up certainly made for an interesting, events-packed climax, which felt a wee bit too therapy-sesh-or-divine-intervention ambiguous to me. I suppose I am tired of fucked-up Scottish characters in our art, but the crazed, loser-takes-all ending made for an interesting exit.
See-ya salute from the Killie Sunday morning wee small hours...
THE END
From the soundtrack:
https://superstardestroyer.bandcamp.com/track/boss-moggy
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