Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (2001) - Part Two

 

8. Vacuuming Complete Nude in Paradise

 

“Strumpet” would air on the BBC in July of 2001. By the end of September of the same year, the second film to emerge between this collaboration between Danny Boyle and dramatist Jim Cartwright would debut on BBC Two. Which raises a second question: Who is Jim Cartwright anyway? I sure as heck don't know, because I'm not especially familiar with the world of modern British stage plays. If you are into that particular string of theatre, you probably already know who Mr. Cartwright is. He emerged onto the scene with his 1986 play, “Road,” a scathing and darkly funny condemnation of life in Thatcher's England. He became quickly acclaimed for his gritty and bizarre style, writing fifteen more plays, six other films, and an original novel. His subsequent work seems to vacillate between simplistic, single-word titles – other examples include “Bed,” “Baths,” and “Two” - and productions with more elaborate and unusual names, like “I Licked a Slag's Deodorant” and “The Ancient Secret of Youth and the Five Tibetans.” The film he wrote exclusively for television and Mr. Boyle has a title in that second tradition. “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” sure grabs your attention, doesn't it? The project would see Boyle fine-tuning the techniques he first discovered on “Strumpet.” 

Pete dreams of becoming a party DJ but has, thus far, seen little success for his beats. In the meantime, he assembles music for his stripper girlfriend's dance routines. While she performs at a retirement party for an elderly door-to-door vacuum sales man, Pete is offered a job. He's not especially interested in selling vacuum cleaners but his girlfriend demands he start pulling his weight. He is paired with Tommy Rag, a vulgar and violent veteran salesman who has devoted his entire life to selling vacuums to people who don't need them. Tommy dreams of winning the Golden Vacuum, the award given to the most successful salesman of the year. (In-between seducing lonely house wives and chastising his trainee for every mistake he makes.) Pete finds the world of sketchy salesmanship difficult to adapt to, often feeling guilty for the few sales he does make. After his girlfriend dumps him due to his continued lack of success, he accompanies Tommy to the ceremony for the Golden Vacuum. There, new paths in life emerge for both men. 

I found “Strumpet” to be too didactic in its themes, presenting its thoroughly well-trodden ideas of anti-corporate ranting within a story that couldn't decide if it wanted to be gritty and grounded or dreamy and fantastical. “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” has a similar point to make. This is another screed against the business world, depicting the life of a salesman as one devoted to cheating poor and desperate people out of what little money they have to sell them junk they don't need, all in the name of creating greater success and glory for the company and the individual. Tommy Rag is a thoroughly vile human being and his lack of a life outside his job contributes to that. Pete, meanwhile, longs to create music, to make art simply for the sake of it. Naturally, he ultimately finds self-fulfillment by pursuing his dream while Tommy Rag's life of relentless capitalistic greed leads to nothing but self-destruction. The message is clear as day: Do what makes you happy and don't worry about making money, because that will simply turn you into a wretched human being.

It's not exactly a fresh or revolutionary point to make. While "Strumpet" was mostly serious about its ideas, "Vacuuming Completely Nude" is a largely glib and outrageous comedy. It sees Boyle returning to the tone of "Trainspotting" or "Shallow Grave," creating humor by focusing on characters that regularly indulge in socially unacceptable behavior. Tommy's nonstop vulgarity, dancing erotically with castanets and a vacuum for a client, Pete's much more embarrassing and awkward attempt at sexual conquest, and opening with a striptease establishes the ribald and outrageous tone here. (Showing once again that BBC broadcast standards are a lot different from what we have in the U.S.) We are inhabiting a world here that is like our own but a little weirder and more unpredictable, Boyle adapting a thoroughly madcap and unhinged tone throughout. It is often hilarious, especially in the way Cartwright's script piles one unlikely event atop another. A particularly amusing sequence has Pete stumbling upon the recently deceased body of his elderly neighbor, whose hoarded collection of vintage newspapers end up combusted and adhered in pieces to his body. Tommy then summarizes each ancient new story on his protege's semi-nude body with odd specificity, multiplying the absurdity of the moment further. 

There are other ideas on the film's mind too. From the opening scene, where a decrepit old man is rewarded for a life of work with a naked young woman grinding on him, the film links a man's success in the business world with his sexual potency. Despite being a grotesque human being, in appearance and behavior, Tommy Rag's ability to sell a product also gives him the ability to seduce pliable. (Though not any woman he wants, as the attractive new employee to the agency is immune to his rat-like charm.) Pete's girlfriend, purring around in a skin-tight leather cat-suit, refuses him sex until he's made a sale. After he experiences seller's remorse, he goes for an unsettling quickie with the first available female – who is mentally disabled in some way – out of a need to re-assert his masculinity. The movie ends with a random burst of some S&M-like whipping, an inability to be successful as he envisioned turning a man into a rampaging, naked beast. It's an astute observation, that a man's desire to satisfy his sexual urges and the constant need for success demanded by the business world are not too dissimilar. Both must constantly be met or else risk frustration of the highest level. 

Notably, however, Pete's encounter with the disabled woman doesn't make him feel any better. He feels a lot worst, actually. The one vacuum sale he makes in the film is to a sickly, unemployed mother who is considering selling naked photographs – showing that our modern age of digital online sex work as a response to financial pressures are only the modern mutation of an older tradition – of herself to make end's meet. Her situation is so pathetic that Pete feels compelled to give her the money back. That results in his girlfriend denying him sex, calling him a “loser,” and leaving him. A man's worth in this world, right down to his sexual attractiveness, is often connected with his perceived “success.” Tommy's commitment to work gives him access to sexual conquests but the same barter leaves Pete feeling hollow, used, and filthy. By abandoning a life that insists a man is only worthwhile if he's taking advantageous of others does he find happiness. It's a lot deeper handling than “Strumpet's” worn-out insistence that corporate rock music sucks and D.I.Y. tunes are more real. 

It's all quite interesting but that's not the real reason “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” made such an impression on me upon this viewing. Instead, the film is totally dominated by a tornado of a performance. Timothy Spall plays Tommy Rag. His already let's call it “distinctive” appearance is further emphasized by crummy suits and garishly coufed hair. He enters the film spewing a cloud of profane, colorful dialogue at a rocket's pace. From then, he rarely slows down. Spall's thick-accented voice nevertheless wraps itself so naturally around Cartwright's creatively vulgar writing that it seems to be emerging totally naturally from his own brain. Rag is a repulsive figure, living out of his car, always coated with a fine layer of sweat, lascivious towards women, and taking every chance he has to make a sale. (Which includes trying to sell a vacuum cleaner to a seemingly homeless hitchhiker.) When he explodes into a violent fury at the film's conclusion, it's merely the natural escalation of his already unhinged energy. Despite that, Spall remains utterly captivating. It's the exact kind of attention grabbing sliminess that people like this possess in real life. You know they are dreadful but somehow the eye is drawn towards them nonetheless. 

In other words, the role is an ideal use of Spall's ability to dig fully into thickly scripted lines and become a physical dynamo of crazed force. Tommy Rag represents everything vile, cheap, and unbecoming about the world of commerce. As much as the character spends nearly his entire screentime being a grotesque villain, the film also grants him two surprising moments of serenity. Seemingly unprompted, while on hold over the phone, the character launches into a soft-spoken monologue describing a dream he had. It lends the film its odd title while also suggesting that, as monsterous as this man is, he does long for something simplier. His vision of an idyllic afterlife is one where he is done with the rat race, no longer needing to sell and can instead enjoy the bizarre tokens of the world he's absorbed himself in. A little while later, Spall gets another aside where he describes childhood memories, in which an innocent mind attempted to navigate a world that is far too often cruel. This provides context for the man Tommy Rag has become, while further suggesting that he has a lot more depth than his egotistical, materialistic attitude otherwise shows.  

These scenes represents rare moments of calm in a movie that is more often a storm of wild nervousness. Continuing the digital video cinematography Boyle first used on “Strumpet,” much of “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” is composed of grainy and sometimes handheld camerawork. When paired with Spall's whirling performance, it lends the entire movie a captivatingly wild feeling. When Rag's insane driving skills are displayed, the film often attached itself directly to the perspective of the car as it sails in and out of busy traffic. However, “Vacuuming Completely Nude” also looks a lot better than Boyle's earlier experiment with digital video. Much like Spall's striking monologues, the film pauses for shots of grungy beauty among the gritty settings. We see a degree of the same precise framing that made Boyle's earlier films so visually captivating here, in a shot of a face, a pregnant pause in a conversation as two lips are positioned at either end of the frame. 

The film seems much more in-tuned with its behind-the-scenes choice of technology too. Early on, the idea is introduced that soon the door-to-door salesman way of life will be utterly antiquated. A Japanese company is introducing younger workers to the company who will push the sales job into the realm of strictly by-phone and online orders. Tommy Rag doesn't know it yet – and refuses to acknowledge it, despite subconsciously sensing it – but he's the last of a species about to go extinct. Made in 2001, when the internet was quickly making in-roads into being an inescapable part of everyday life, “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” captures a moment when evolving technology was about to change everyone's life. That makes the choice of shooting the film on D.V., a newly emerging tech, all the more meaningful. 

Running only a little over an hour also works for the film. If expanded to any longer, it's sweaty and frantic vibe probably would have become exhausting or overbearing. Kept to a tight 75 minutes leaves “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” as a concussive blast to the viewer's brain. It's a darkly funny and bizarre look at the world of commerce that is suitably vivid and gritty in its visuals. Home to an earthquake causing performance from a character actor operating at the top of his power. That makes the film an easily overlooked gem in Boyle's career, a strong correction of the flaws of “Strumpet” and a propulsive bit of filmmaking in its own right. Absolutely seek this one out, if you can find it. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (2001) - Part One

 

7. Strumpet
 

The sequence of events seems to paint a clear narrative. Danny Boyle made two of the most acclaimed British films of the decade. Sure, he stumbled with his next movie but that's okay, because he was ready to go to Hollywood and become a real deal big shot director. Unfortunately, studio filmmaking is a thorny, compromising path. Beaten down by the experience of CEOs barking in his ear during the making of “The Beach,” Boyle returned to his old stomping grounds at the BBC. While collaborating with playwright Jim Cartwright on an original film for television, the writer presented a previously unproduced script he had written. Taken with the material, Boyle decided to take the budget allocated for one project and shoot two on digital video, a fast emerging and much cheaper alternative to traditional film. In other words, "Strumpet" was essentially a bonus movie to emerge from the same deal that produced Boyle's next made-for-TV movie. Running all of seventy-two minutes, you get the impression that "Strumpet" is little more than a trifle but it represents a stepping stone for the director between his bigger works. 

Strayman is a poet living in the city of Manchester. He has attracted a small local following for his fiery readings but lives in a largely rundown apartment with a dozen stray dogs he's adopted. His antisocial manner often makes him enemies. While wandering around town one night, he discovers a seemingly homeless woman being pawed at by a creep. He invites her back to his apartment and discovers that the girl, named Strumpet, can play the guitar. Inspired by his poetry – which Strayman scrawls on the walls – the two start to sing and play together. His neighbor and would-be talent agent records the impromptu performance. He gets the tape to record execs who like what they hear but want to polish it up. Strayman's confrontational personality and his improvisational method with Strumpet quickly gets him kicked out of the studio. Shortly afterwards, he hears Strumpet becoming a big pop star, singing reworked and commercialized versions of his lyrics. When she plays a performance at a nearby recording of a Top of the Pops episode, Strayman seeks his former musical partner out. 

"Strumpet" tells a very familiar story, of art versus commerce.  The protagonists make raw, highly personal music in a sincere environment strictly because they have to. Strayman has no commercial goals in mind with his writing, scribbling his poems on the walls of his apartment because he has no choice in the matter. He must express these thoughts and feelings or else go completely mad. Strumpet sets his words to music as a totally natural act, almost as a way to thank him for giving her a place to stay for the night. When their creation is presented to the money people at a music label, they don't get it. Moreover, they can't replicate the impulsive collaboration in the sterile, controlled studio environment. When Strayman is forcibly removed from the process, the result is his poem becoming a dumb and meaningless pop ditty with a big, thumping, dance-music beat behind it. When Strayman sees a drunken old woman warbling the words he wrote at a local pub's karaoke night, it represents all the soul and sincerity being sucked out of his work. Strumpet can only be saved from the heartless clutches of cold, empty capitalism by reuniting with her muse and creating the same way they used to.

This is, you'll notice, a fairly standard narrative you'll find in almost any story about artistic integrity and the commercialization of a highly personal art form. It's the punk rock ethos, of doing something strictly for the art of it and being disgusted by any and all attempt to turn that into a profitable venture. Every musician biography under the sun has tackled this same dilemma. "Strumpet" brings nothing to it. Truthfully, it's treatment of the matter strikes me as childishly simplified. The execs who steal Strayman's words and who force Strumpet to work in their preferred fashion are vacant-eyed idiots. Studio productions are presented as insincere and fake and bloated and bad and lame. Art done on the streets is raw and real and heartfelt and good and important. The question of "selling out" is something every craftsman who has tangoed with corporate concerns has had to weigh and it won't go away as long as money is being charged for something a person made. It's a complicated issue and reducing it down to simply "corporate = trash" and "homemade = good" doesn't truly tackle the idea. 

Especially when – and this is a perhaps petty but I would argue important detail – the art being presented in the film is, ya know, bad. Anytime the narrative of an amazing artist going up against the soul-crushing tyranny of executive meddling is told, there's the difficult matter of making sure the eventually presented art lives up to the hype. If the music sucks, the audience simply won't care about whether it's ruined by control freak producers. Obviously, taste is totally subjective. There's a lot of music I can't stand that means something to a countless number of people. Something being to my personal liking doesn't give me the right to dismiss it for all the fans who love it. I've got to tell you though, the music in "Strumpet" is not pleasing to the ear. It does not stir the soul and move the heart and motivate the brain. Basically, the movie has one song in it that is, as far as I can tell, called "Get It Out." The lyrics are shouted and incoherent, any deeper meaning impossible to decipher. The four chord guitar strumming is repetitive and unimpressive. The seventy minute presentation plays variation of the song many times and for multiple extended sequences. Not to be a dick about this but I find Jenna B. – an actual singer, for the Manchester-based group Un-Cut – to have a meek singing voice and a muddy delivery. This is why the based-on-facts musician biopics are, no matter how repetitive they are, a reliable formula. Those are about songs that have already proven to be beloved. Untested material has a much more uphill battle to fight in selling this kind of story. 

I don't think of myself as having "normie" taste in film and music. I like lots of weird, lo-fi, challenging art. However, "Strumpet" seems to cross a line from music that is willfully abrasive in an interesting way to simply being noisy. To be totally blunt, this is a film with a number of long scenes of a crazy barking man shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs while a sometimes naked lady strums tunelessly on a guitar. In fact, there's a lot of yelling in "Strumpet." The opening sequence is devoted to Strayman huffing and puffing his way through the entirety of John Cooper Clarke's "Evidently Chickentown." Whenever he becomes too upset by a given situation, he degrades into literal barking and biting. There's multiple scenes in which their would-be manager, played by Stephen Walters, rambles loudly about his vision for the music or it's value. If my theory is correct, that "Strumpet" and its companion film represent Boyle reacting to the experience of making "The Beach," all this screeching and bellowing is clearly an expression of the deep frustration he felt. Sure, that's valid. Putting your primal scream therapy to film is also, maybe, not a valuable use of the viewer's time. 

Maybe “Strumpet” being so continuously loud and screaming is meant to go hand-in-hand with its visual presentation. This was Danny Boyle's first collaboration with cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle, who would soon become his go-to D.P. Mantle had previously worked on “Julien Donkey-Boy,” so clearly the handheld, grainy look was something he specialized in at the time. In the year 2001, digital video technology was being adopted by a number of artists. This is the same year David Lynch started releasing a bunch of weird short films to his website, for example. Much like those examples, “Strumpet's” visual approach feels a bit like an established filmmaker playing around with a new technology. Of a director inspired by the instant and impulsive nature of digital video, as opposed to the long and expensive process of shooting to film. Some of the visuals, especially when the shadows of a pack of barking dogs are cast on a derelict wall or a P.O.V. shot of a guitar falling towards the viewer, are quite striking. 

The gritty aesthetic of “Strumpet” pairs well with its themes, of valuing art that is real over commercial pap. This means we can presume the film takes place in what can be called the real world. Boyle includes some of the subtly fantastical touches he used throughout his previous films. A truck driver Strayman irritates gets revenge by dropping a load of gravel in front of his building. Strayman himself seems to be more dog than man sometimes. There's a clear metaphor here, of abandoned cultural outsiders needing to flock together should they hope to survive in this world. Ya know, that's why the guy always surrounded by stray dogs is called “Strayman” and rescues the title character off the street. However, such a surreal character does not pair well with the hyper-realistic setting of the story. Simply put, Strayman acts like a schizophrenic person for a lot of the movie. He writes on walls, cinematic shorthand for being a lunatic. He spews poetry almost as if he's narrating the voices in his head. I can not imagine any record label taking a chance on this guy. I can't imagine someone like this being allowed into the room. When paired with music that is not the most melodic, it starts to feel like “Strumpet” is not following the conceit of its own ideas.

I'm not opposed to a film that has protagonists who are loud, annoying, or difficult to appeal to. Boyle managed to make gold out of unlikable characters in “Shallow Grave” and “Trainspotting.” Nor do I demand absolute realism from any cinematic production. However, there is a difference between heroes we find interesting or plausible and heroes we can relate to at all. Strayman's erratic behavior covers up any deeper characterization he might have. There is a certain unnerving energy to Christopher Eccleston wild-eyed and foaming-at-the-mouth performance. However, I finished the film having no deeper an idea of who this person was than when I came in. As for the title character, Strumpet is so quiet and soft-spoken that we simply never get a peek into her interior life at all. Honestly, it's easy to accuse “Strumpet” of being yet another movie where the female character exists as nothing but an empty blank canvas for the male hero to project all his wants and desires onto. She's that poorly defined and Jenna B.'s performance is impossible to read.

As with a few of Boyle's previous BBC production, “Strumpet” also features a wide variety of thick accents. When combined with all the shouting and fast paced dialogue and barking, the movie becomes absolutely indecipherable at times. Perhaps, after becoming disenchanted by the studio experience of “The Beach,” this was the kind of movie the director needed to make to get his groove back. Maybe he needed to screw around with some cam-corders for a bit and scream out all the frustration and anger. I can't say I found the result anything but vague, cliched, and kind of annoying. Put this one thoroughly in the “not for me” column. [Grade: D]

 

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (2000)

 

6. The Beach
 

The box office and critical failure of “A Life Less Ordinary” did not wipe out the success of Danny Boyle's first two theatrical features. His working relationship with screenwriter John Hodge, producer Andrew MacDonald, and editor Masahiro Hirakubo would all continue. This is what allowed Boyle and MacDonald to pick up the rights to a novel from an up-and-coming novelist named Alex Garland. They acquired the rights to his book “The Beach” before it went into wide publication and became a hit. However, perhaps the mistakes made with “A Life Less Ordinary” suggested that changes did indeed need to be made. By this point, Hollywood had caught up with Boyle's prior successes and came calling. 20th Century Fox promised to bankroll “The Beach” if Boyle agreed to have Leonardo DiCaprio star. Boyle took that deal, alienating his first choice and favorite leading man Ewan McGregor, leading to a schism between the two that wouldn't heal for years. 

Way back in the year 2000, however, I didn't know any of that shit. At the time, I had no idea who Danny Boyle was and, once I became a budding movie nerd, was surprised to discover the guy who made “Trainspotting” also made “The Beach.” Because this was the first Leonardo DiCaprio movie to come out following the unstoppable cultural juggernaut that was “Titanic.” Unsurprisingly, the studio would go all in on this, largely selling “The Beach” based on DiCaprio's newfound star power and status as a teenage heart throb. As a twelve year old boy in 2000, it was my duty to think Leo was nothing but a vapid pretty boy, a grossly overrated newcomer with no talent beyond his youthful good looks. Jealousy was no doubt a factor in this common reaction at the time, as well as a general macho adolescent dismissal of anything deemed too much for “girls.” History has vindicated Leo fans, of course, DiCaprio having long ago proven his real movie star chops and becoming a lasting screen presence. History has not been as kind to “The Beach,” though it has slowly been reappraised as better than the disappointing reputation it received at the start of the new millennium. 

Richard is a young American who has come to Thailand in search of the same thing many people head to Thailand for: Sun, sex, and sensation outside his previously cloistered existence. However, he soon finds the thrills of Bangkok disappointingly pedestrian. What does catch his attention is Francoise, the pretty French girl in the hotel room with her boyfriend next door. He also notices an eccentric Scotsman calling himself Daffy. The man presents Richard with a local legend, of an untouched beach hidden from civilization, and gives him a map supposedly leading to this location. Afterwards, Daffy kills himself. Teaming up with the French couple, Richard sets out to find this island paradise. They do uncover a perfect, secluded piece of beach front property... But they aren't alone. Armed drug dealers control one half of the island while the other half belongs to a bohemian community. They are a self-sufficient village led by a woman named Sal that lives in peace with the jungle. Richard and his friends are the first new arrivals they've had in a long time and they are, somewhat reluctantly, let into the group. However, anything this pristine is doomed to be corrupted eventually. 

Early on and multiple times throughout, the secluded island setting of “The Beach” is compared to the Garden of Eden. At first, it seems to be a similarly idyllic location. The commune lives in seeming peace and harmony with each other and the natural world. They have no need for the pleasures and so-called conveniences of the outside world. They live off the land and want to keep it that way. The only way this paradise can survive is because it's a secret. Richard's intrusion seems destined to lead to the beach's downfall. He brings the corruption of the modern world into this world lost to time. Considering the villagers give him and Sal a long list of modern amenities to bring back to the island from the mainland, the suggestion is that these influences are already well at work here. The eventual exile from paradise deliberately references the Eden story, furthering the idea that “The Beach” is a story about the inevitability of a fall from innocence. The child-like frolicking in the consequences-free Garden will always come before a stumble towards adulthood and finding your place in the wider world. 

It seems that way but I don't think think that's what “The Beach” is really about. In Garland's novel, the main character is English. Re-casting the character as an American might have been a compromise with the studio but it adds a whole other, far more interesting layer to the material. Richard doesn't find anything all that impressive in Thailand. He finds a congested city full of people watching TV. Specially American television shows, like “The Simpsons.” The American experiment has already spread to, and corrupted, this corner of the globe. The beach represents a place free of the vile influence of capitalism and American exceptionalism. At least until Richard bumbles into it, acting like he deserves access to this natural paradise as much as anybody else. A moral about the creeping hand of Imperialism would certainly still make sense with a British main character. However, making the hero American and aligning the downfall of the peaceful community with the vulgarian excess of the American lifestyle makes for a far more pointed message. 

It is easy to figure out why “The Beach” would appeal to Danny Boyle and John Hodge. This is, in many ways, a similar story to “Trainspotting.” The film doesn't feature quite as much voice over as that motion picture but Richard does have a running inner monologue, mirroring the perspective of Garland's book. The similarities don't end there. Like Mark Renton, Richard is an overgrown boy who is entirely selfish in his motivations. He only ever speaks in terms of what this world can offer him. He seeks out the island because he wants to experience these pleasures. He naturally assumes he belongs in this community. When an another islander gets injured by a shark and slowly develops a lingering sickness, Richard's narration describes the dying man as an annoyance to everyone here. Notably, that does not extend to the kinder villagers who stay with the sick man and take care of him. Around the same time, Richard refers to the beach as nothing more than another vacation resort. He sees this world as a buffet made for his benefit, never considering that Sal and the others are very serious about this way of life. 

Much like another immature man-child from a Boyle film, Alex in “Shallow Grave,” he repeatedly refers to what happens here as a “game.” He seems to think everyone is playing this “game” when it's blatantly obvious that he's the only person making that comparison. This is directly linked with the video games – specifically “Rampage,” a game about monsters destroying stuff – he's seen playing throughout, a different form of mindless entertainment subbing in for the game shows Boyle previously used as a symbol of vapid, populist drivel. It's noted that holding a controller is what his hands are more accustomed too than the hard labor of growing his own food. These people have lives, having created a carefully balanced equilibrium here. Richard – a name that can be shortened to Dick, it must be noted – throws that balance off with his mere presence. He doesn't see it that way. Though the ending seems to hint at this large adult boy growing into a more mature man, it's a lot easier to believe that this guy's days of being a jerk, butting his way into places where he doesn't belong and insisting it's his, are far from over. 

In the many years since “The Beach,” Leonardo DiCaprio has played a number of entitled monsters that rampage through the world like unhindered ids. Honestly, compared to the vile greed and stupidity of Jordan Belfort, Calvin Candie, or Ernest Burkhart, Richard doesn't seem so bad. At least he has the excuse of being young. However, the role does show that DiCaprio, even this early into his superstar phase, was eager to play with his own image. As Richard, Leo shouts, swears, and panics in-between self-serious meditation that take place mostly within his own mind. Richard is an asshole, Leo plays him like an asshole, but the character certainly doesn't think he's an asshole. That's the power of a performance, making it a more meaningful indictment of this kind of self-aggrandizing entitlement. DiCaptrio was a long whiles off from being the grizzled screen presence he is now but he already understood that this was the mode that best served his abilities. (Notably, DiCaprio made this movie instead of the adaptation of “American Psycho” he was supposed to star in instead. For the first time, I honestly think he actually might have made a compelling Patrick Bateman.)

If you missed the obvious attitudes “The Beach” is criticizing, the film makes it more blatant as it goes along. After his selfish ways are exposed, Richard is temporarily exiled from the village and into a watch tower position. He quickly starts to become detached from reality, imagining himself in a video game or as a red bandana wearing, John Rambo-like figure. DiCaprio emerges from the shadows, a bit like Martin Sheen in “Apocalypse Now” too. In other words, he imagines himself as a world-weary, hyper-capable bad-ass. That's the case after he kills a shark, the boy quickly re-imagining the encounter as an act of bravery on his behalf and not happenstance. When he sees a dead body in the first act, he dismisses it as less real than what he's seen in the movie. However, Richard's bravado lasts only as long as he doesn't come face-to-face with someone actually violently dying. At that point, the illusion of action hero stardom are dashed and he's reduced to a blubbering boy once again. Almost as if he day-dreams about a life he actually has zero preparation or understanding off, further connecting with the film's themes of western entitlement. 

Naturally, Richard also believes himself entitled to sex and romance. In Garland's book, Richard's attraction to Francoise remains totally one-sided. It's a boyhood crush, another sign of his arrested adolescence. At the insistence of studio execs, probably hopeful to appeal to those who flocked to “Titanic” because of its love story, a romantic subplot was inserted into the film. At least this alteration similarly feeds into the story's themes. When Sal makes herself sexually available to Richard, he naturally goes right for it. He lies to Francoise on the island about the affair, another blatant example of what a cad this guy is. While it probably would've made more sense to keep the romance strictly to the imaginary category, it does give Guilaume Canet and Tilda Swinton – both excellent – a lot more to do. Swinton's ethereal appearance and commanding presence is well utilized as Sal while Canet's beauty and naivety makes her an ideal dream girl for the hero to fall in love with.

While the studio mandated romantic subplot at least fits into the film to some degree, the quasi-happy ending the money people similarly demanded is far less effective. One can only assume that a story like this is not going to end well for anyone. The heavily-armed marijuana farmers on the other half of the island clarify that they are, like most of the third world residents at the mercy of American imperialism, simple craftsman trying to take care of their families. They live here and all the white folks are interloper, all of them expelled from this Eden by the end. It might not surprised you to hear that Garland's source material had a far more downbeat conclusion. If Boyle's “The Beach” had ended five minutes before the credits, it certainly would've been logical. Instead, a hopeful final scene is tacked on. No, it doesn't fit the proceeding story nor match up with the thematic concerns. 

While Boyle and his team where clearly ready and willing to work with the Hollywood execs on this one, this still feels much more like a picture form the director of “Trainspotting” and “Shallow Grave” than “A Life Less Ordinary.” As in his drug-fueled epic, Boyle allows for a number of elaborate fantasy sequences. This includes Leo being inserted into a Nintendo 64-style video game when imagining his adventure, another Vietnam War movie style daydream with notably bloodless violence, a talking shark, and a starry vision of the girl he's enamored of. This is paired with some hyperactive camera movements – a monkey point-of-view shot while running through the pot field being a good example – and some stylishly edited montages introducing the various inhabitants of the community. As you've come to expect by now, “The Beach” also has a catchy soundtrack full of carefully chosen Britpop and electronic needle drops. “The Beach” also features a very pretty score from Angelo Badalamenti, whose sweeping and dream-like main theme recalls the “Twin Peaks” intro a little bit.
 

Since the globe was gripped by LeoMania in the year 2000, “The Beach” was naturally a box office success. It grossed nearly a hundred million times more than its budget. I seem to recall that the critical reaction to the movie, upon release, was fairly muted. It was generally seen as a step down from the novel and a bit unfocused and muddled. (Which suggests a lot of those same critics didn't see “A Life Less Ordinary,” which makes “The Beach” seem positively concise in its focus and ideas.) Which aren't totally unfair criticism. However, the movie's themes of American entitlement encroaching on natural paradises – especially those fueled by libido-driven masculine urges – have only gotten more relevant in the years since. In a horribly ironic example of art imitating life, the production of “The Beach” ended up destroying the actual idyllic Thai island the story is set on. Which is another example of real life putting a little too fine a point upon the subtext, if you ask me. I don't think “The Beach” was worth the destruction of an actual natural paradise but I do think it's an interesting film. [Grade: B]

 

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (1997)

 

5.  A Life Less Ordinary

 

The director, writer, and producer trio of Danny Boyle, John Hodge, and Andrew MacDonald had considerable success with their first two efforts. "Shallow Grave" and "Trainspotting" were both breakout box office successes, critically praised, and remain beloved cult classics to this day. Surely their third collaboration would be a similar hit, right? I'm sure that was the thought process everyone had when putting together "A Life Less Ordinary," especially the producers at Channel Four Films who put up much of the money for the film. Sadly, lightning would not strike a third time. "A Life Less Ordinary" would sink at the box office, receive middling reviews, and has largely been forgotten in the years since. It seems to me the only time the film comes up at all is when people are looking back on Boyle's career the way I am right now. Which begs the question: What went wrong on this third go-around between this team? 

Celine Naville is the daughter of a mega-rich businessman but she's miserable in her personal life. Her controlling father has set her up on a string of unsuccessful relationships, the latest with a mildly unhinged dentist. Robert Lewis is a janitor working for her dad's company, who dreams of becoming an author of trashy novels. Upon discovering he's been fired and replaced with a robot, Robert kidnaps Celine. Celine seems more bemused than threatened by her kidnapper's actions, seeing this as a chance to get some money from her dad, run off and live her own life. Robert proves to be an incompetent criminal and often takes pointers from his captive. The two hide out together, bicker, and slowly warm up to one another. Incensed, Celine sends two bounty hunters after the pair, giving them free range to murder the man responsible for kidnapping his rebellious daughter and to bring her back.

That sounds like a fairly standard story line, doesn't it? While I don't think the two filmmakers have much in common, Danny Boyle's previous features had attracted some comparisons to the films of Quentin Tarantino and the many imitators that followed in his wake. I suppose the focus on memorable soundtracks, stylized dialogue, and gritty stories suggest some similarities. In the abstract, "A Life Less Ordinary" does sound like one of those "Pulp Fiction" knock-offs, a hyper-verbal love story of two rogues on the run together. There are shoot-outs and car crashes and lots of colorful dialogue. More than anything else, there is an overall kind of tonal smugness from the material that suggests a desperate desire to be observed as cool by the viewer. It was 1997 and such things were still somewhat in fashion, kind of, I guess. "A Life Less Ordinary" is a film about beautiful people with trendy haircuts doing daring and exciting stuff together, with a sense of humor about itself and a level of stylish excess that seeks to impress. 

Perhaps, however, Boyle and Hodge were aware of how ordinary this script might have seen in the indie film landscape of the time. This might explain why "A Life Less Ordinary" instead veers sharply into the realm of magical realism. You see, the bounty hunters after Robert and Celine aren't ordinary enforcers. They are, in fact, angels sent from Heaven to ensure that Robert and Celine fall in love. Because, it would seem, making people fall in ever-lasting love is something angels concern themselves with. It's an insertion of a fantastical element in a film that otherwise doesn't have any fantasy elements.

Such a swerve might have successfully spiced up material that the audience had seen before but you can't start out as the new neo-noir from the director of "Shallow Grave" and "Trainspotting" and instead introduce explicitly divine intervention. You got a ease into that shit. To bring the guy up again and risk making it seem like I only know one nineties director/screenwriter, "From Dusk Till Dawn" deliberately turning from a stylized crime thriller to gory, outlandish creature feature is a tonal shift that worked. "A Life Less Ordinary" doesn't do that. It introduces the angelic conceit within its opening minutes before moving towards its more grounded elements, the otherworldly subplot weaving in and out of the story throughout.

That points towards what is probably the biggest problem with "A Life Less Ordinary." I called the film a neo-noir. It seems like a reasonable description, what with a story about kidnapping and ransom and young lovers on the run and sketchy hired guns. However, "A Life Less Ordinary" is actually a comedy. It is, in fact, an excessively wacky comedy. Characters have wildly specific personality quirks. Robert is always talking about his trashy novel idea, which everyone dismisses with the exact phrases. Celine is introduced playing William Tell with a revolver and an apple on her butler's head. (A butler who, it must be said, has a stereotypically droll British demeanor which is eventually subverted by his violent actions.) Timothy Olyphant shows up as a wide-eyed hitchhiker who does handstands. There's random appearances from an eccentric local played by Maury Chaykin, who speaks in an oddly specific manner, seems gripped by a degree of religious mania, and may or may not hear voices from his dog. There's a robot and a musical number and a game show themed dream sequence and a magic bullet that harmlessly passes through someone's heart.
 

Do you see what I'm saying here? Hodge's screenplay heaps quirks atop quirks. Heaven is depicted not as a divine afterlife full of clouds and harps, angels wearing wings and halos. Instead, it resembles something more akin to an office building under pressure from the superiors above – in this case, Yahweh himself – to make quotas. Gabriel is not a dignified archangel concerning himself with blowing the horn at the end of days. Instead, he's a frustrated, grumpy pencil pusher played by Dan Hedaya at his Dan Hedaya-iest. Oh, what a delightfully silly contrast between the fantastical and the mundane! And, ya know, that could've been funny. I actually love it when stories contrast the supernatural with otherwise normal daily drudgery. However, “A Life Less Ordinary” is trying so hard to be wild and crazy that all the ideas start to blend together. I actually think that musical number is one of the film's better moments. It stands alongside embarrassingly bad ones, like a fist fight with Stanley Tucci as that crazy dentist. I suppose, if the film's problem could be diagnosed in as few words as possible, it would be that it's trying too hard.

An overly ambitious screenplay that slingshots around multiple different zany ideas brings with it an uncertain tone. In addition to everything else, “A Life Less Ordinary” is also a self-aware example of the romantic comedy genre. From the minute Robert and Celine are thrown together by fate, we know they are going to fall in love. The movie knows that we know this too. It is the angels' mission to make sure these two get together. This acts as a self-reflective reasoning for the familiar but improbable cliches of the rom-com genre. The unlikely circumstances that bring these two together are the results of a heavenly conspiracy. The big romantic gesture Robert does to win Celine back after the end-of-the-second-act schism is a poem written by one of those same angels. This is basically the movie saying that it knows these cliches are hoary nonsense, the angels acting a bit like the writers of the screenplay trying to engineer these scenarios. However, doing a crappy old cliché while pointing out that it's a crappy old cliché isn't actually a subversion. It's the same old lazy writing with an extra hat of unearned pretensions atop it.

We all know that romantic comedies follow these silly and unlikely plot points. It comes with the territory, like the teenagers running off to have sex in a really dangerous place in the slasher movies. The best rom-coms overcome this shortcoming based on the strength and charm of their leads. The lack of suspense in knowing that the boy and the girl will end up together is made up for by the audience truly wanting to see them succeed. That might be the biggest area where “A Life Less Ordinary” fails. If we really liked Robert and Celine, it would make a lot of the other problems the film has more forgivable. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Celine remains antagonistic to Robert and everyone around her for most of the film. Robert comes across as a bullied and indecisive idiot. When the two fall into bed together, it does not feel like an natural event of the story but rather a contrivance. That's because it basically is, a manipulation from above, which is why a nudging acknowledgement of tropes is generally less desirable than an unironic embracing of them.

The lack of chemistry between Celine and Robert isn't only the fault of the script. Ewan McGregor stars as Robert and he does fine in the role. Even at this relative early stage of his career, McGregor was already a total professional. His skills are not enough to make a protagonist pushed around by the whims of the plot have more depth than he does. However, he's a reasonably entertaining lead. When paired with Cameron Diaz as Celine, something feels amiss. Diaz, an uneven talent on the best of days, hits mostly false notes here. She comes across as somewhat flat in her delivery throughout much of the movie. Her attempts to add some emotional sincerity or pathos to the material come across as forced or phony. This is most apparent in the morning after the characters sleep together for the first time. Diaz goes for sexy smoldering when a degree of vulnerability would've done a better job at making this pairing seem more natural.

Ultimately, what is a rom-com without a central couple that we can become invested in? Not that romantic and not that funny either. That makes the increasingly crazy decisions the script goes in seem all the sweatier. That same instinct is apparent in the supporting cast. “A Life Less Ordinary” actually has an impressive crop of names in its credits. Holly Hunter and Delroy Lindo are the angels on the couple's trail. Lindo's tough guy appearance is counteracted by a quiet, observational personality and the soul of a poet. Unfortunately, it comes across as yet another one of the movie's cloying bits than something more realized. Hunter, normally a reliable presence in any film, can do nothing but hopelessly ham her way through this material. That's actually the choice most of the secondary players made. Ian Holm as Celine's dad, Hedaya, Tucci and Tony Shaloub – whose role is especially inessential – grimace and flex their faces as cartoonish characters that never come across as anything more than annoying caricatures. 

Maybe it's only because so much of “A Life Less Ordinary” feels overburdened with its own desire to be wacky. However, the techniques Danny Boyle and his team utilized in his previous feature to electrifying effect come off as somehow both blander and more annoying here. Brian Tufano and Masahiro Hirakubo are back on cinematography and editing duties. The soundtrack remains hyper-specific and carefully chosen. However, the formula is off. A car chase sequence comes across as manic and overbearing, rather than energetic and captivating. The brief glimpses we get at that game show dream sequence are another excessive addition to a pot too full with ingredients already. By the end credits, where the story is resolved via stop-motion animated cartoon sequence, I was officially sick of “A Life Less Ordinary's” bullshit. The film represents the strengths of Boyle's previous two movies in a totally undisciplined and unbalanced form.
 

The first time I saw “A Life Less Ordinary,” I fucking hated it. I found its over-the-top sense of trying-too-hard whimsy unbearable. Based on how much I loved “Trainspotting” and “Shallow Grave,” perhaps I went in with overly high expectations. Either way, this was definitely not what I was expecting. Upon rewatch, I've upgraded my opinion from hatred to simply thinking the film is simply not good. Such a wild mismatch of tones and elements can still classify as only a fiasco, a wild miscalculation of all involved about what does and doesn't work together. However, that song and dance number actually isn't too bad. A quickly cut montage of Robert and Celine practicing tough-talking over the phone is pretty good. Buried, somewhere in this wild mishmash of ingredients, might have been a good film. This isn't it, however, and it would be a long time before Danny Boyle tried his hand at a romantic comedy again. [Grade: C-]

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (1996)

 

4. Trainspotting

 

In at least one interview, Danny Boyle has described himself as a punk when he was a kid, which greatly informed the kind of stories he'd go on to tell. I have no idea how insular or wide-ranging the Scottish punk scene is but it produced another notable luminary. Irvine Welsh played in bands with names like The Pubic Lice and Stairway 13 before some run-ins with the law had him changing his way. He published his first novel in 1993, a non-linear collection of episodic incident in the lives of Scottish heroin addicts called “Trainspotting.” Andrew Macdonald read the book shortly after publication. Coming right off the success of “Shallow Grave,” he quickly lined it up as the next project for Boyle and John Hodge. Welsh and Boyle had complimentary sensibilities, it turned out. “Trainspotting” would become an even bigger critical and commercial success than the director's previous film.

In the Scottish city of Leith resides Mark Renton, a full-time drug addict and part-time petty thief who steals entirely to support his heroin habit. He calls a group of junkies and lunatics his only friends: The strangely suave but didactic Sick Boy, the child-like fool Spud, the violent and unpredictable Begbie, and the straight-laced Tommy. What follows is a series of attempts by Renton to kick his addiction, none of which prove especially successful. Renton's misadventures – which includes accidentally romancing a school girl – are soon interrupted by death, a run-in with the law, a nearly fatal overdoes, and a HIV scare. After finally getting clean, Renton ends up reunited with his old pack of pals to orchestrate a drug deal that could change all their lives.

If you're an obsessive film nerd in your thirties, you probably started getting into movies in the 2000s. That's right about when “Trainspotting” cult following burned its brightest. If you were inside a dorm room between the years 2000 and 2011, you probably saw the “Choose life!” poster on a wall or two. It's not too difficult to dictate why this motion picture was popular among the same crowd that sang the praises of “A Clockwork Orange,” the films of Quentin Tarantino, “Donnie Darko,” “The Boondock Saints,” and the like. Most of the characters in “Trainspotting” are well into their twenties and thirties but, narratively, the film still functions as a coming-of-age story. Renton is a self-obsessed man-child, held in a state of arrested development by his drug dependency. He quite literally lives with his parents for long stretches of the film. The title – left unexplained in the film – refers to the kind of niche hobby mostly practiced by unemployed men with a lot of free time on their hands. He begins the film dismissing the merits of maturity before coming around to embrace it at the end. Through the course of the story, he overcomes his addiction and grows up, which includes leaving behind his band of friends. That's a universal story and one that a lot of movie-watching twenty-somethings would relate to... 

But the so-called “Film Bro” crowd probably more responded to the litany of bad behavior the gang gets into. Upon release, some critics dismissed “Trainspotting” as another indie art house flick that was simply trying to be transgressive as possible. It's a somewhat understandable instinct. Obviously, this is a movie about drug addiction but it does not approach heroin only as a life-destroying disease. Instead of operating as a dour moral lesson on why you shouldn't do drugs, it also acknowledge that, ya know, doing heroin feels nice. That's why addicts start using in the first place, something Renton acknowledges in dialogue. That's far from the only streak of antisocial behavior in a movie spattered with human excrement, random acts of extreme violence, homemade pornography, accidentally becoming a statutory rapist, a dead baby, and shooting a dog in the balls with a B.B. gun. Dismissing “Trainspotting” as only a shock value movie is ridiculously short-sighted but I do think the movie is trying to provoke a reaction a number of times. 

There's no denying that “Trainspotting” is a grimy film. It does feature the nastiest bathroom ever put to celluloid. There are close-ups of needles going into arms and detailed depictions of how heroin is cooked and injected. The squalor of a junkie's den is on-screen multiple times. However, “Trainspotting” never wastes time moralizing about its topic. Addiction informs every minute of the film yet “Trainspotting” is not that concerned with the psychology of drug abuse, about the complicated economic and social factors that push someone to use junk. It's an extremely cruel statement to say that drug addicts use because they are selfish... Mark Renton is selfish though. “Trainspotting” is, in many ways, a movie about the main character repeatedly abusing himself and those around him. He steals a home-made sex tape of Tommy and his girlfriend, directly leading to the relationship falling apart. In his despair, when Tommy asks to try heroin, Renton provides it. He steals, he lets friends take the fall for him, he does pointedly bad things for little to no reason. The main thesis of the character is summed up during a moment where he clarifies that he cooked up some horse for a friend but only after making himself a needle full first. “Trainspotting” pointedly avoids making any grand statements about addiction or drugs. It certainly acknowledges that different people do drugs for many different reasons. The film doesn't say that drug abuse is selfish but it does suggest that drug abuse makes selfish people far more selfish. 

Alright, if Mark Renton is such an asshole, then why do we like him? There's a few reasons why but the primary one is that Irvin Walsh's prose – from which “Trainspotting: The Movie” draws a good deal of its memorable lines – is so invigorating. The “Choose Life” monologue became iconic for a reason. It's a poetic chunk of dialogue that flows almost like music, book-ending the film and reprised like a song's chorus. The thick Scottish brogues all throughout – sometimes they are so thick that it becomes almost impossible to understand what is being said – certainly go a long way towards making the dialogue sounds especially musical. The dialogue is stylized, with winding discussion about Sean Connery era James Bond movies or a drug deal being described as a restaurant order. It all has such a viable spark to it, an energy that propels the entire motion picture and is impossible for the audience to resist. 

That kind of cinematic dynamism is present in almost every aspect of the movie, largely because Danny Boyle and his team make sure of it. Much like his theatrical debut, the director makes sure “Trainspotting” hits the ground running. Rather literally, as the opening scene involves the protagonists running through the streets to the tune of Iggy Pop. An utterly hip soundtrack of classic pre-punk and electronic dance music propels nearly the entire film, giving it that youthful buzz that probably isn't dissimilar to a drug high of some sort. Masahiro Hirakubo's editing is fast-paced and kinetic, often scored to the musical choices. Brian Tufano's cinematography often approaches scenes from uncommon angles, further adding to the punk rock electricity that is evident all throughout. Part of why “Trainspotting” has attracted the cult following it has is exactly because it has such a powerful youthful drive from the opening minutes.

That kind of dynamite sense of movement was present in “Shallow Grave,” where it was often contrasted with distinctive architectural touches and perfectly composed frames. The director doubles down on this approach here. Individual shots in “Trainspotting” are works of art. Renton running below an apartment building painted in multiple bright shades or standing outside the Volcano nightclub with Diane show flashes of colors in the grey, industrial sprawl of the urban setting. This is contrasted, in an important sequence, with the width and flatness of the green Scottish countryside. That kind of vastness is apparent even within the tight interiors of the film, a kitten sitting alone on an apartment floor having the same sense of stillness as the other images in the movie. 

Being a movie about drug addicts that barely function within polite society also gives Boyle and his team permission to go on several elaborate flights of fancy. The first of which occurs early-on in “Trainspotting,” when Renton notoriously dives into the worst toilet in Scotland to retrieve some opium suppositories from an expansive ocean within. Up to that point, “Trainspotting” exists in mostly realistic setting up to that point, making this first imaginative burst totally unexpected. This opens the movie up to feature further unexpected bits of visual playfulness. Such as Renton's overdose being brilliantly portrayed by him actually sinking into the floor, the audience granted his perspective from within the ground multiple times. These are not merely examples of the filmmakers flexing their muscles to show off the quirky and cool visuals they can pull off. They also put us directly into the headspace of the characters, capturing feelings that can easily be expressed on the page on the big screen instead. 

These elaborate fantasy sequences are not only used to capture drug-fueled feelings of weightlessness. “Trainspotting” also features one of the more unnerving sequences I've seen outside of a horror movie before. Scored against a thumping electronic soundtrack, that goes a long way of elevating the sense of nervous unease, the audience suffers through Renton's detox fever dreams alongside him. A single bedroom becomes a prison, Renton screaming and raving against helpless messages from friends that can't reach him. This cuts back to a game show, previously defined as the ultimate example of banality (a comparison Boyle previously made in “Shallow Grave” too) that has become reflective of Renton's fears and anxieties. All the while, a dead infant – looking and moving like an awkward puppet and all the more uncanny because of it – crawls closer and closer. It's a moment that makes me squirm in the worst way, another example of how masterfully assembled “Trainspotting” is.

Sealing “Trainspotting's” status as a modern classic are a collection of unforgettable performances. Ewan McGregor makes this shit look easy as Renton, embodying the physical squalor the character lives in. Yet McGregor is uniquely gifted in making the rambling, musical inner monologue come across as especially engrossing and unforgettable. His charm goes a long way towards making us like a character that is otherwise despicable in a natural and sympathetic manner. Jonny Lee Miller makes meandering diatribes about the James Bond franchise surprisingly engrossing, displaying a kind of easy-going charm that still can't overcome the character's obvious unseemly side. Robert Carlyle is a terrifying, raging force of violence and intimidating that still seems like an actual human being that could exist. Ewen Bremner's unforgettable physicality as Spud defines the squirrely, off-beat character. If there's any flaw in “Trainspotting,” it's that the role of women are downplayed in a disappointing way. Kelly MacDonald as Diane has an immediate magnetism that demands your attention but the character never comes to life. 

But let's go back to that scene of Renton and the gang on the Scottish moors, gasping for breath when they are being prompted to bask in the natural beauty of it all. In this scene, Renton dispels any scene of pride in his own nationality. It proceeds the characters deciding to give up on going clean and getting back on heroin. I'm not Scottish, obviously, and have hopefully made it apparent by now that I'm woefully ignorant of what makes up the Scottish national identity. However, this moment certainly does seem significant. Is “Trainspotting” a contemplation on the Scottish state of being, some sort of commentary on life in the country during the drug-fueled eighties? Perhaps. Or maybe the overwhelming Scottishness of the cast, crew, and authorial voice simply makes it reflection of intrinsically Scottish ideas. Being something like the unloved middle child of the British Isles reflects in a national identity full of self-loathing and self-destruction. Or maybe it's like that everywhere. 
 

All of which is to say that “Trainspotting's” reputation as a film school favorite is largely entirely justified. It is still a powerful piece of filmmaking, propelled by a cinematic energy that is difficult denied. The script is sharp, darkly hilarious, endlessly clever, and a keen observation on human behavior. The performances are an incredible display of talent from all involved. The soundtrack is pretty damn great and the movie chugs along with an infectious drive that is equal parts grimy and intoxicating. I've never done heroin and, from what I've read, it's a high better described as euphoric and dream-like. “Trainspotting” isn't like that at all. It's a jolt, somehow still feeling fresh and exciting nearly thirty years after it was released. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (1994)

3. Shallow Grave

Nearly 600 years before, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote “The Pardoner's Tale” as part of an unfinished little project known as “The Canterbury Tales.” The story – of travelers setting out to find Death, uncovering a treasure chest, murdering each other in their greed, and ironically fulfilling their original mission statement – would set in place one of the most timeless morals in all of literature: The love of money is the root of all evil. Countless authors have been inspired by the same premise over the centuries. One such example was John Hodge, a med student from Glasgow with ambitions of becoming a screenwriter. After running into producer Kevin Macdonald at the Edinburgh Film Festival, Hodge whipped up a script called “Shallow Grave.” The manuscript found its way to Danny Boyle, who quickly decided that this was the project that would allow him to make the leap from television to film. Upon release in 1994, “Shallow Grave” would become the highest grossing British-made film of that year, creating the foundations for the careers of its director, its stars, and its screenwriter.

In a spacious flat in Edinburgh lives three young professionals: Journalist Alex, doctor Juliet, and accountant David. They review applicants for a fourth flat mate, almost as a joke, before Juliet is charmed by the mysterious Hugo. Not long after moving in, the others find Hugo dead of a heroin overdose. They also find a large suitcase full of millions of dollars. After much debate, the decision is made to keep the money and split it amongst themselves. David is given the grisly task of dismembering Hugo's body, which is then buried in the woods. Alex and Juliet enjoy their newfound loot, while David grows increasingly paranoid about the money. He's right to be concerned, as a pair of ruthless criminals are on the trail of the cash. It's only a matter of time before the flat mates are found by the crooks, the first of several violent incidents that will tear the three friends apart and see them scheming against each other.

A year before "Shallow Grave" was released, a novel with a similar premise would be published. Scott Smith's "A Simple Plan" also concerns a trio of friends who come across millions of ill-gotten gains, their decision to share the money soon going horribly wrong. I'm not suggesting Hodge and MacDonald were ripping off Smith's book and doubt "Shallow Grave" had much influence on Sam Raimi's film adaptation four years later. Both are variations on the aforementioned themes set forth by Chaucer and "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre," a likelier inspiration for both. However, Boyle and Raimi's films are connected by a similar approach to the discovered caches of money. In a classic film noir tradition, the millions are treated almost as a cursed artifact, an object that introduces a malignant force into an otherwise functional relationship. David immediately knows the money is bad news and is reluctant to take it. The other two see an opportunity and it's a tempting one. There aren't many among us who wouldn't benefit from a suitcase full of hundred dollar bills to dropping in our laps. Money makes people do insane things and that is where the true power of stories like "Shallow Grave" or "A Simple Plan" lie. It's easy to daydream about suddenly becoming rich but it's just as easy to imagine how badly it can fuck your life up too. They say money changes people and, when combined with shaky secrets and criminal pressures, it's inevitable that this situation will go badly. 

At the same time, the stolen cash is not the Apple in the Garden of Eden, a sudden intrusion of corruption into an otherwise balanced, innocent situation. In another amusing coincidence, "Shallow Grave" would debut at festivals a few months before another program about photogenic young people somehow able to afford an improbably roomy apartment began airing. "Friends" would definitely focus more on the wish fulfilment aspect of the fantasy of being young, attractive, and living in the city with your best pals but "Shallow Graves" feels almost as unlikely at first. I don't know what rent was like in Edinburgh in the nineties but the film's central location strikes modern eyes as absurdly nice for a starter apartment. Would a journalist, an accountant, and a recent med school grad be able to afford such a place? This flat has a loft, for God's sake. That a big bundle of discovered cash is what drives the plot certainly suggests economic pressures are weighing on these three. At the same time, they treat the possibility of a fourth flat mate moving in as a grand jape. The opening montage shows the characters using the interview process more as an opportunity to mock strangers than as a chance to split the bills more evenly.

That's an establishing character moment for another reason too: These three are kind of assholes. All throughout the first act, Juliet ignores incessant phone calls from someone, the suggestion that this is some past romantic partner she's trying to avoid. The three attend a doctor's ball, Alex seeing it as a chance to raise a little hell in public. David is much, much more reserved by the other two bring out his impish side as well. Being young and hot brings with it a certain cockiness. "Shallow Grave" uses that youthful energy to skirt the misbehavior of its protagonists, allowing the film to tactilely acknowledge that these three are jerks without making them horribly unpleasant to be around the whole time. After all, if the main characters where good people, they probably wouldn't chop up a body and dump it in a freshly dug hole somewhere. The knowledge that these three are all ready willing to compromise whatever morals they have, that they mostly see other people as means to an ends, adds to the tension later in the film. 

There's another kind of tension throughout "Shallow Grave," that gives it a little more in-common with its benevolent American sitcom counterpart. The moment we are introduced to our three leads, the question hangs in the air about what kind of relationship they share exactly. There's an evident sexual tension between Alex and Juliet. She teases him by flashing her breast before taking a shower or with an enticing dance at the ball. At the same time, there are suggestions of an attraction between David and Juliet as well, her feminine wiles being used more than once to push him around. It's not only a sense of competition between the men over the sole female in the house. One scene sees Alex lounging about in a dress and make-up, showing his attitude towards his own sexuality and gender is relaxed, at the very least. Alex and David share more than a few intense looks of their own. It quickly becomes apparent that everyone in the house wants to fuck each other, with some more aware – and more willing to use that information to their advantage – than others. If the dead body and bag of money had never shown up, this situation probably would've been more like any messy roommates break-up, with lots of sexual tension and romantic entanglements. That set-up already adds a sense of suspense to the story before things start to get grisly. 

And things certainly do get grisly. Like many glossy thrillers to come out in the nineties, "Shallow Grave" hovers between the realm of Hitcockian suspense and a more blatant form of horror. From early on, the story generates the feeling of a series of chain reactions that will soon spin out of control. Small choices – opening the flat to a fourth roommate, deciding to keep the money, drawing straws to dismember the body – build atop each other until the characters find themselves in a nightmarish situation that they built for themselves with their own greed and selfishness. Tight pacing goes a long way towards making the viewer feel caught up in this cycle too. By the time the criminals have tracked down the three protagonists, terrorizing them in their own home while David lurks ominously in the shadowy loft, "Shallow Grave" has comfortably moved beyond the polite categorization of thriller and into the nastier borders of horror. There are lingering close-ups of bloody saws in the tub, frantic nightmare sequences, and red backlighting right out of a Bava movie. 

The most bracing scene in "Shallow Graves" involves the disposal of the body. The drawing of the straws is fraught with seasick tension as David, the meekest of the trio, gets stuck with doing the nastiest work. While the most graphic violence is kept off-screen, the sound of the saw working through the bones – a high-pitched squeal, like glass on glass – is grosser than any gory effects ever could be. That speaks to the level of technical skill that was put into "Shallow Grave." Boyle was clearly determined to take everything he learned from his years in television and apply it to his big screen debut. He clearly sought out the best collaborators. Nigel Galt, Colin Nicholson, and Paul Conway led the sound department so I'm going to give them credit for creating that distressing sound effect during the burial scene. It's far from the only upsetting folly work on the film. An electric drill boring through a ceiling, a whack on the kneecaps with a crowbar, a knife slicing into a body: All make you cringe, going a long way towards making "Shallow Grave" a far more disturbing picture than it probably would've been otherwise. 

While the film makes a deliberate choice on how much violence it shows you, that doesn't make it a reserved film. The first shot of "Shallow Grave" is a racing close-up of asphalt as the road speeds by. Boyle brings the same kinetic energy to the film that was notable in his later TV work, with energetic editing and a propulsive soundtrack. (Including the solid score from Simon Boswell, though electro band Leftfield contributes the propulsive main title theme.) Cinematographer Brian Tufano fills the movie with constantly surprising shots. A face thrust into a tub of red water makes for a sudden shot. The spiral staircase inside the flat becomes a shadowy, bottomless pit in one sequence. As much as "Shallow Grave" constantly feels like it is moving, there's a scene of stillness and contemplation to many of its shots as well. Colors are used exquisitely throughout, the flat being painted in bold yellows and blues that are increasingly encroached upon by blood reds and ominous darkness. The discovery of Hugo's corpse is accompanied by a shot, carefully lit and colored with a precise depth to it, that recalls classical paintings like "The Death of Chatterton." It's clear that a careful consideration was taken into every shot, every camera movement, every placement in the frame to ensure that the film made as much of an impact on its viewer as possible. 

I feel like someone who knows more about classical art history than myself would have a lot to say about "Shallow Grave." The use of architecture seems significant as well. The building chosen for the exterior shots of the flat makes it look like a medieval tower or prison. While the shape and form of the sets create a casket-like sense of enclosure, hinting at the metaphorical prison the gang will soon be building for themselves before the shit hits the fan. Close doors reoccur throughout the film as a symbol, bringing to mind the final closed door of our lives, the casket lid shutting tight before we go in the ground. Or maybe Boyle and his team were just trying their dumbest to ensure "Shallow Grave" didn't feel like a stage play. Boyle and Hodge got their start in the theater. Considering most of the film takes place in one setting and a few shots position the characters in front of the precisely designed walls, as if we are looking at the actors in stage before a backdrop, the temptation to compare "Shallow Grave" to a stage show is there. Intense editing and carefully constructed visuals ensures that the film never feels stage bound, perhaps a deliberate move by Boyle to prove that he has grown past his theatrical and television roots.

Obviously, a well chosen cast was another element to the film's success. This was only Ewan McGregor's second film credit but he already knows how to get the viewer's attention. There's a mischievous glint in McGregor's face as Alex, the character feeling like an almost fey-like mythical creature dropped into a modern setting. This is further evident in his gender fluidity and the way he repeatedly refers to everything around him as a game. He reduces the gnarly task of cutting up the body to a game of straws. He watches and guffaws at an idiotic game show in another scene. That he insists on goofing around even when things get increasingly grim further shows this aspect of the character. Alex isn't a modern Puck though. Transferring those same aspects into a regular human being reveals a charismatic and energetic troublemaker who is also a borderline sociopath, someone who is happy to screw over anyone if it amuses him and only sees other people as pawns to toy with. 

Not that Alex is alone in manipulating the people around him for his own gains. If "Shallow Grave" is a noir, then Kerry Fox as Juliet is our femme fatale. While not a classical screen bombshell, Fox has an alluring and enticing sexuality to her throughout. Her little smirks or a tilt of a head, a teasing of a sexual availability that is never actually fulfilled, makes her exactly the kind of woman that drives men crazy. Notably, the only time she actually sleeps with anyone is a blatant act of manipulation, drawing attention to the skillful way she is playing the men against each other. Caught between these two manipulators is Christopher Eccleston as the mild mannered, neurotic David. He looks the part with his pale complexion and Herbert West glasses. While Eccleston is excellent as a stiff nerd pulled around by two schemers, he is less convincing as someone who snaps and becomes a brutal killer. That represents the weakest aspect of "Shallow Grave." I never quite buy the character's transformation. It's as if the act of slicing up one body is enough to break his mind totally. It plays like a narrative shortcut, to ramp up the tension for the final act, and is one of the few artificial moves in a script that is otherwise very natural feeling. 

Considering the nineties was a boom period for classy thrillers and indie cinema, "Shallow Grave" came along at just the right time. The film was successful in theaters but would reach its true audience on video and cable television. That's where I first saw it and I imagine that's true for a lot of people. It's the kind of film with a premise that invites humble expectations, which makes it all the more impressive when it ends up punching far above its weight class. I think certain elements of the film hold up better than others. The cast works fantastically, the script is sharp, and the director brings an astonishing amount of style to the execution. I do wish some of the dramatic changes in the second half were a little less sudden. Nevertheless, "Shallow Grave" still leaves the viewer with the right kind of morbid brain rush today as it did when brand new. [Grade: A-]