ON SCREEN: Trainspotting
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
eye WEEKLY July 25, 1996
Toronto's arts newspaper .....free every Thursday
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ON SCREEN ON SCREEN
TRAINSPOTTING
Starring Ewan McGregor, Ewen Bremner, Jonny Lee Miller, Kevin McKidd,
Robert Carlyle and Kelly Macdonald. Screenplay by John Hodge based on
the novel by Irvine Welsh. Directed by Danny Boyle. (AA) Opens July
26.
(eeeee of 5 eyes)
by
DENIS SEGUIN
From the get-go, Trainspotting projects an aura of overwhelming
assurance, with the viewer as the stranger in a foreign land and the
film as that country's consummate insider. As Iggy Pop's "Lust For
Life" pounds in the aural foreground, a pair of skinny punks race
toward the camera, shoplifting booty flying in every direction as
security guards give chase.
Spot Renton (Ewan McGregor), the narrator, as he explains, in the
brogue of urban Scotland, the first principle of junkie philosophy:
Choose Life? Now why would I want to do a thing like that?
Spot Spud (Ewen Bremner), his brother in bad blood, thick as shit but
built for survival.
Spot Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller), their handsome fellow user, a Sean
Connery connoisseur, "Preshishly, Mish Moneypenny," a guy too smooth
to be true.
Spot Begbie (Robert Carlyle), alcoholic, psychopathic, too bad to be
true, who never touches heroin but wreaks more havoc than a train-load
of amphetamine-powered football hooligans. No one actually likes
Begbie; they're just too afraid to stop hanging around with him.
Like the scene of an accident, Trainspotting pulls your head around
and holds it front and centre. You can't help looking, and what you
see simultaneously repels and attracts: the feverish cycle of
addiction and withdrawal as this motleyest of crews shakes, rattles
and rolls over to play dead or be dead -- depending on the Russian
roulette of needle-sharing or their standing with Begbie.
One of the finest adaptations of contemporary literature, the film is
literally a vehicle -- it drives and keeps driving -- for Irvine
Welsh's novel of Edinburgh's junkie subculture. Director Danny Boyle
and screenwriter John Hodge (the team responsible for Shallow Grave)
have avoided the usual pitfalls of adaptation by not being too literal
or slavish to the text; the book's interweaving tales have been
artfully distilled and original, fantastical sequences developed to
illustrate the netherworld where hysteria comes full circle to
catatonia. They capture Welsh's junkie-like disavowal of social
responsibility: accuse him of glamorizing drug use and he'll point to
your cigarette, your beer, your car, your running shoes (built by some
poor bastard on slave wages), all of them part and parcel of our
addiction to consumption, our weakness for advertising.
Renton, the central character, is the ultimate foil for all the
proselytizing, hectoring do-goodniks who ever wagged a finger -- until
he lies weak as a new lamb trying to understand why a dead baby is
crawling along his ceiling. He and his mates are trainspotters, and if
you want to make anything more of it, you can go have a chat with
Begbie. Or you can tie-off and spot yourself.
"Trainspotting" is a uniquely British pastime that involves the
methodical cataloguing of railway activity, where a practitioner might
comment to another, "I see the Northumberland local reached the
Vulgate crossing at 2 minutes past 3 o'clock." To the outside observer
it seems man's greatest expression of futility, but its adherents are
unrepentant and feel no need to justify their actions: they're train
junkies. The difference is that heroin's adherents carry the tracks
with them.
Too often film criticism is itself a cataloguing of wrong turns and
dead ends and opportunities missed. Here, it's a question of starting
from the beginning -- which isn't actually the beginning but the
middle -- and just checking off the list. Pace? Yes. It rises and
falls with heroin highs and lows. Acting? Character? Spot on -- even
the novelist himself is great in a cameo.
Yes, yes, yes... it's a sensation largely absent from moviegoing these
days; certainly not since Reservoir Dogs have I felt the thrill of
entering a mental landscape so ecstatically realized. There's never
been anything like it. So don't be put off by the hype -- here,
finally, is a film that merits it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Retransmit freely in cyberspace Author holds standard copyright
http://www.eye.net Mailing list available
collected reviews --------------------> http://www.eye.net/Arts/Movies
eye@eye.net "...Break the Gutenberg Lock..." 416-971-8421