WARNING: REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS
Any film with the words "Michael" and "Winner" in close proximity has to have a touch of class. This is no more true than with Dirty Weekend, a feminist empowerment film where Lia Williams gets her tits out and kills lots of men. The complex ethical debates of a vigilante lifestyle are ably challenged ("I thought you could be gentle in the jungle" Lia argues at one point) and Winner shows an innate and emphatic understanding of the female psyche. Lines like "all men are stronger than me" shows a man instinctively in touch with a feminine side.
Comprising an OTT soundtrack that wouldn't sound out of place in 30s Hollywood with a script that was less written, more sh*t onto paper, this is genius filmmaking all the way through. Helmed with the directorial panache of an anal cyst and populated by actors cut out of a Cornflakes packet, this is a genuine modern classic. See the interview scene set to "You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)" by Dead or Alive! Thrill to the trite overdubbed narration! Joy to the sloppy camera angles and grimy film stock! Gasp at the thespic constipation of Lia Williams!
The plot, of course, is razor sharp. Within a day of being dumped by a roguish love rat (who utters "Toodle pip!" as a send-off) Bella (Williams) is getting dirty phonecalls from a nutcase who lives opposite. In order to protect herself she sees an Iranian clairvoyant played by Ian Richardson (I'm not making this up). He "opens up possibilities" by giving her a switchblade.
However, she's put off when the nutter (Rufus Sewell, the only cast member to maintain dignity), tells her he's got a bottle of acid. So alarmed is she by this development that Williams's acting skills go into overdrive and she looks like a woman who forgot to buy an extra carton of milk from the greengrocer's. To rectify the situation she goes over to his house, accompanied by a jaunty country theme, and caves his head in with a hammer. Cut to a couple of scenes later and she's fantasising about bazookas and flame-throwers. (No, I'm really not making this up). Unsuccessful, she's approached by a Mr. Brown in the middle of the street who, for £400, sells her a "shooter". The story then dovetails into a scene where she gets a genuine desire for an obese man (Michael Cule, awful) with breasts and lets him take her from behind. A sophisticated exchange then takes place after he accidentally places himself up her anus, then loses his erection. After laughing at his impotence, he beats her, because, well, you know, all men are scum. To make up for this, she places a plastic bag over his head to suffocate him.
However, this leaves her with a chipped tooth, so she goes to the dentist to put it right. Unfortunately for Bella, her dentist is a psychotically Cockney David McCallum, who forces her to perform oral sex in a car park, with a "I hope you're hungry, cos it's time for din-dins. Open wide!"
Even old bag women aren't safe from the ubiquitous rapists that are men. When a rape gang (made up of Jon Pertwee's son and Mike from The Young Ones) come across her, they decide who'll get to perform the deed with a curt "let's have a look at granny's fanny." Fortunately, Bella is on the case and shoots them all in cold blood. After her killing spree, she chucks away her "shooter" into the sea. Less fortunately for her, a rapist has been watching her (they're everywhere, you see) and forcibly enters her with a helpful "that's my fist." Luckily, Bella's still got her unused switchblade from the Iranian, so she stabs him eight times in an amusement arcade. What a galling load of misogynistic tripe.
Winner apologists will probably say this is an ironic black comedy. I must admit, I did laugh lots... though probably not for any of the reasons the film's makers intended. Class. Absolute, 100% pure class. 2/10.
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