People may question my taste if I admit to admiring Tony Slattery, and I'm quite aware that I'm in a rightfully tiny minority here. So, for me to then claim with complete conviction that he is far and away the best thing about this film, should prove to the majority what an absolutely atrocious waste of time this is.
Slattery is, in fact, the one member of the cast who puts any effort into creating a character. This character may be every bit as loathsome and unsympathetic as the others featured, but at least his gurning and gyrating proves that is trying to make the best of a very slim script. Everyone else just looks bored and pained to the point of contempt - contemptuous of themselves that they find themselves involved with this utterly unlikable feature, and contemptuous (it felt, watching it) with their audience, for paying to see it.
The plot has potential, but the farce is unravelled lazily and with no attention whatsoever. The character of Claudagh could have been pivotal, and the eventual conclusion seems designed to make it appear that she has been behind the pay-offs of at least two of the characters. However, it takes the viewer about a second to realise that none of this makes any sense whatsoever: the strands of the plot are not pulled up sharply, as in classic farce, but resolved clumsily and coincidentally.
The soundtrack too is abysmal - what on earth were they dancing to in that nightclub? Even the worst of recent British comedies have managed to create some semblance of contemporary British life. This was released in 2000, but feels every bit as dreary and uninspired as a damp November Tuesday evening in 1982.
Quite the worst film I've seen since... ooh, Carry On England. Poor Tony - he's worth so much more.
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