2013, UK
Edgar Wright
10 // 10
Can you make a sci-fi comedy about alien robots that is not a sci-fi comedy about alien robots at all? Is it possible to present the British pub culture without giving it Al Murray's face? Have I been waiting with my The Sisters of Mercy tattoo for too long? There's only one way to find out!
Shaun of the Dead was great. Hot Fuzz was great. But this, now, it's personal. I mean, my own Sisters' t-shirt is now 12 years old and still holding well (they don' make 'em as good these days). The coat, yup, I've got one just like that. And my hair-line's gone up North to the pretty much same latitude. But then, again, I haven't spent my school years sozzled, drugged up and shagging everything that was too slow or too lame to run to the trees, so there's definitely a line I can draw in those comparisons. Does it matter though? Would I love this film any less if, following my friends of the era (and the rest of the world, for that matter), I entered the adulthood as Kurt Cobain's orphan? I honestly don't think so. Yes, you need to be a child of a specific era to fully appreciate this film, yes, you need to be able to decipher the soundtrack key (probably even more significant, than in Donnie Darko), yes, you need to know a thing or two about Britain. But even though I am amused by the on-screen appearance of my goth counterpart, this is just value added, an extra seasoning, that does not alter the main ingredients or the method of preparation. And seasoned or not, in this case, I find the base dish absolutely flawless.
Yes, there will be people who will feel put off by the geeky nature of the whole Cornetto Trilogy, by the veneer of the sci-fi, the robots, the aliens, or even the principal idea for the plot, revolving largely around a pub crawl. But believe me, these are nothing more than props. They are mere plywood decorations and cardboard swords and shields. They provide amusement to those who do like that kind of stuff and yet they do not form the essence of the film. Which is much, much more cleaver than you'd expect. It's about life choices, the ability (and/or willingness?) to grow up, about the Pyrrhic victory we all need (should?) to face when battling the golden memories of our youth. It's about the ability to move on with our lives and being happy with it, even if to our idealised former selves it would appear like a failure. This film is about what a miserable twat a real life Peter Pan would be.
There's something else I absolutely love about it. The Czech literature is often described as 'the grand literature of little people', with its deeply emotional nature and a tendency to look at common people's everyday lives, to tell deep and universal stories of the human nature. The books of Bohumil Hrabal, Milan Kundera or Josef Škvorecký are full of quiet, dignified humanism so characteristic for the Czechs. And I mention it, because I get a very similar vibe from the large chunk of the British cinema. It's funny that, in some aspects, I would see The World's End as being more closely related to Vera Drake or Dead Man's Shoes (well, there's the Paddy Considine link in the case of the latter), than to Edgar Wright's own Scott Pilgrim (to bring up a title already reviewed here). There's a certain filming philosophy here, with a heavy focus on superb acting and a meaningful script, a combination that results in a product of an outstanding quality. Gearing up for The World's End I was preparing myself for the third in the trilogy, for an absolute geek fest (oh, it's still there, all right), for comical laughs, a pick-and-mix bag full of pop-cultural references, and pure entertainment. What I got, was all that plus a cleaver (dare I say 'wise'?) story, impeccable acting and an emotional jackhammer. Topped with the soundtrack of my own wild (-ish) years. What else do you need?
So now, please excuse me, I'm off for a (quiet) pint.
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