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16
YEARS OF ALCOHOL
2/10
UK
2003 : Richard JOBSON : 102 mins
Frankie
is a young man with a somewhat troublesome start in life, and early on
he discovers the two sides of alcohol: the sweetness and the hangover…
Early in life he realises his father’s betrayal, which burns itself into
his psyche, influencing his choices later in life. Thus, Frankie does
not become a nice young man, instead a detestable fighter and bully. After
16 years under the sign of alcohol, he decides to break free and looks
for assistance – and it goes quite well – for a while!
(from official Tromsø 2004 Film Festival programme)
The first
hour or so of Jobson’s much-touted debut feature isn’t too bad at all,
as Edinburgh bad-boy Frankie Mac (Kevin McKidd) emerges as an unexpectedly
articulate, sensitive and intelligent leader of a four-strong street-fighting
crew. Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange is one obvious influence which
Jobson doesn’t try to hide, and another is Gillies MacKinnon’s less well-known
1995 Small Faces – Jobson even casts that film’s Laura Fraser as
Frankie’s girlfriend Helen, a sculpture-student who works part-time in
a record shop.
But whereas
MacKinnon – admittedly attempting less ambitious stuff than Jobson – firmly
rooted his film in convincing period detail and atmosphere, it’s never
easy to work out when the different sections of 16 Years of Alcohol
are taking place. As Frankie leaves behind his street-fighting days,
it’s clear that some time has elapsed - but the particulars of fashion,
music, hair and politics never seem to hang together. And – unlike in,
say, Velvet Goldmine - this
temporal dislocation doesn’t add anything to our understanding of the
story Jobson is trying to tell.
Instead, it
ends up feeling more like sloppiness – a trait which is even more problematic
in the film’s second half, as Frankie moves on to another girlfriend,
aspiring actress Mary (Susan Lynch). Lynch and McKidd do their best with
the material they’re given, but both face an uphill struggle as Jobson
quickly slides into contrivance and melodrama – the circumstances behind
their break-up are quite unforgivably corny, rendering the blood-spattered
aftermath ridiculous rather than tragic.
By this stage,
however, 16 Years of Alcohol has long outstayed its welcome, Frankie’s
pseudo-intellectual voice-over (“Where is love, when the past starts to
leak into your heart?”) dragging the film into a grating realm of self-indulgent
self-regard. A little of his overwrought bootboy poetics goes a long way:
“Stop wallowing in your own story!” he’s told at one point, and many viewers
will whole-heartedly agree with his accuser – the director (Jim Carter)
of an wildly artsy-farty theatre-group which Frankie joins as part of
his attempts to grow up and leave behind his violent impulses.
These also
include coaching a youth football team, and participating in a self-help
group that we presume is Alcoholics’ Anonymous – except, in contradiction
of the film’s title, it isn’t drink but violence to which Frankie admits
addiction. Few of these scenes make much sense, either on their own terms
or as part of a wider ‘narrative’ which moves, inevitably, towards a finale
of anguished martyrdom that’s as hollow as much that’s gone before.
16 Years
of Alcohol isn’t without its strong points – McKidd, Lynch and Fraser
(who, like Shirley Henderson, often ends up in duff British films) do
their best, and Stuart Sinclair Blyth makes a strong impression in his
relatively brief appearances as Frankie’s psychotic former gang-mate Miller.
There’s much to like about John Rhodes’ cinematography, the film’s look
showing the influence of Jobson’s “mentor” Wong Kar-Wai with stylised
visuals, freeze-frames, chiaroscuro lighting. But all of this counts for
nothing if it’s placed – as it is here - at the service of such an insufferably
phoney-baloney script.
3rd February,
2004
(seen 14th January : Verdensteatret Cinema, Tromsø – Tromsø
International Film Festival)
click
here for a full list of reviewed films from the Tromsø International
Film Festival 2004
For other
films rated 1/10 and 2/10 check out our Diorama
of Dishonour
by Neil
Young
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