Any film adaptation of an Irvine Welsh book will always fall under the shadow of Trainspotting – the seminal and masterly interpretation of his 1993 novel. Trainspotting is a rare peak in the history of British cinema and it’s inevitable that similarly themed films will invite comparison.

Filth is the latest Welsh book to receive a screen outing.

The story centres on police sergeant, Bruce Robertson (James McAvoy), whose sexually depraved and drug and alcohol-fuelled lifestyle is twinned with a Machiavellian desire to secure promotion over his colleagues.  For Robertson, Gore Vidal’s maxim that ‘It is not enough to succeed – others must fail’ seems to be his life philosophy. He plots and connives the downfall of those around him whilst ingratiating himself with seniors and those who can help his cause. He is a wonderful, nasty piece of work who will use any avenue – Freemasonry, sex, blackmail, perjury – to advance his cause – he makes Gene Hunt from Life on Mars look like Shirley Temple.

The film is at its strongest in the first half of its 97 minutes. It charts, with graphic detail, Roberts’ destruction of his rivals. The comedy is frequent and of the blackest shade – the cost of a laugh is a pained grimace.

The humour fades away in the second half of the film as we follow Robertson’s myriad demons spiral out of control.

James McAvoy as the deeply damaged Robertson is quite simply outstanding at the heart of the film; giving one of his strongest performances, he will surely receive BAFTA if not Oscar recognition. The support acting is also of the highest order though McAvoy always dominates without ever being overbearing. Perhaps, and surprisingly, only Jim Broadbent fails to convince as the psychiatrist in the surreal,  dream-like sequences which are a little over the top and break the film’s flow.

Occasional director Jon S. Baird pitches the pace of the film very well – fast without ever being confusing. Steady handed cinematography from Martin Jensen is also a plus with a fresh and sharp contemporary feel, which never tries to be too flash. It contrasts deftly Edinburgh’s regal architecture with its seedy underbelly.

An eclectic soundtrack adds to the ambience: Shakin’ Stevens Merry Christmas Everyone and David  Soul, appearing in cameo, with Silver Lady were distinct highlights.

Filth will never be considered a classic and it never quite rises to the heights of its illustrious predecessor, Trainspotting, which on its release, seemed to capture a raw slice of British/Scottish life previously under-represented on celluloid. But it has enough virtue to stand on its own merit and will be enjoyed by those who consider themselves outside the ‘Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells’ demographic.

****

Tim Meade