Raindance Film Festival Review: Clubbed
Neil Thompson's Clubbed is the epitome of what’s wrong with British cinema today. A post Guy Ritchie, Shane Meadows wannabe, with neither the soul, imagination or insight of either director. Danny (Mel Raido) is a down-trodden factory worker in an un-named midlands town (in reality it was filmed in Birmingham) during the 80s whom we first meet at the gates of a prison as a voice over asks the rhetorical question of what it’s like to spend 12 years behind bars. Cue flashback. Danny’s life is crap; his estranged wife thinks he’s a loser, he’s beaten up by the local thugs (whilst his daughters watch) and he’s in a dead-end job. Just when things couldn’t get much worse, amiable doorman and sometime boxer, Louis (Colin Salmon) comes to the rescue. Offering a host of helpful tips on how to fight and then avoid actually fighting (apparently read The Art of War for more info…) he takes Danny under his wing, aided by fellow bouncers Rob and Sparky. Danny starts to regain some self respect and things are looking up, just in time for flaky, unhinged Sparky (Scot Williams) to ruin the party for everyone.
Taking its visual cues from a recent crop of nostalgic 80s fare, most notably Shane Meadow’s excellent This is England (also Midlands based), Clubbed desperately strives for some sort of significance whether via the ska-generation, skinhead aesthetic or the pretentious voice over. One scene in particular has our bouncer brigade lined up against a wall in ‘iconic’ 80s dress , only rather than creating wistful longing for years gone, it jars horribly with the drabness that is almost every other scene. The standout death (a tacky rehashing of the crucifixion in The Long Good Friday) is incredibly poorly staged; no-one seems to know where to put the camera, what to look at, or why. The dialogue is dreadful and people in the screening I was at were audibly laughing at this supposedly heart-wrenching scene.
The bouncers themselves mostly put in serviceable if unremarkable performances, with the exception of Scot Williams (Sparky), who struggles with even the most basic emotions (anger, fear etc). Ronnie Fox musters up a savage but entirely forgettable approximation of a gangster boss as Hennessey – old Jag, camel overcoat, driving gloves, greasy hair. But this is all beside the point in a film whose emotional core sits with Danny, and Mel Raido is in trouble from his first lines. Now I understand that he’s portraying a young man who’s somewhat lacking in confidence but the limp and simplistic way he delivers his lines inspires not the slightest bit of empathy - childish outbreaks of anger confirm he’s not to be sided with. I found myself in ex-wife Angela’s shoes; don’t let him in! You’re right, he’s not responsible enough to be trusted with the kids! And worst of all, like so much of the 90-odd minute running time, Danny is a charisma free zone.
I could pick away at this crusty scab of a film all day, but what really grates is what it represents; the worst in derivative British cinema. The filmmakers and cast have pillaged the best and worst of the past 40 years of British film and managed to construct something with no personality of its own whatsoever; shuffling along like an insecure, clingy wretch desperate to emulate its far cooler big brother.
