The World’s End
(2013)
(SPOILERS) It’s perhaps inevitable that The World’s End should be the Pegg/Wright/Frost film where the hype
finally catches up with them. They’ve been in the vanguard of can-do nerds for
a long while based purely on past glories; the third part in their Cornetto
trilogy has assumed a status of legendary anticipation. And, for many, they can
do no wrong (hey, as a collective they had a three-for-three success so I was
buying into it). The problem with that assumed weight is that they’ve decided
they’re not just funny guys but artists too, so they need to make sure there’s
a commentary in their movie; it’s about something. It can’t just be a witty
genre riff with lip service to an emotional undertow. So they find themselves
testing their mettle like never before, and the result is a bit of a mess.
The ever-expanding status of Wright and Pegg as uber-geeks
du jour in the States has embedded them in fan consciousness as a duo that can
do no wrong. Their every pronouncement is nursed as the most sage erudition
ever on any given (geek) subject and they will concordantly be forgiven the
gravest of sins as they’re “one of us” (Scotty, anyone?) The cult appeal of Shaun of the Dead across the Pond
ignited a retrospective slavering over Spaced,
which felt not a little tiresome for anyone who’d caught it at entrance level
more than five years earlier. Then Hot
Fuzz came out, just as Pegg (in particular) was on the receiving end of
fledgling endorsement from the geek empire builders (Tarantino, Abrams,
Spielberg). In the six years since, there’s been Star Trek and Wright’s confirmation as cult miracle-doer in the
everybody-loves-it flop Scott Pilgrim vs.
The World. Frost had to make do with ever-so-slightly-grumbling third man
status, lacking the creative flair of Wright or the easy-going charisma of
Pegg. Still, he co-wrote Paul with
Pegg; a crude, fellatory love letter to the country that has taken them to its
bosom. The irony is that Paul, as lacking in flair and wit as it is, may be a
more satisfying movie than The World’s
End. At least it knows what it
wants to be, and firmly rests on those self-congratulatory laurels. Wright’s
new film strains to make a serious point so ends up looking faintly ridiculous,
guilty of the same lack of self-awareness that the trio used to mock.
And surely going to the sci-fi well twice in a row was a
sign of creative drought? It doesn’t matter that E.T. isn’t Invasion of the
Body Snatchers, or that the violence inflicted on not-humans recalls Shaun. There’s a sense that they aren’t
really trying very hard. There’s nothing wrong in writing what you know (ask
Woody Allen), but there’s a danger that eventually it may expose you as having
very little to say. Probably Wright and Pegg are aware of this; they’re nothing
if not savvy. So World’s End is
really about recognising (or not) that you’re growing up.
We’ve heard their sound bites about 40 being the new 30, and
commenting on man-child comedies that fail to make their hero pay a price. But
I don’t really think that Gary King (Pegg) is such a break from that. The norm
is that the protagonist will eventually learn that he needs to take
responsibility, and reflect the felicitations of his long-suffering (would-be)
amour. He might even endorse the idea of starting a family. Wright and Pegg
make King an out-and-out jerk; he’s not a faintly loveable schlub, even though
he comes out with many of Pegg’s usual one-liners. He’s a tiresome twat. One
might argue that’s a bold move, and it can work if you’re a charm machine
beneath it all (Nicholson in As Good As
It Gets) who just needs a bit of poking to show his good side beneath it
all. Even bolder, one might argue, to include no such journey. But where does
that leave the audience?
Again, Pegg and Wright must be aware of this to some extent,
which is why they turn Gary into a hero despite himself. Not an anti-hero of
the Bruce Campbell Evil Dead variety;
Gary has neither the self-awareness nor the screwball charm of Ash (though he’s
clearly the goal, as the epilogue shows). It doesn’t compute; if it all ended
in self-sacrifice it might give him validation. Instead, the fantasy apocalypse
of Garyreliving his youth nurses two opposing impulses. Look, say Pegg and
Wright, Gary can’t grow up; how sad is that? But visually they are saying the
opposite. Look, Gary can’t grow up; how cool is that? I don’t think this is
born out of great cleverness on their part, it’s because they fumble the ball
they’re attempting to run with. It was too much for them, and they retreat to a
safer ground.
It's no doubt an honourable intention to mix things up by having
Pegg play the dickhead and Frost the straight man, but in Shaun of the Dead Frost wasn't playing the central character. You
could get away with him being an obnoxious arsehole as comic relief. In theory,
the first half of the film should
have been the best part as it's all relationship comedy, but Pegg is such an (intentional)
annoyance to be around that much of it falls flat. I could feel the scenes
stretch out deathlessly. We, the audience, are put in the position of his
reluctant childhood friends, wondering why on earth we’ve spent good money to
sit in his company. It’s not that this kind of ingratiating comedy can’t work,
but if all the character amounts to is a cock (as Frost’s Andrew Knightley puts
it) it’s difficult to cast about for a rich vein of comedy. If you’re Mike
Leigh, aiming for a bittersweet™ affair, that’s one thing, but maudlin
character dissection isn’t this duo’s forte. The movie finds itself caught
between two stools; it isn’t clever or insightful enough to be affecting (Gary
is a much less intricate character than Bradley Cooper’s in the no less fantasyland
but much more charming Silver Linings
Playbook) and not funny enough to really lift off.
Many of the ripostes to such naysaying will be that I don’t
want Wright and Pegg to try something different, that I just want Shaun, or the Paul dynamic between Pegg and Frost, reheated again and again. But
it’s not that; I want them to play to their strengths, and it’s very clear that
they have a very narrow field to play in outside of the straightforward
geek-matey comedy that made them such successes. Indeed, I increasingly suspect
that the lack of Jessica Stevenson/Hynes in the creative mix spotlights all
their shortcomings. She brought an emotional sincerity to Spaced (at its best) that is absent from everything the lads
together have done, even when it’s a straightforward paean to the value of
friendship.
So, when the plot switches to science fiction (at a point beginning
with a replay of the “Too orangey for
crows” scenario from Spaced),
Gary’s aptitude for genuine heroics feels wrong. Suddenly he’s a fully equipped
and capable action man. Yes, he’s a dick, but he’s a dick to get behind. Is
that what Pegg and Wright are saying? Many of the "real" moments during
this section just don't play because they are shoehorned in with shocking lack
of finesse. Quite apart from doubt over whether Andrew has progressed to
the point where he would forgive Gary, the climactic heart to heart between the
two falls flat because Frost isn't nearly a good enough actor. And there’s a
repetitiveness to the arguments and labouring of the sci-fi tropes (the
obligatory “Are you one of them?” scene is an opportunity for comedy gold, but
falls curiously flat, even aside from the need to undercut it by telling us
–yet again – how fucked up Gary is). Both gags (Gary’s mum) and emotional beats
are overly telegraphed (the bandages; but without provoking empathy for Gary
along the way) and the fight between Gary and Andrew over the final pint is tiresome
and pointless (is it supposed to be a homage to They Live!)?
If there were any real substance to the characters, or
progression, there'd be no need for the sci-fi hook at all. But the result is
that the mid-section, with full-on dismemberments and blue lubricant flying
everywhere, is by far the most entertaining. Wright achieves a sense of
breathless escalation even if there’s never the claustrophobia of Shaun. He even muddies his usual clean,
precise shooting style by opting for Bourne-esque
handheld camera (the stunt work, from Brad Allan, is delightfully
choreographed, but you want to be able to see it clearly). Maybe he thinks he’s
maturing by becoming less distinct (although you couldn’t argue that of Scott Pilgrim, a visual feast) but often
Wright lacks the playfulness and wit with his visual grammar seen in earlier
work. Has he cast off childish things? If so it’s a shame, as he frequently resembles
one of the crowd here. Even Bill Pope’s cinematography is variable, while the
climactic effects extravaganza is unnecessary and unconvincing.
Frost's at his best during the midsection, becoming a
one-man war machine, and his action set pieces in particular are frenetic and
invigorating. The other main players are all good fun; it’s particularly nice
to see Paddy Considine and Eddie Marsan in such sympathetic roles, but they’re
only really filling out walking clichés (the guy who could never tell the girl
he love her, the bullied boy who takes revenge – and is then punished for it,
or is he?) Martin Freeman has some fun with his anal estate agent and Rosamund
Pike fits in well with the lads, even if she has little to make her character
distinct. There are some nice little guest spots from regulars of Pegg & co
(Mark Heap, Michael Smiley) and Pierce Brosnan and David Bradley make the most
of their guest spots. I was amused to see that no attempt is made to disguise
the fact that Pegg’s younger counterpart is considerably taller than him.
If the Body Snatchers-on-a-pub-crawl
section elicits a consistent run of chuckles and hoots, it all falls apart in
the final act. The writers settle for a Douglas Adams-on-the-piss confrontation
with the alien infiltrator (voiced by Bill Nighy) that only succeeds in producing
a tiresomely familiar but uncouth version of the “gloriously individual thing
about humans” speech we’ve heard a thousand times before (usually from Captain
Kirk). It’s resonant of a bad episode of
Red Dwarf (not hard to find) and has
a disappointingly “That’ll do” quality.
Things get worse with an epilogue that's not only a cheap
rip-off of the best of the two endings of Army
of Darkness but makes Pegg’s character even less sympathetic. As noted, it
could be read as an admirable break from the standard move on one level (his
emotional journey is one of retardation) but it actually serves to make him
reprehensible for the sake of a cool endnote. What, are he and his robot chums
going to slaughter a bar full of humans and we’re supposed to think it’s great?
And if we’re not, what was the point of shooting it in such an exulting
fashion? In general, the epilogue fails through trying to wrap everything in a
bow. It provides closure to even the “fallen heroes” in a way Steven “Everybody lives” Moffat would be proud
of, but confirms how shot away any attempts at depth are (it shouldn’t need to
be a conversation in a Pegg-Wright comedy, but they’re inviting the brickbats
this time). That said, Freeman with half a football on his head is hilarious.
A few other aspects gave me pause. There seems to be a
slightly queasy undercurrent of revelling in the excuse to beat up (blue-juiced,
robot) women that reaches its peak point when the doppelganger of Andrew’s
childhood lust object invites him to stick it in her and he pushes his fist
through her guts. It’s a celebratory moment that leaves an unpleasant
aftertaste. Further adding to the lack of sound judgement is Steven Price’s
score, which has all the subtlety of Murray Gold Overdrive. It floods over
every scene, making the meaningful exchanges unbearably cloying and false. It’s
as if Pegg and Wright have been possessed by the lowest common denominator of
the broadest US comedies, where every intention has to be broadcast loud and
clear. Compared to the lightness of touch they started out with, it’s alarming
to see them weighed down by the self-importance of assuming they are saying
something profound.
If you’ve reached heady heights, it can only be all the more
disappointing when you falter. It just happens to be Pegg and Wright’s turn.
Nothing in The World’s End quite
feels spontaneous; there’s never a sense that they really want to be telling
this story. Purely conceptually, the science fiction plot never fits as
seamlessly as the zombie one did in Shaun.
Maybe because the alienation one is so obvious (both Pegg and Pike come out and
say it) that the writers didn’t spend enough time making it stand on its own
two feet. And, in terms of the lead protagonist, having everyone recognise what
a tool he is only goes to underline that his antics are fairly insufferable. This
may all sound churlish, as there are a lot of good laughs in the pot they’ve
brewed. And it may knit together better on repeat viewing. But The World’s End takes a far distant third
place in the Cornetto Trilogy.
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