John S. Baird spares no detail in his film adaptation of the novel by Irvine Welsh as it entails a barrage of graphic violence, sex and bad language that largely exceeds the controversy of Trainspotting, the last and only other novel by Welsh to be adapted to the big screen.

Having said all this, the film is extremely enjoyable for the not-too-faint-hearted. Through the chaotic, bi-polar mind of anti-hero Bruce Robertson (McAvoy), the film takes surprising and enjoyable turns from hilariously vile comedy to grim, powerful drama, with flashes of bizarre hallucinations present throughout.

 

James McAvoy shows further evidence of his acting range, making the seemingly effortless transition from the clean-cut Hollywood hunk to the sleazy degenerate that is Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson. McAvoy executes the desired love-hate relationship with his audience, his sex-driven, drug-fuelled and egotistical rampage provoking a cocktail of emotions as his character continues to develop right through to the credits. Robertson’s mischief remains unpredictable and engrossing, during each splutter of laughter or wince of discomfort, the audience is eagerly awaiting the inevitable comeuppance of this unusual protagonist. However, as he begins to lose his grip on reality and his filthy facade begins to deteriorate, a surprising surge of sympathy emerges toward Bruce Robertson that initially seemed impossible.

 

Baird’s ill-mannered script is made all the more satisfying when delivered in genuine Glaswegian drawl from the characters who hurl satisfyingly appalling insults at each other in every line they deliver. The script also does justice to the original writing of Welsh, who adopted a phonetic style of language to convey the broad accent of the characters in his book.

 

Alongside Bruce Robertson is his team of gruff Scottish bobbies who provide laughs throughout. They are played by an excellent cast including the elusive Jamie Bell, who does well to fit the bill despite being the only English actor in the group. He is also reunited with the lovable Gary Lewis since the two gave the memorable father-son performance in Bell’s debut, ‘Billy Elliot’. Lewis perfectly executes the comic role of ‘the dumb one’ of the group and is a ceaseless source of amusement.

 

Jim Broadbent also features as Robertson’s psychotherapist and the personification of his conscience in dream scenes throughout the film. In these scenes, Baird tries hard to squeeze in as much content as possible from the book, however in doing so certain metaphors, such as the reference to a tapeworm that, although key in the novel, become unclear and fleeting in the film. This also becomes an issue when a particularly crucial revelation for the audience regarding an incident in Bruce’s past involving the death of his brother is left somewhat lacking. Although the realisation is effective, perhaps more could have been done by Baird to expand on a key event that is essentially the root of Bruce’s problems.

 

Broadbent’s original character, Dr. Rossi, is one of many that are introduced early in the film but do not feature much beyond that. Particularly in the Free Mason’s meeting scene, characters such as these create slight confusion as an effort is made to remember each of them, despite their lack of involvement in the following story.

 

No punches are pulled in order to create the authentic and gritty atmosphere in Filth, doing justice to Irvine Welsh’s unique and exceptionally Scottish style of storytelling. James McAvoy is a natural in reducing his audience to tears of both laughter and pity. Upon leaving the cinema the viewer is uplifted, although still squirming in discomfort.