On Filth

A film that breaks the fourth wall, deals with cross dressing and racism, extreme sexual acts and excessive drug taking all carried out by a bi-polar protagonist needs to be audacious. And Filth is exactly that. The links to Trainspotting (1996) a film adapted by the same author that wrote the source text to Filth, Irvine Welsh, are clear. Both deal in the underbelly of Scotland, examining its drug scene in explicit detail. Filth is a difficult film; its narrative hangs by a thread that loosens as it progresses, struggling to balance the numerous directions in which a bi-polar character will take an audience. Yet challenging cinema should be difficult and the audience should be made to work and here they are, with a conclusion that is as emotionally taxing as the rest of the film is cocky. This is all held together by a performance by James McAvoy that, despite the unpredictability, is impossible to ignore; he owns every scene he is in, and that is most of them. Filth may not have the self-assurance in its ability as a film that Trainspotting had and the earlier film is a more successful adaptation, but it’s never less than fun.