Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story is possibly the best movie I've seen this year (which is only half over, but I doubt I'll engage with and enjoy another quite as much). Even now, as I think over the movie, I find myself laughing out loud remembering a visual joke here, a bit of slapstick there, the clever dialogue all throughout, the ridiculous yet pointedly observant scenes.
It's got a set-up that could be as pretentious and boring and badly done as anything you could imagine - it's a film adaptation of a rambling 18th century English novel that has been dubbed "unfilmable", packed with top British actors (and one well-known American actress), and also a film about the film of an adaptation of a rambling 19th century novel...but it's very very funny and clever and hits just the right note of arch without being wanky. While trying to sound profound, the lead actor gives an interview about the greatness of the novel he's in without having ever read the novel and says, "This is a postmodern novel before there was any modernism to be post about."
You don't have to have read the novel either, and that's one of the running jokes of the film, that no one on set has actually read the 600+ pages of novel. Very few people have, really, because while it is supposed to be about Tristram Shandy's life but because of the author's passion for digressions and moving between past and present on tangents it also ends right after the main character is born! Thus in reflection of this, the movie that is shown to the producers at the end (ie. the movie we've just watched) is also so digressive that very few of the originally scripted and pitched scenes (ie. the ones from the novel) actually make it into the film. Confused? Now, the movie itself is set on the film set of a movie adaptation of this novel with some of the actors playing characters on this film-within-film as well as playing the actors themselves (eg. Steve Coogan, the actor and comedian, plays an actor and comedian named "Steve Coogan") while other actors are playing crew members (eg. Jeremy Northam plays a director named Mark, who is really a stand in for the real director, Michael Winterbottom). Now completely confused? However, don't worry - it's a lot more understandable when you see it unfold wonderfully on-screen, as they break fourth-wall and talk to the camera, and move between scenes and sets and "real life", all with a funny, hyper-realistic script that flows naturally between all the different modes.
One of the ideas of the film is not just to give a sense of the shambles of the novel (which is does wonderfully, thus being a great adaptation in that it gives the atmosphere if not the plot) but also to revel in the process of film-making and a feel for the little bubble world a film set is. While outside events unfurl - a radio news report gravely reports on the Iraq insurgency - the actors and crew members are tangled up in their petty worries, fretting over the latest crisis on set; whether it be the battle of egos between two actors ("we're co-leads", Rob Brydon insists, while Steve Coogan sharply replies, "well, we'll see in the edit!") or Steve coming to terms with his new family unit of girlfriend and child while trying to hold onto his old life by flirting with a pretty film runner who has the same name as his girlfriend or the producers insisting they not use money they don't have to refilm a diastrous battle scene in which extras - in anachronistic costumes - stroll across the screen desultorily! The inside jokes are great for anyone who loves film, and I'm told there are even inside jokes in the inside jokes for those who really love their movies.
The cast is amazing. A veritable list of great British actors, doing good work no matter how big or small their part. In particular, Steve Coogan is great - he's such an vain, insecure man as an actor, but he also shows a softer side playing a new father, and it makes him endearingly human and thus likeable - plus he has a difficult job playing three parts as Tristram the narrator, Walter Shandy his father, and Steve Coogan the actor. Rob Brydon plays very well opposite him, and their bickering from who looks taller or has the bigger part or does the better impression of Al Pacino (a great end-of-credits sequence) is a cack. Kelly McDonald is beautiful and lovely and warm as always, and Gillian Anderson in a brief cameo is breathily sexy in an 18th century way (and funny as herself, wondering where all the scenes she shot over two weeks went).
But apart from the clever ideas, the great acting and the tamed chaos, there's also a lovely sense of the visual joke. One of the craziest, most memorable, lasting images of this movie for me is a scene where Steve Coogan is asked to test out a giant fake womb for a scene later in the movie (that doesn't actually make it into the "movie"). As he is lowered head first, complete with his 18th century costume, into a big pink uterus model, he has an argument with the production assistant about how he is positioned.
"[Mark, the director] wants it to be as realistic as possible," they say in defense of having him upside down.
"He wants realism. Yeah. I'm a grown man, talking to the camera, in a womb." Coogan yells back, through the plastic window, still stuck in the grossly overlarge and pink fleshy cavity.
Visually and in words, it's a great summary of the sublime ridiculousness of this movie.
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