January 6, 2015

Women are from Venus, men are from, erm, the sewer.

It's difficult to know if Dirty Weekend finds Michael Winner taking the rise out the urine, or if he genuinely feels he had something to say? And what of Helen Zahavi, author of the novel and in charge of the adaptation to screen here? What's her story - motivations et al? It's quite possibly that Helen and Michael at their respective humane cores were a match made in cinematic heaven, but ho… read the rest.

Women are from Venus, men are from, erm, the sewer.

It's difficult to know if Dirty Weekend finds Michael Winner taking the rise out the urine, or if he genuinely feels he had something to say? And what of Helen Zahavi, author of the novel and in charge of the adaptation to screen here? What's her story - motivations et al? It's quite possibly that Helen and Michael at their respective humane cores were a match made in cinematic heaven, but how come Dirty Weekend just feels dirty, lazy dirty at that, a sort of shock for shocks sake as Zahavi gets to curry favour with the feminist movement and Winner gets to be seedy, with murder death kill and the grotesque thrown in for good measure.

Plot, for what it's worth, has dowdy Bella (Lia Williams) suddenly turn into a sexual vamp over night with a blood lust for offing all men who dare to leer and pester. In Brighton, the place of rock, candy floss and degenerate male members of the human race.

It would have been easy to root for Bella had she at the very least had acquaintances or drinks with some normal men, but it's hard to take seriously a film where every single bloke she meets is either troubled mentally, a sexually deviant, has a penchant for serial killing and etc etc. Even her best friend's husband is a milquetoast who probably should have been on Bella's hit list as well!

Winner achieved everything he hoped for with Dirty Weekend, the critics frothed at the mouth, the British censors sharpened their scissors, and crucially the film became a holy grail of uncut home formats for the intrigued and degenerates. It undeniably was shocking back on release, I mean when the broad sheet newspapers of Blighty are dissecting it frame by frame you know it's a fire-cracker piece of cinema.

Rufus Sewell can be forgiven as this is right at the start of his career (he is edgy, nutty and Anthony Perkins like), same for British legend Sean Pertwee, but what is David McCallum's excuse, Ian Richardson also? That Lia Williams is bold and cheeky with her performance saves the film from stinker hell, it's great to note that she carved out a strong career in British TV and still works today.

Hard to recommend and guaranteed to make you angry, but fair play to Winner, boy did he know how to punch buttons! 5/10

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