A Question of Attribution

 "If something is not what it claims to be, what is it?"

This is a 1991 television adaptation of Alan Bennett's stage play from 1988, when Spycatcher had recently been all the rage and there was a great deal of interest in Philby, Maclean, Burgess and all that. Not that the whole affair is any less fascinating today, of course, but it must be borne in mind that Blunt had been dead for a mere five years at the time of the stage play, whereas Philby's drab, dreary Muscovite existence drew to a melancholy close that same year. This was hardly ancient history.

Given the writer, the director and the cast, this is obviously superb. It could hardly fail to be, although it's a bit of a slow burner. It's very Alan Bennett- silences, talking around the subject, the things that are not said, and those that are said are said obliquely or in a nice, safe little metaphor. It isn't the parallel that's drawn between attribution of an artist and the attribution of a spy that's clever, as it's a fairly straightforward conceit- it's the wit, elegance and artistry of how it's done. A lesser writer could easily have hit upon the idea, but it takes an Alan Bennett to execute it this well.

The cast is superb. Prunella Scales, of course, steals the show as the Queen, in a deliciously nuanced and masterly written scene which absolutely nails the themes at play here. Yet James Fox is utterly sublime as Anthony Blunt, a highly cultured man, a snob, and a man who has not yet fully come to terms with the enormity of his reason. It's hard not to see a link between his callous snobbery towards Arthur Chubb and the callousness with which he betrayed those who died because of his youthful treason, sins for which his refusal to name the "Fifth Man" shows he has not fully repented. Yes, he can be kind when he wishes to be, taking young Colin under his wing, but his downfall is utterly deserved.

The twist involving Geoffrey Palmer's character may be a little dated now that we know who the Fifth Man was (John Cairncross), but it's nicely done. Overall, this is vintage, exquisite Bennett. It's philosophical, very English, in the way of that generation- emotions are understated to the point of near-invisibility but far from absent. Beneath the stiff upper lip lies deep emotion, and few show that the way Bennett does.

Naked Lunch (1991)

 "It's a Kafka high. You feel like a bug."

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I got into the habit of reading novels that were seen as a bit counter-culture, a bit alternative, a bit offbeat. Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac, that sort of thing. And, for some reason, I ended up reading a lot of William S. Burroughs including, yes, Naked Lunch. And that isn't exactly an experience I can recommend. Let's just say it's a novel you can only read when you're young...!

This film, though? Oh, the novel and David Cronenberg were made for each other. So much body horror, and not just the (deliciously realised) Mugwumps. No, we have sentient, spymaster typewriters which are highly sexed, which ejaculate and which, er, stand to attention when excited. Because of course we do. This is the perfect canvas for Cronenberg to do his thing.

The film is visually exquisite, as one might expect. Yet the highlight may be Peter Weller's monologue recounting that surreal anal-related sequence from the novel. He truly carries the film in a suitably deadpan performance, believable as Burroughs himself, the still point beside whom all the gloriously surreal stuff makes a weird kind of sense.

No, this isn't a straight adaptation of a novel that is, straightforwardly, unfilmable, with its complex, bonkers plot and even more complex, bonkers subtext... and written by an author who was a heavy user of certain substances. Yet, albeit with the addition of certain elements from Burroughs' life (the notorious "William Tell" act especially), it comes surprisingly close.

Absolutely peak Cronenberg. A film that achieves the impossible, and does so with aplomb.

Highlander II: The Quickening (1991)

 "Let's say it's a kind of magic..."

I'm not saying this film is any good, you understand. I'm just saying that I love it. I mean, how can one not love a film in which Ramirez is on a plane, flying over the Atlantic fresh from a bizarre tailoring montage, and he watches an air safety video which starts with talk of masks dropping from above and ends with stop motion footsge of the plane crashing and fully bursting into flames.

This film is bonkers, and gleefully owns its bonkersness. In 1999, the Earth was almost doomed from the ozone layer (ah, how retro- it wasn't always climate emergency, kids), but McLeod and his mates were able to save humanity by, er, building a huge Dyson sphere thingy. So humanity has no sky and society and technology go backwards for some reason.

Oh, and the immortals are all aliens. But this isn't even the most bonkers thing. 

McLeod puts a Queen song on a jukebox... and it's that one. We have not one but two splendidly moustache-twirling baddies, one of them played by Dr Cox from Scrubs. And... we get quite the performance of Hamlet.

This film isn't a classic, no. It's very silly, with those two assassins from Zeist and all the comical beheadings. But this isn't so-bad-it's good stuff, it's camp humour. The script, co-written by Brian "The Avengers" Clemens, knows damn well how silly it is. 

Ignore the critics. Just watch and enjoy this, preferably with some booze. It's just so much fun.

Trancers II (1991)

 "I don't want to have my brain vacuumed!"

I was going to watch some art house movie but, well, I was in the mood for a B movie.  And... well, what could be more B movie than not only a cheeky, er, "homage" to Terminator but a straight-to-video sequel to said "homage" that just so happens to be released in the same year as Terminator II?

This is the most gloriously trashy straight-to-video sequel of all time. Jack Deth is back: let there be much rejicing. Tim Thomerson may be visibly older but he still plays our gruff hero with the perfect deadpan campness. Indeed, all the relevant cast members return, which is impressive.

But best of all, we have the most splendidly bonkers timey-wimey love triangle of all time. Yes, Jack may have seen his wife Alice die in his arms at the hands of Trancers, causing his huge grudge against them. Yes, he may now be happy in the past with his new wife Lena... but oh. They plucked Alice from a day before her death and sent her backin time to find Jack, because of course they did.

Naturally, in no way is this played for real drama but as the utter bonkersness that it is, and I love it. Then we have Hap deciding to get drunk and play homeless baseball again. We have a massive fire engine. And the usual hi-jinks with Trancers in unexpected places and yes, the good old long second.

Basically, this film is trashy in the best possible way. And I'm so going to watch the next one.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)

 "That's it, then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans.No more merciful beheadings. And cancel Christmas."

I've seen this film many times, but not since the turn of the millennium. It is, of course, a highly entertaining Hollywood blockbuster, perhaps the most popular celluloid version of the Robin Hood myth. Yes, Kevin Costner is... well, adequate, but we all know the real star is the late Alan Rickman. Was ever scenery chewed with such aplomb? This is one of the finest bits of moustache twirling villainy in cinematic history, and perhaps the performance for which Rickman will be best remembered. 

And it's a fun film, lots of set pieces. It's good. And yet... it drags a bit in places, doesn't it? And... we need to talk about Robin of Sherwood.

Yes, Azeem, the character played superbly by the always excellent Morgan Freeman, is clearly based on Nasir, and no previous version of the legend had included such a character: the film was lucky not to get sued. Yet the overall plot, the feel, and especially the climax feels suspiciously similar to the TV series, right down to the mild fantasy elements in the person of the witch character.

The geography is, of course, hilarious, and not only the start of the film where the White Cliffs of Dover are apparently within easy walking distance of Hadrian's Wall. The implication throughout is that Nottingham is in some way close to London, and that the Sheriff is in some way a figure of national imporance.

The revelation about Will Scarlet is hilarious too. And doesn't quite feel plausible how Little John's merry band so easily accept Robin as their leader.

Despite all that, though... ah, it's fun watch, and what more do we want?

Who on Earth Is Tom Baker?

 "My mother beat me up many times, of course. Things were different in those days, before penicillin."

I last saw this in the '90s at some point, as a teenager. I enjoyed it, certainly, but was looking at it very much through the prism of Doctor Who fandom... which is, of course, a wonderful thing and a big part of my life. And yet... one should see Doctor Who, like everything, in its social and cultural context, and see Tom Baker for who he is: an actor... and a human being. All of which is to say that I thoroughly enyoyed this the second time round.

This is, of course, a thing of joy. Far more than the Dickens and the graveyards and that anecdote about the taxi driver, this is a fascinating look into the mind of a thoughtful, philosophical, cultured and highly intelligent man whose upbringing in such poverty and ignorance gives him a certain understated wisdom and eloquent, hinting at deeper things while deliberately refraining from forthright statements. This is a man who loves ambiguity, to be playful with ideas, who is wary of those wity too much certainty.

His musings on his upbringing, the interlude asa monk, the omnipresence of God, the quality of the bottle of red with which the video ends, the inferiority of sunsets to Turner...one can understand why this man was considered, in his heyday, to be the sort of with who would regularly spar verbally with the likes of Jeffrey Barnard and Francis Bacon after a pint or twelve.

If you can track this down- and there is, ahem, a very obvious place- and you're a fan of Tom, see if you can watch this. It's a thing of wonder.

Alas, it also shows the passage of time. Tom is ninety now. In this he's a fit man in his fifties, and surely 1991 can't be all that long ago...

Bernard and the Genie ( TV Film)

 "If you need anything, you just call and I'll be up there faster than a poker up a pervert."

For those of us who are of a certain age- and yes, it causes me a certain amount of distress to type those words- this excellent TV special is a hilarious memory of that telly Christmas of 1991 after Only Fools and Horses had finished. (Wasn't that the year in Miami?) Yet, in hindsight, this is a fascinating halfway house: a TV film by a recently post-Blackadder Richard Curtis, in a period when Blackadder was a justly worshipped recent memory, that would pave the way for his film career, which would prove to be at once increasingly successful and increasingly successful.

There's some sentiment here too. The bromance between Bernard and Josephus is deeper and more full of feeling than anything which the hilariously cynical Blackadder would have tolerated. Yet the opening scenes, where Bernard Bottle's high-flying life falls apart, are played purely for Blackadder-type laughs. As for Rowan Atkinson's delicious baddie... well, hiss ye, hiss ye. Oh, and nice beard,

Bernard is a sympatheic character- nice, naive, more than a little uncool, and portrayed with real comic charisma by an appallingly young Alan Cumming. And Lenny Henry really steals the show as Josephus, a characyer that could easily have been a stereotype but turns out to be a witty commentator on modern society- modern society being so very, very 1991, with even bloody Leonardo turning up, and I mean the chelonian kind.

But while this is, perhaps, plot-widse, a precursor to the sort of stuff Richard Curtis would go on to do. it's every bit as funny as Blackadder and absolutely the same sort of humour. This is a very, very good thing.

Anyway, Merry Christmas. Unless you're the sort of person who whinges that "we're not allowed to say Merry Christmas these days because of wokery and that", in which case, Happy Holidays.

The Doors (1991)

"Does death turn you on?"

This is, I believe, the first film helmed by Oliver Stone that I've ever blogged, and I believe it's my 758th film. Most odd. 

This is, I think its fair to say, a brave and triumphant rock biopic that dares to be art. The real Jim Morrison was both a genius and a twat, and the film illustrates this perfectly. He would not have enjoyed surviving to the #MeToo movement, which would have dealt a just comeuppance; he was a hopeless addict; he was a two timing bastard with double standards who didn't like it when Pam slept with others; worst of all, he reacted with cowardly denial to the babies he fathered, roving himself less than a man. If you father a child, you love that child with all your heart, or you fail to be a man. As a father who dotes on the wonderful Little Miss Llamastrangler, despite her trying to "teach" me ballet, I have to despise the coward. He was not a mn.

Yet he had a magnificent singing voice, his lyrics were extraordinary and he was (despite contemporary criticism that supposed a long-haired man who fronted a rock an roll band could not be cultured, well-read or talented) a poet of real genius and significance. Morrison was not Bob Dylan: he had a good grasp of poetic structure and rhythm.

He was a genius. He was a wanker. He was probably a rapist. Val Kilmer, in an extraordinary feat of acting, IS him. His performance is magnificent.

The film is at once a linear biopic, with extended footage of gigs, an art flick, with multiple rather successful attempts to simulate a drug-induced haze. There is plenty of selective use of the Doors' transcendent music, which seems to be considered unfashionable by various young fools with no understanding of what makes good art. Kyle Machlachlan is superb as the genius Ray Manzarek, yet Meg Ryan as Pam and Kathleen Quonlan as Patricia are transcendent as his "muses" who were fascinating women in their own right.

I hope, one day, to find a rock biopic as good as this. I shall try more Oliver Stone films, amd try not to be put off by the stupid conspiracy theories of JFK.

Godzilla vs King Ghidorah (1991)

 "You can tell your son about it when he's born, Major Spielberg."

I thought it was about time I continued with my Godzilla marathon, and this is a massively fun film to return to. This is the best kind of unashamed B movie, which quite properly luxuriates in what it is and doesn't care what you think.

I mean, let's recap the plot: people from the future arrive in Japan giving dire warnings of destruction meaning Godzilla must be destroyed before his birth, but secretly planning to destroy future economic superpower Japan by arranging the creation of the monster King Ghidorah. Fortunately not only is Godzilla brought back bigger than before by a random nuclear sub but the Japanese person amongst them, at one point seeming to be a possible love interest for the male lead but ending up as his great grandaughter (er...) is able to return to her time and bring back a cyborg King Ghidorah to save the day.

Yes, that all actually happens. Gloriously mad, is it not?

This film, with its different backstory for King Ghidorah, with (despite some misdirection) no aliens about, underlines the fact that the films from 1984 onwards are a different continuity. It also adds a nice bit of backstory in that the creature that became Godzilla in 1984 was previously a dinosaur in the South Pacific that saved some Japanese soldiers from an American assault in 1944.

There's lots of splendid city destruction with models. there's lots of cheeky "tributes" to Hollywood too- the computer interface of the time machine looks an awful lot like Doc Brown's DeLorean, while the pursuing android looks suspiciously like the baddie from Terminator 2: Judgement Day. This sort of thing makes the film even more fun.

There's one big caveat, though; Japan never underwent the equivalent of West Germany's de-Nazification, and it shows in the nationalistic subtext here. There's a definite glee in Japan's future economic domination; the android antagonist is definitely coded as American and, worst of all, the Imperial Japanese Army is presented as honourable. Let us be clear: it had absolutely no honour whatsoever, and its officers were not gentlemen.

Disturbing subtext aside, though, I enjoyed this splendidly silly film.

Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991)

“We’re in Twin Peaks here...”

Well, it had to happen at some point in a long-running franchise like this. This is bloody awful. Yes, it's a nice poster. But beyond that I'm struggling to think of anything positive.

What went wrong? After all, the film is directed (and scripted) by a young Rachel Talalay, a respected and successful Doctor Who director in recent years, and at this time a veteran of the franchise who was finally getting to helm an instalment. Yet, it must be said, she doesn’t do a good job and it’s hard to square this with her excellent later work.

Partly, I suppose, it’s the times. It’s 1991 and early CGI is beginning to rear its head, something which dates a film far more than the physical effects of earlier instalments. Perhaps it’s that the plot isn’t very coherent or clearly told. Perhaps it’s the amazement over the fact that an actor like Yaphet Kotto is lowering himself to such drivel. But, if this was truly intended as the final film in the franchise, it’s a shocking way to end. There are no scares. There’s no suspense. Freddy Krueger is reduced to a silly Daffy Duck-style figure with no remaining menace. What were they thinking? And the characterisation? Well, there’s Carlos, whose sole personality trait is “wears hearing aids”, and the others are even more generic. The whole thing is incoherent, and even the set pieces are just silly- the first one is a pastiche of The Wizard of Oz and they don’t get much better, although the hearing aid scene had a certain ghoulish fascination for me. It’s also quite nostalgic to be reminded of what they were like back then.

Meh. It doesn’t get more disappointing than this. It’s a crying shame after a surprisingly quality franchise up to now, but we are now leaping headlong over the proverbial predatory fish.

Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)

"Deep penetration!"

What? It's just a line in the film. What?

I loved this film when I saw it first at the Cannon Cinema in Hinckley, Leicestetshire at the tender age of fourteen, and watched it many times during the course of the '90s. It has a real nostalgic power for me. And yet. X it's still a good film. Very good even. And yet... it's dated a little, hasn't it?

At the time the special effects were amaaaazing. They were what made the film look awesome. Looking at the T-1000 twenty-five years later, though, and it's just... early CGI. And without the wow factor of the special effects the film stands revealed. It isn't really a suspense thriller like The Terminator; it's more a straight-up action film, a film pretty much made up of a series of set-pieces bolted together. It works, don't get me wrong, but the first film was better.

It still works well as an action film, though, and the many set pieces that make up the film are extremely well made. It's even sweet to see Arnie's T-100 as a surrogate father to John. It's interesting, too, that this very testosterone heavy action film gets a fair bit of narration from Sarah Connor, both part of the narrative and it's chorus. This a female predictive gets done degree of apparent control over the narrative. I also like the visual parallels to the first film at the beginning and end. We even get a bit of social commentary on sexual abuse in mental institutions.

Not as interesting as its predecessor, then, and it's dated a bit, but it still needs to be watched every now and again because nostalgia. Always worth a revisit.

My Girl (1991)

"Feel my aura!"

"I don't think I'm allowed to..."

Just to make it very clear; the wife cried. I didn't. Heart of stone. I deny everything.

This is a nice little coming-of-age story starring a very young and brilliant Anna Chlumsky (who I only know, much older, from In the Loop), a typically charismatic Jamie Lee Curtis, Dan Aykroyd playing against type as man whose approaching middle age seems set to be defined by his underlying sadness and mild neglect of his delightfully full-of-life daughter, and Macauley Culkin, that walking advertisement that being a child star doesn't always end well.

The whole thing hangs on Vada's unique personality- a hypochondriac, terrified of the dead bodies she sees all the time, what with being an undertaker's daughter, and bring rather brighter than her peers- and that in turn hangs on the young Anna Chlumsky, who really makes this film. As does, yes, the sad twist, which hits like a sledgehammer.

This is also a nice little glimpse into the middle America of 1972, with hippies at the creative writing class using phrases like "right on" without irony and phrases like "women's lib" being hurled around. This isn't a big film, but it's a pleasant way to spend ninety minutes.

Hook (1991)

"When are you going to learn to stop acting like a child?"

"I am a child!"

It's rather obvious that the reason I'm blogging this film now is the sad passing of Robin Williams, so it's worth starting with a few words about a comedian and actor of great talent.

I've never been a great fan of Hollywood's popular comedies, which always have the main character learning some heartwarming lesson about family values rather than just, you know, being funny. Robin Williams may have been good at these, being both a superb comic actor and very capable of pathos, but for much of his career he was ill-served by film unworthy of his talents. There are, of course, a good number of quality films starring Williams but his best performance, for me, is a straight role in One Hour Photo.

Hook, although it somewhat fits the definition of a Hollywood comedy as defined above, is nonetheless quite a good film, if not brilliant, because of the spectacle, the sense of wonder that fantasy always brings, and a particularly sublime performance from Williams, who shines here, far outshining the pantomime villainy of Dustin Hoffman, who gets top billing for some reason.

The conceit- a sequel to Peter Pan in which J.M. Barrie simply passed of his neighbour's children's true stories of his own and Peter Pan eventually grows up and becomes a lifeless, Reagan-voting asset stripper who missed the '60s because he was an accountant- is a good one. Yes, he's a bad father as per many such scar actors in such Hollywood films, but the Peter Pan stuff actually makes this interesting. His fear of flying is a nice touch. And Robin Williams brings the role a real depth, far more than is in the script.

This isn't the greatest film ever, but it's fun and, indeed, bangarang. I love the montage with Peter getting his mojo back, and the late Bob Hoskins is great, far outshining Hoffman. Well worth a watch, and nostalgic to see some actual world-building spectacle from the days before widespread CGI.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

"Quid pro quo. Yes or no?"

This is another film from the shocking list of films-you-must-see-before-you-die that I hadn't fully seen before watching it for this blog. I hang my head in shame. And it's an excellent thriller. Perhaps I was expecting something artier, given all the Oscar nominations, but Anthony Hopkins' performance is certainly a work of art. And I'm glad this film was made in 1991, and not now: these days it would be in danger of falling into the niche of "torture porn". Well, "torture porn lite". Instead, plenty of mainstream filmgoers got to see Hopkins be magnificent.

Of course, we don't see him for a while, and his first appearance is a big event which is built up. Instead we follow Clarice, the film's actual protagonist, who suffers both class prejudice and acute gender prejudice in the very masculine world of the FBI. That Crawford is a right bastard.

Buffalo Bill, the actual villain, is a bit of a cartoon figure in contrast to the far more nuanced and interesting Hannibal Lecter, and hardly a positive Hollywood representation of a transsexual, but he serves perfectly well in driving the plot and the element of mystery in a plot sense. Meanwhile we, assuming Clarice's point of view, get to explore the psyche of Lecter, a mystery in a much more character-based sense, as she tries to get him to cooperate. 

Certainly, the relationship between them is fascinating. Clarice is used to being belittled on grounds of gender, but the wedge Lecter uses to keep her in her place is class, for he is a posh and cultured chap who quotes Marcus Aurelius and she is the daughter of a West Virginia coal miner. She is supposed to be the psychologist, but it is he who gets inside her psyche; indeed, the title of the film refers to her childhood trauma.

Hannibal is the only ultimate winner here, of course, gaining his freedom at the end, but he always appears to be the one in control on all the various mind games here: with Clarice, with the prison director, with the senator whose daughter is in the hands of Buffalo Bill, and indeed with Bill himself.

His escape is exhilarating to watch, being both fiendishly clever and bloody exciting viewing. Interestingly, his escape attempt doesn't come until after he's got Clarice to open up, which makes him seem even more in control.

It's surprising, though, how Lecter then vanishes from the film until the epilogue; contrary to popular belief he is not the protagonist in a film which is chiefly about Clarice's pursuit of Buffalo Bill and the gender issues of a film which concerns make violence to women, workplace misogyny and transsexualism. Great though Hopkins is, I was disappointed, perhaps unfairly due to the popular perception of the film, by his lack of screen time in this excellent thriller,

This is, of course, based the middle novel of a trilogy, and there is both a sequel and a prequel starring Hopkins to blog. -

And then there's a certain Brian Cox, who featured so prominently in yesterday's blog post...

Child's Play 3 (1991)

“And what are children, after all, but consumer trainees?”

Well, I suppose we’d better get the James Bulger connection debunked to start with. Jon Venables’ dad once hired this from a video store and didn’t show it to his son. That’s it. No connection. Don’t believe what you read in The Sun. Anyway, this is the best Child’s Play film so far.

Chucky is resurrected, with an admirable economy of storytelling, before and during the opening titles and we then jump into scenes of deliciously evil ‘80’s businessmen straight out of Robocop. They are delightfully amoral in deciding to once again market the “Good Guy” dolls in spite of everything that happened. All that matters is the bottom line, and Mr Sullivan, our cartoon baddie of a CEO, sneeringly puffs on his cigar and generally fulfils all the stereotypes. Naturally, he is one of Chucky’s first victims. The quote up there sums up what children mean to this apparent bachelor for whom family life and human contact mean nothing. Who’d have thought it? Another Hollywood film with a seemingly left wing message.

Andy is now sixteen. He’s aged suspiciously quickly in the last year. He is now at one of those horrible military schools that exist in America and, if this film’s depiction of what happens in them is remotely accurate, need to be banned immediately on grounds of child abuse. I hope that nothing like this happens in reality.

Still, this is the perfect setting for Chucky to embark on the usual fun and games. There are plenty of nasty bullies present so we can, with a clear conscience, cheer on Chucky as he gets them to snuff it. Chucky is as evil as ever, arranging for some silly war game to be enlivened with the use of real bullets, although the creators of this film seem to have some rather odd ideas about how long you can safely hold on to a grenade after you’ve pulled the pin, Chucky being a doll and all that.

It’s a shame that Sheldon doesn’t get a more gruesome demise, but I was pleased to see how the barber copped it. He wouldn’t have liked my hair. The bastard.

The conclusion, at a rather creepy amusement park, is not quite the spectacle that concluded the previous film so magnificently, but the ending is still worth waiting for. Sadly, there’s another tragic ending for Andy, as once again he’s led away by police to be blamed for Chucky’s crimes. He’s had a hard life, that lad.

Drop Dead Fred (1991)

“Cobwebs!”

Last night I insisted to my girlfriend that I wouldn’t take notes while watching this as I had no particular intention of blogging it, as I often don’t bother blogging comedies- sometimes it’s nice to just watch a film. Then, today, it occurred to me that any film featuring both Rik Mayall and Carrie Fisher just had to be done. So here I am, blogging, with no notes.

It’s weird seeing Rik Mayall in a Hollywood movie; he just doesn’t seem to belong. Especially at this point in time, just pre-Bottom. And, yes, this film suffers a bit from the old-fashioned Hollywood disease of comedies having to be about characters learning some kind of emotional lesson and growing as a person rather than just being funny. But it works, and Mayall is outstanding, which is sort of the point.

Also outstanding is Phoebe Cates as Elizabeth, and Carrie Fisher is also good as, well, herself. The concept is deliciously silly, too, and it’s nice to see some cartoon-esque special effects achieved in live action rather than CGI. But there’s a serious subtext about emotional abuse, too; Elizabeth has been constantly bullied, first by her scary mother and later by her slimy husband, and Fred is a representation of the side of her personality that needs to be unleashed.

Perhaps the script is a little ho-hum at times, but Mayall’s performance elevates the film to something special. Well worth a watch.