4/12/15 (Part One): The Good Time Boys

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action films, action-comedies, Australian films, BMX Bandits, Brian Trenchard-Smith, Brigitte Jean Allen, car chases, Chad Law, Christopher Morris, Christopher Sommers, cinema, Damien Garvey, Dead End Drive-In, Drive Hard, driving films, Evan Law, film reviews, films, get-away driver, heist, hostage situation, hot pursuit, husband-wife relationship, Jason Wilder, John Cusack, mobsters, Movies, multiple writers, odd couple, road movie, set in Australia, stolen money, Thomas Jane, Tony O'Loughlan, unlikely allies, unlikely hero, writer-director, Yesse Spence, Zoe Ventoura

Among old and reliable action movie tropes, there are few that are older and more reliable than mismatched “odd couple” duos. From 48 Hrs. (1982) to Midnight Run (1988)…from Turner & Hooch (1989) to Tango & Cash (1989)…from Rush Hour (1998) to the Lethal Weapon franchise, you know the drill: put a straight-laced, by-the-book square with a lone-wolf, loose-cannon hothead and let the sparks fly! When the formula works, it’s an almost bullet-proof set-up: there’s a good reason why films like Lethal Weapon and Die Hard (1988) are still influencing modern action films almost 30 years after they left the multiplexes.

The success of said formula, however, winds up being pretty dependent on a very important part of the equation: if the mismatched partners don’t gel, if their chemistry lies somewhere between “uncomfortably awkward” and “dead on arrival,” well…let’s just say that your odds of getting a decent film aren’t great. In the case of classic “Ozsploitation” filmmaker Brian Trenchard-Smith’s newest film, Drive Hard (2014), we get enough of the elements in their proper places to insure a fun, fast and fairly breezy good time: would we expect anything less from the twisted genius behind Dead End Drive-In (1986)?

The “square” in this particular equation is Peter Roberts (Thomas Jane, sporting a ridiculously fluffy hair-do that would make a ’70s-era catalog model jealous), a former American race car driver who now toils in obscurity as an Australian driving instructor. He’s got a wife and young daughter, dreams of opening his own racing school and just enough spare cash to insure that he’ll probably be teaching yahoos what a stick-shift is for the next 90 years. Peter’s the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back and spend the rest of the day complaining about being cold.

The “wild one” in this equation is Simon Keller (John Cusack), another American ex-pat. Simon (who pronounces his name in a way that sounded suspiciously like “Killer” to me) hires Peter to teach him to drive, even though he seems to be surprisingly adept around said vehicle for a complete novice. Keller’s a sophisticated smartass with a propensity for droll observations and a rather unsettling interest in Peter’s former occupation.

As luck would have it, Keller doesn’t want a driving instructor: he wants a get-away driver. Things get more complicated when Keller reveals that they’ve just ripped off Mario Rossi (Christopher Morris), a hot-headed mob boss who previously stiffed Simon on a job: this is payback and poor Peter is just the schmuck who’s found himself stuck in the middle. Except, of course, that good ol’ Peter eventually starts to, you know…kinda dig all this action. After all, he gets to race again: what’s that thing they say about the gift horse? He also gets out of the house at a time when things are particularly rough between him and his wife, Tessa (Yesse Spence), thereby avoiding any and all difficult conversations about sticky subjects like “responsibility” and the “future.”

While the fugitives burn rubber, their own relationship begins to thaw, allowing for the kind of uneasy détente that’s necessary for this sort of film: Keller is revealed to be more than just a criminal mastermind, while Peter gets to finally assert himself and start to loosen up. It’s not all Summer vacation in the Hamptons, however, as our intrepid travelers are pursued by a pair of extremely earnest Special Agents (Zoe Ventoura and Jason Wilder), along with Rossi and Chief Inspector Smith (Damien Garvey), a lawman so used to sitting in the mobster’s pocket that he may as well be a young kangaroo. As the forces continue to mass and the odds get slimmer, Peter and Simon will learn one important thing: if you want to have a fighting chance, you have to drive…and you better drive hard.

Like the vast majority of Trenchard-Smith’s extensive output, Drive Hard is massively entertaining: a silly, lightning-paced buddy film, Drive Hard never takes itself seriously, although it also manages to avoid (albeit just barely) slipping into full-blown parody territory. The Australian action auteur is a deft hand with this type of material, however, melding purely goofy comedy beats with genuinely thrilling action and racing sequences. While the film is the furthest thing from a “dark” crime saga, the stakes feel real enough to plant it squarely in the area code of films like Snatch (2000) and In Bruges (2008).

Key to the film’s success, of course, is that aforementioned chemistry between our odd couple, Peter and Simon.  The two leads play off each other with a playful sense of camaraderie that makes the film an easy, breezy experience from first to last. While Jane does an admirable job playing against type as the nerdy, clueless and slightly whiny Peter, Cusack handily steals the show as the riveting, obnoxious and thoroughly badass Simon Keller. Keller is the kind of antihero that practically demands his own franchise (I was constantly put in mind of Tim Dorsey’s amazing creation, Serge Storms) and it’s endlessly fun watching him work his machinations against the mob, corrupt cops, a biker gang and pretty much anyone who has the misfortune of crossing his path. Of late, Cusack seems to be gravitating towards these kind of “antihero” roles (see his similarly stellar turn as the villain in the thoroughly spectacular Grand Piano (2014) for another good example) and they really do fit him like a glove: he appears to be morphing into James Spader before our very eyes and I, for one, applaud this wholeheartedly.

While the supporting cast does fine work, the only one who really stands out is Zoe Ventoura’s ridiculously driven Agent Walker: there’s an intensity to her performance that ends up being much more magnetic than Christopher Morris’ mob boss, despite the constant fever pitch of his performance. Ventoura’s Agent Walker is also the only female character who gets much to do, with Francesca Bianchi’s Stacy being stuck in perpetual man-eater mode and Yesse Spence’s Tessa spending the majority of the film stuck somewhere in the background off-camera. For better or worse, this is the kind of action film that seems to strictly revolve around the male characters and their various relationships with one another. Call it a “bromance” if you like, but there’s certainly no shortage of testosterone to go around, here.

Despite being less than taken with Drive Hard’s look (the film is constantly blown-out and, to be honest, rather ugly), it’s hard to find fault with any of its key components. The driving scenes are thrilling and kinetic, while the various fights are well-staged and find a decent balance between chaos and order. The underlying sense of dark humor also works in the film’s favor, leading to suitably outrageous gags like the shop clerk accidentally blowing his own head off or Peter’s ludicrous brawl with an elderly lady that’s one slim pratfall away from a Happy Gilmore (1996) outtake. Holding everything together is that all-important central odd couple relationship between Jane and Cusack, the kind of partnership that actually makes sequels seem like good ideas.

Ultimately, Drive Hard is just what it should be: a goofy, fun, silly and effortless throwback to the days when everything blew up, any argument could be solved with a fistfight and a cutting quip could be just as deadly as a cutting blade. While Trenchard-Smith’s latest isn’t quite the modest masterpiece that Dead End Drive-In was (tonally, it’s just a little too all-over-the-map), there’s more than enough good stuff here to keep fans of ’80s and ’90s action films happy. Drive Hard tries hard and, at the end of the day, that’s a lot more than most.

 

10/28/14 (Part Two): Leave Your Brain At the Door

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31 Days of Halloween, Adelaide Clemens, America Olivo, Beau Knapp, biker gang, cinema, Daniel Pearl, David Cohen, Derek Magyar, extreme violence, film reviews, films, George Murdoch, gory films, hostage situation, isolated estates, isolation, kidnapped, Laura Ramsey, Lee Tergesen, Lindsey Shaw, Luke Evans, Movies, No One Lives, psycho killers, Ryuhei Kitamura, The Midnight Meat Train, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Trojan horse, Versus, wrestlers, WWE

There’s nothing that frustrates or irritates me quite as much as a film that completely squanders its potential. Films that are consistently bad can sometimes be entertaining, in their own rights, but a movie that manages to scale the heights before plummeting to the depths all within the same 90 minute time span really gets my goat. Films like this can take many forms: top of the class in one aspect, class dunce on others…great plot, crummy filmmaking…solid film with an excruciating ending/twist that manages to ruin everything that came before…by this point in my film-viewing, I’ve seen just about every permutation of this issue and it never ceases to cut me to the core each time. It’s like a runner who leads the marathon only to blow out his/her knee at the finish line, crumpling into a broken, sobbing heap mere inches from victory.

Case in point: Ryuhei Kitamura’s ridiculously uneven No One Lives (2012). After (almost literally) blowing me away with the jaw-dropping ode to grievous bodily mayhem that was his adaptation of Clive Barker’s The Midnight Meat Train (2008), I found myself eagerly awaiting  the Japanese gorehound’s next descent into horror. Where Meat Train was a consistent, if hammer-headed, effort, No One Lives is more of a rollercoaster of badass/suckitude: for every scene like the completely unforgettable “Trojan horse” bit, there’s a block of dialogue so poorly written that it comes across like lines from a badly translated video game. For every ingenious plot twist and thrilling kill scene, there’s an actor so extravagantly terrible that they rip the viewer kicking and screaming from the film and deposit them back into the cold water of reality. Very rarely have I found myself watching a film that could, literally, have me jumping from my seat, fist triumphantly raised one minute, only to be seconds from turning the damn thing off the next moment. Believe me when I say that getting through No One Lives is an endurance match, a trial which ends up having very little to do with the ocean of extreme gore that runs through the film. Would it surprise you to discover that the film was produced by the WWE? Me neither…me neither…

From the get-go, No One Lives seems to jump us into several simultaneously occurring storylines, all of which will come to make sense in due time. We meet a terrified young woman, Emma Ward (Adelaide Clemens), as she runs frantically through the woods before getting caught in a rope trap. We also meet what appear to be a husband (Luke Evans) and wife (Laura Ramsey) as they take a car trip through the countryside: as they drive, we get some hint of trouble in their relationship, perhaps something to do with infidelity. Finally, we witness a biker gang, led by Hoag (Lee Tergesen), as they rob a wealthy family’s home: when the family returns unexpectedly, psychotic gang member Flynn (Derek Magyar) flies off the handle and executes them all post-haste, including a young child. When the gang heads to a local bar to blow off some steam, they end up running into the husband and wife, whom Flynn seems to take an instant dislike to.

From this point on, one of No One Lives greatest strengths (sometimes its only strength, to be honest), is the consistently surprising ways in which this characters all manage to collide together. No one, as it turns out, are really who they appear to be, least of all the husband and wife, which leads to some genuinely surprising revelations. Once the big reveals are out of the way, the film ramps up into something that approximates Adam Wingard’s You’re Next (2011), as the gang find themselves at the mercy of a foe who’s not only their equal but their better in almost every way. Blood will spill (lots and lots of blood), loyalties will be tested and secrets will be revealed. Who is the mysterious young woman from the beginning? What’s the husband’s connection to everything? Why the hell is Flynn such an obnoxious, insane asshole? The answer to these, and many more, can be found within. But remember: as the title points out, no one lives…at least, not without a good fight.

Here’s the thing about this movie: while No One Lives is technically well-made – Kitamura makes excellent use of legendary cinematographer Daniel Pearl, the cameraman behind a legion of classic films, including The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) – and features ferocious action scenes and some incredibly well-staged gore effects, the film is also nearly brain-dead, at times, relying on contrived plot elements that stink to high heaven and constantly reveal the pitiful wizard behind the curtain. In particular, the psychopathology of the main villain is so loopy, so head-smackingly stupid, that it manages to drag the whole film right into the gutter. Ditto the frequently moronic dialogue: screenwriter David Cohen has but one film to his credit, which might be a blessing in disguise. The awful dialogue is made even more reprehensible when compared to some of the genuinely brilliant plot developments: did Cohen actually write the whole script, just the dialogue or just the story? At times, it feels like there were several cooks in the kitchen, none of whom were going off the same recipe.

Did I mention before how frustrating this is? Let me reiterate: there is nothing quite as frustrating as witnessing something as truly awe-inspiring as the “Trojan horse” setpiece (I would never dream of ruining the surprise but suffice to say that my jaw literally fell open during the sequence like some kind of cartoon character) only to have it followed by some of the worst, most wooden acting in the history of the business. I’ll admit that I got nervous when the WWE was listed as producer on the film (wrestlers and high-minded cinematic fare very rarely mix, after all) but the real puzzler comes from the fact that only one of the actors in the cast, George Murdock (aka Brodus Clay) appears to be a professional wrestler by trade…and he wasn’t even one of the film’s worst offenders! Topping the Hall of Shame here has to be Derek Magyar who manages to make the character of Flynn so completely silly and unbelievable that he loses any impact whatsoever: when you have a character who savagely massacres a family yet fails to possess any actual menace whatsoever, you may have a big problem.

Despite the cavernous depths to which No One Lives sinks, however, I still found myself torn between complete condemnation and grudging respect. When the film is good, it’s great: no two ways about it. The action scenes are genuinely visceral and nasty and some of the twists are incredibly smart. Luke Evans makes a decent enough “hero,” even if he often seems a bit bland, although he manages to carve out a handful of memorable scenes, one of my favorites being the bit where he gets picked up by a car full of frat boys: “This should be fun,” he leers at the camera, and for once, we wholeheartedly believe him. Lee Tergesen is pretty good as the gang leader, although many of his best scenes are effectively cancelled out by the ridiculously over-the-top performance by Magyar. Clemens also acquits herself fairly well, getting one really great scene where she weighs the pros and cons of aligning herself with the bikers (the lesser of two evils, we suppose) before realizing that the odds suck no matter what. I can’t help but feel that more Clemens and less of the others (particularly Magyar) might have helped matters to no end.

For all of its victories, however, No One Lives is nearly suffocated by its missteps. Unlike The Midnight Meat Train, No One Lives is a completely inconsistent mess, full of dreadful dialogue, terrible acting and some truly stupid plot developments. For all of that, however, I would feel remiss if I didn’t recommend this, if only in some tiny way, to hardcore gore fans: folks who’ve become jaded on violence in horror films would do well to give No One Lives a shot, as several of the setpieces are thoroughly unique, hardcore and pretty damn amazing: not to beat a dead horse but that “Trojan horse” scene…yowza! Ultimately, No One Lives is a decent enough film, all things considered, but that ends up being a pretty back-handed compliment when the film had the makings of a modern classic. Here’s to hoping that if Kitamura ever goes back to the horror well, he decides to use Meat Train instead of No One Lives as a template.

10/21/14 (Part One): Take This Job and Shove It

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31 Days of Halloween, barbarians, black comedies, Botched, Bronagh Gallagher, cinema, co-writers, Derek Boyle, directorial debut, Eamon Friel, Edward Baker-Duly, favorite films, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, gallows' humor, Geoff Bell, high-rise building, horror, horror-comedies, hostage situation, Hugh O-Conor, Ivan the Terrible, Jamie Foreman, jewel heist, Kit Ryan, Movies, Raymond Friel, Russell Smith, Russian mobsters, Sean Pertwee, set in Russia, Stephen Dorff

Although filmmakers have been crafting big-screen, live-action adaptations of cartoons for some time, to greater or lesser (mostly lesser) effect, very few have been able to actually approximate the sheer insanity of said cartoons. In most cases, it’s enough to simply cast real actors that kind of look like their cartoon counterparts and put them into settings that kind of approximate their respective animated backgrounds. For the most part, however, the number of live-action films that have the chaotic energy and feel of classic Merrie Melodies or Looney Tunes cartoons are pretty few and far between.

The reason for this, of course, should be pretty simple: by their very nature, animated works can get away with about 1000% more things than live-action productions can. As an example, think back to that hoariest of all animated clichés, the mid-air “run and fall.” It’s a pretty simple task to make a cartoon Bugs Bunny run on thin air, stop, ponder, pull a sign from some hidden orifice and then plummet to relative safety at the bottom of a canyon: to paraphrase some old baseball movie, “If you draw it, it will happen.” Try this same gag in a live-action format, however, and it’s automatically a whole different ballgame: as a rule, flesh-and-blood actors and animatronics are much more beholden to the law of gravity than their animated counterparts. Toss a real actor over a cliff and see how long they tread open air before crashing to terra firma: I’m guessing it won’t be a pretty sight.

All this is by way of saying that live-action features that actually have the zany, unpredictable feel of cartoons are exceptionally rare beasts, scattered unicorns in a field full of shaggy ponies. Of these rare beasts, one of the very best, brightest and most outrageous would have to be Kit Ryan’s no-holds-barred Botched (2007). Nominally about a botched heist, Ryan’s amazing little film manages to throw everything and the kitchen sink into the mix, coming up with a film that’s howlingly funny, unbelievably violent, ludicrously hyper-kinetic and endlessly surprising. It’s a movie that plays on audience expectations before systematically shattering them, all the way to a great twist ending that feels less tacked on than absolutely necessary. I fell in love with Botched the very first time that I saw it: if you’re an adventurous movie fan, I’m willing to wager that you probably will, too.

The movie kicks off with a thrilling diamond heist, led by the perpetually unlucky Ritchie (Stephen Dorff). As the title tips us off, Ritchie ends up botching the heist something fierce, losing his accomplices and the stolen ice in the process. Returning to his no-nonsense boss, the stony-faced Mr. Groznyi (Sean Pertwee), Ritchie gets a chance to make everything right, via yet another heist. This time, Ritchie must travel to Russia, where he teams up with the bumbling brother duo of Peter (Jamie Foreman) and Yuri (Russell Smith): the three men are charged with infiltrating a high-rise office building and stealing a special jeweled crucifix from the penthouse suite. As luck would have it, Peter is a complete and total psychopath and ends up blowing someone away, leading the trio to be locked-down on the top floor, along with a handful of hostages.

The hostages are a decidedly odd bunch, including a group of conservatively dressed, ultra-religious women, led by Sonya (Bronagh Gallagher), a dim-witted Russian soldier by the name of Boris Bogdanovich (Geoff Bell) and the uber-nerdy Dmitry (Hugh O’Conor). During a bit of organized chaos, Sonya pulls a gun and flips the script, taking Ritchie, Peter, Yuri, Boris and the others hostage, all in preparation for a big sacrifice to “the Almighty.” Did I mention there’s a mysterious, blood-thirsty barbarian (Edward Baker-Duly) roaming the halls of the office building wielding an enormous ax and an equally massive, bug-eyed, grin? Yeah, well, he’s there’s and he’s a real hoot, let me tell ya.

With all of these decidedly strange forces massed against him, Ritchie must stay the course and complete his assignment, lest he wind up in Groznyi’s crossfires when/if he should survive his trials. There’s more to the mysterious office building than meets the eye, however, and Mr. Groznyi might be more intertwined with Sonya and the barbarian than it first seems. If he’s not careful, Ritchie may just end up on the business-end of a huge ax, just one more victim of the working-class malaise.

At first blush, there probably doesn’t seem like a lot of parallel between Botched and something like a Wylie Coyote short. Digging a bit deeper, however, they don’t look so radically different: both are kinetic, hyper-self aware and ultra-violent little jewels that barrel ahead on their own feverish logic and display a blatant disregard for such things as basic anatomy and physics. There’s one point in the film where Baker-Duly’s gleeful berserker gets blown up and stands there, smoking and covered in soot, that should be readily familiar to anyone who grew up on old Daffy Duck cartoons: all he’s missing is an orange bill spinning around his dazed face.

So much of the film is pitched at a cartoonish pace that Botched often has the feel of a rollercoaster ride where we’ve begun just as the car is accelerating down its first huge drop. With little exposition, the film throws viewers into the deep end and then keeps shifting gears into each fresh absurdity: the heist aspect of the film turns into a hostage comedy which suddenly ratchets up into a strange occult shocker before leveling off into something that could best be described as a “light-hearted serial killer bloodbath.”

Throughout everything, however, the film manages to never lose either its inherent good nature or its sense of humor. Since the entire film plays out like a live-action cartoon, the over-the-top bloodshed takes on an altogether different…daresay I say “wholesome” feel: bodies are cleaved in two, heads roll, more fake blood is shed than a Gwar concert and yet the film never manages to seem mean-spirited or oppressive.

Part of the credit for this goes to the genuinely funny tone that’s maintained throughout Botched’s quick running time. Chalk this up to a superbly sharp script, credited to Raymond Friel, Eamon Friel and Derek Boyle: three writers would normally spell the kiss of death for a script but they obviously functioned like a well-oiled machine. The humor in the film is a great blend of witty dialogue and absurd, outrageous situations/sight gags that make for a heady mixture: the comedy is often pretty rapid-fire and there’s almost always something to laugh at, whether it’s Boris explaining how a filing cabinet can be deadlier than a tank “in the right hands,” Dimitry cautiously determining just what “saved” means before he volunteers (it’s not what he hoped) or the unforgettable scene where Sonya realizes that her brother is getting up to some unsavory business with the bodies. Unlike many horror-comedies, both sides of the coin are duly served: Botched is laugh-out-loud funny and just as horrifying as any “serious” fright film out there.

This would all be for nought without a killer cast, however, and there are some absolutely priceless performances here courtesy of Stephen Dorff, Jamie Foreman, Bronagh Gallagher and Geoff Bell. Dorff is perfect as the exasperated thief who just wants something, anything, to go right in this shitty nightmare that he calls a life, while Foreman and Bell bring just the right amount of sweetness with their psychopathy: neither guy are the kind of person you’d want in your home but either one would (probably) be a real blast in a dive bar. Top marks must go to Gallagher and Baker-Duly as the gonzo, batshit crazy dastardly duo: they’re both amazing comic actors with impeccable timing and every minute they’re on-screen is a real delight. Truth be told, the villains in Botched are so fascinating that you really end up wanting to spend more time with them then you do: Dorff is no slouch, mind you, but Sonya and the barbarian are something else entirely!

There’s so much to love about Botched that I’m tempted to call the film one of my all-time favorites, despite the fact that it’s not even ten years old. Lightning-paced, stocked with fascinating characters, hilarious situations, witty dialogue, lavishly-executed setpieces and enough gore to please the most jaded of hounds, Botched is an absolute treat from start to finish. I’ve always wondered what happened to director Kit Ryan but I now see that his sophomore feature, Dementamania (2013), just opened in the UK this month. If his new one is anything like his first one, it looks like I’ve got another potential “favorite film” to add to my list.

 

7/20/14: Put On Your Forensic Trousers and Dance

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Alan Partridge, Anna Maxwell Martin, based on a radio show, Best of 2013, cinema, Colm Meaney, comedy, Darren Boyd, Declan Lowney, Felicity Montagu, film reviews, films, forensic trousers, hostage situation, Karl Theobald, Monica Dolan, Movies, Nigel Lindsay, Peter Baynham, radio DJs, radio stations, Simon Greenall, Steve Coogan, Tim Key

At one point in Declan Lowney’s outrageously funny Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013), blowhard, egomaniacal radio DJ Alan Partridge (Steve Coogan) ends up locking himself out of the very hostage situation that he’s been sent in to mediate. Determined to make it back inside the studio, Alan attempts to climb in through a nearby window which, of course, doesn’t go quite as planned: the idiot ends up hanging upside-down, sans pants and underwear (but with shirt surprisingly intact). After winnowing his way free, Alan is suddenly confronted by a heavily armed member of the SWAT team, who demands that he raise his hands. The look on Coogan’s face as he dejectedly, but resolutely, raises his hands is proof positive that the British actor is one of the finest comedians in the business, quite possibly this generation’s Peter Sellers.

Like Sellers, Coogan is a gifted chameleon, a mimic that can effortlessly slip into any character and provide it with its own individual tics and quirks, pulling mannerisms out of a black bag in the same way that Lon Chaney might have removed makeup accessories. Sellers had a particular way with facial gestures…an artfully raised eyebrow here, a sly smile there…that is readily apparent with Coogan: were he reduced simply to gestures, it’s quite possible that Coogan would remain just as effective and funny. Also like Sellers, Coogan can vacilate between drama and comedy: Coogan’s recent turn in the Oscar-nominated Philomena (2013) proved that quite handily. In the right vehicle, he’s pretty much unstoppable: Alan Partridge is just such a vehicle and, quite possibly, the funniest film I saw in the past eight months.

I will admit to coming into the film pretty blind: I knew nothing about the actual character of Alan Partridge, although I suspected that Alpha Papa wasn’t his first spin around the block. Turns out that Coogan created Partridge for a radio show, which then spawned TV appearances and the film we see before us. Suffice to say that prior knowledge of the character is not necessary to appreciate the current big-screen adaptation, although I’m sure it enriches the experience.

We’re introduced to our obnoxious, yet strangely loveable, protagonist through his job at a small Norfolk radio station. Alan Partridge is a DJ and the kind of fellow for whom the term “insufferable” was coined: he’s a completely self-absorbed ass, the kind of person who interrupts singing along with his favorite song on the radio to correct another driver. He’s vain, a habitual liar (Alan says that he’s researching “ospreys” on the internet but the reflection in his eyeglasses suggests otherwise) and egotistical asshole who thinks absolutely nothing about throwing someone else under the proverbial bus, be they his personal assistant, Lynn (Felicity Montagu) or his put-upon fellow DJ, Pat (Colm Meaney).

Turns out that Pat is feeling pretty marginalized, as of late, and getting unceremoniously sacked by the new management has led him to take rather drastic action: arming himself with a shotgun, Pat takes the station’s crew hostage, including the new manager, Jason (Nigel Lindsay) and Alan’s beleaguered on-air “sidekick, Simon (Tim Key). He doesn’t get Alan, however, because the “veteran on-air personality” ran for the hills at the first sign of trouble, “comandeering” a surprised motorist’s car in order to drive to the next-door police station. Fate’s not done with Alan just yet, however, as it turns out that Pat will only deal with one person in the entire world: his good “buddy” Alan. Oblivious to the fact that Alan actually sold him up the river to begin with, Pat feels that only another member of the old school will truly see his perspective on the situation. The police agree and send our man Alan back into the fray, armed with a bullet-proof jacket, one whopper of a lie and a complete and total allergy to common sense. It’s up to Alan to defuse the situation, save the lives of the hostages and deliver Pat to the authorities. In other words: they’re all doomed.

One of the most important aspects of a comedy is the film’s actual ability to produce genuine laughs. Over the years, I’ve become more and more used to watching comedies that function more as “clever” than genuinely “funny.” There’s a big difference: clever films might be witty, thought-provoking and apt to produce the odd chuckle here or there but they are not, by and large, the factory whereby big laughs are produced. An actually funny film, however, will produce uncontrollable bursts of laughter: this is an almost primal, ferocious experience. Laughing so hard that you ache is a rare but altogether intense feeling. If there is a short-list for the the films that have made me laugh the hardest over the years, Alan Partridge would certainly deserve a prime spot.

Quite simply, Alpha Papa is an outrageously funny film. The film is a near non-stop barrage of everything from razor-sharp dialogue and one-liners to utterly absurd situational comedy (a dream sequence that involves Coogan as SWAT team members Jason Bourne, Jason Statham and Jason of the Argonauts is a complete classic), physical comedy and blink-and-you-miss-’em visual gags. There’s a throwaway bit, towards the end, where Alan shoots a BB gun and ends up hitting a poster of JFK dead between the eyes: “Not again!” he wails, racing away, and I couldn’t help but feel that Mel Brooks couldn’t do it any better. From “forensic trousers” to “agenda benders” and the “hands-free head holster” (just what any busy radio DJ/hostage-taker needs for multi-tasking), Alpha Papa is a constantly inventive cornucopia of comedy, a “scattergun” approach to the form that involves an astoundingly high ratio of hits to misses. Truth be told, I’m hard-pressed to recall much of the humor that didn’t work for me, although this probably has at least something to do with my particular sensibilities. I know that it definitely has a lot to do with star/creator Coogan.

Coogan is a complete marvel as Alan, a character that manages to not only say and do the worst possible thing in any given situation but manages to do so with such a complete zeal that his dedication to everything (not least of all, himself) is never in doubt. Alan may be a liar, a cheat and an all-around horrible person but, through some miracle, Coogan manages to make him not only tolerable but likeable. You may never trust Alan with your life or your reputation but there’s just something about him that makes you forgive his often despicable acts, time and time again. It’s a similar enigma as with The Office’s Michael Scott but magnified ten fold: Alan Partridge will never have Michael’s misguided altruism because he’s too self-absorbed to even notice other humans. Despite this complete narcissism (at one point, Alan complains that everyone views him as some sort of “Christ 2.0” and you get the idea that he genuinely believes this), Alan still has the ability to step up when necessary and do the right thing, even if it doesn’t always benefit him.

While Coogan is fantastic as Alan (possibly a career-best performance), he’s got a more than capable ensemble backing him up. Veteran actor Colm Meaney has always been a great performer but his turn as Pat Farrell certainly belongs in his personal Hall of Fame. By turns proud, wounded and pissed off, Pat is a complex character, as far from a plot device or a MacGuffin as it gets. There is some genuine poignancy to the scene where Pat and Alan discuss their boyhood dreams and a rousing bit of wish-fulfillment when the pair hit the road in the “broadcasting bus” to bring the truth to the common man. This may be Alan’s show but Pat is a vital component and Meaney’s performance is a great counter-balance to Coogan’s manic energy.

Great performances abound, however: Nigel Lindsay brings the proper amount of middle-management sleaze to his portrayal of station head Jason, Monica Dolan is hilariously “clingy” as Alan’s on-again/off-again fling Angela and Anna Maxwell Martin is so starched that she practically creaks as Janet Whitehead, head of the SWAT task-force. Special mention must go to Felicity Montagu as Alan’s personal assistant, however. Lynn is a remarkable character, by turns slavishly devoted to Alan’s personal and career-wellbeing, at other times as easily distracted by the trappings of “fame” as a bird is to shiny objects. Montagu is a riot and nearly steals all of her scenes, no small feat when working so closely with Coogan.

I could go on and on about Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa but the bottom-line is pretty simple: the film is an absolute and complete gem. It’s uproariously funny, full of heart, deeply incisive, stuffed to bursting with interesting characters and anchored by a phenomenal lead performance via the indomitable Steve Coogan. While there is no such thing as a universal comedy, I’m hard-pressed to think that anyone couldn’t find something to laugh at in Alpha Papa. It may be a little early to declare a film from 2013 as a “classic” but I’m going to go out on a limb here: Alpha Papa is just about as classic as it gets.