WARNING: REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS. ONLY READ IF YOU'VE SEEN THE FILM.
The IMDb has a lot to answer for. After writing several reviews I now find myself not only searching out classic films to watch, but also absolute stinkers, with the sole intention of a good slagging-off.
However, I was slightly disappointed with Parting Shots, as it's really not as bad as you may think. Well, not quite, anyway.
You can see the pitch for this one. A black comedy, featuring a plethora of British acting talent, including Bob Hoskins, Oliver Reed, Ben Kingsley, John Cleese, Felicity Kendal, Joanna Lumley, Patrick Ryecart... Quite a worthwhile venture, surely? Problem Number One: all the decent actors are support, the lead role goes to a debuting rock star by the name of Chris Rea. Oh dear. Rea isn't the worst actor in the world, well, yes, all right, he IS, but he's perhaps, like the film, not quite as awful as rumour would have it. That said, his constant flat northern monotone really does drag the film considerably. The only time he gives a convincing performance is when he's half-comatose after waking up from an operation. The fact that the performance he gives to illustrate this is the same performance he gives throughout the entire film is unfortunate. And for a comedy, Rea crucially cannot time a joke. "It's your wife, sir, she's dead," he's told. Chris' counter? "Would you like a glass of champagne?" the fact that this line is delivered less like a witty rejoinder, more like the strangled death-rattle of a man suffering from terminal constipation is, also, unfortunate. And is a man with breasts a likely romantic lead?
Problem Number Two?: The premise. For this "comedy" is centred on a man dying of terminal cancer, with a plan to kill all his enemies before he passes away. The first line in the entire movie is "It's cancer, Harry" which doesn't exactly get the laughter muscles prepared for a treat. Problem Number Three?: Michael Winner, who directs, produces and co-writes. While his script isn't terrible, just misconceived, the staid blocking and direction do pall somewhat. And this being Winner not only does the king of name-droppers rope in all the name-heavy cast, but he also casts his girlfriend, Vanessa Parry, as a minor cameo.
For some odd reason, Harry, the characters, Lisa, always seem to call each other by their Christian names every single sentence, Maurice. Perhaps this is because the characters are so forgettable that Winner thought we needed constant reminders as to who they are. As if in throwback to comedies of the cheesy seventies, we get a jingly-jangly "light" incidental music in between bouts of suicide-inducing Chris Rea songs, and a completely unconvincing ending where all the characters laugh heartily as it fades to black. Harry's need for revenge is spelt out in a series of childishly-motivated vignettes that are almost cartoon-like in their simplicity, and we get a sample of Winner's right-wing vigilante sympathising.
Who would like this film? It's not unwatchable, but who will it appeal to? The romance between Chris and Felicity Kendal never seems more than fake, and seeing him murdering other characters is never satisfying. When he drowns Bob Hoskins, you wish it could have been the other way round, and that Hoskins would have emerged from the swimming pool, and stopped lazily going through the motions. Maybe SF fans would like it. It does contain a variety of British genre stars, including Peter Davison, Nicola Bryant (Doctor Who), Lumley (Sapphire & Steel/New Avengers), Diana Rigg (Avengers) and Gareth Hunt (New Avengers). Then again, they probably won't. Even seeing the lovely but wooden Daisy Donovan (a presenter on Channel 4's 11 0'Clock show) behind a bar, or Bryant in a see-through bra is unlikely to arouse much interest in these lifeless confines. Bryant, for her part, later slated the film as "creatively a very sterile situation. I think that a lot of creativity was screamed out of people." She went on to add that most people were "terrified" of Winner and that in her opinion the story wasn't strong and it wasn't "very well directed". This image of dissatisfied actors is what sticks in your mind, almost as much as the bloated Winner doing his own TV adverts desperately trying to sell the thing.
Yes, Parting Shots is a stinker, and anyone who couldn't see the "you weren't terminally ill after all, but whoops! You've killed all those people" ending deserves to be shot like most of the "characters" in the film. A pretty lame experience all round, and a squandered waste of the talent involved. However, it's brevity and it's reasonably intriguing plot (as a drama it may have reached the giddy heights of mediocrity) mean that, while not brilliant, I have seen a Hell of a lot worse. 4/10.
The IMDb has a lot to answer for. After writing several reviews I now find myself not only searching out classic films to watch, but also absolute stinkers, with the sole intention of a good slagging-off.
However, I was slightly disappointed with Parting Shots, as it's really not as bad as you may think. Well, not quite, anyway.
You can see the pitch for this one. A black comedy, featuring a plethora of British acting talent, including Bob Hoskins, Oliver Reed, Ben Kingsley, John Cleese, Felicity Kendal, Joanna Lumley, Patrick Ryecart... Quite a worthwhile venture, surely? Problem Number One: all the decent actors are support, the lead role goes to a debuting rock star by the name of Chris Rea. Oh dear. Rea isn't the worst actor in the world, well, yes, all right, he IS, but he's perhaps, like the film, not quite as awful as rumour would have it. That said, his constant flat northern monotone really does drag the film considerably. The only time he gives a convincing performance is when he's half-comatose after waking up from an operation. The fact that the performance he gives to illustrate this is the same performance he gives throughout the entire film is unfortunate. And for a comedy, Rea crucially cannot time a joke. "It's your wife, sir, she's dead," he's told. Chris' counter? "Would you like a glass of champagne?" the fact that this line is delivered less like a witty rejoinder, more like the strangled death-rattle of a man suffering from terminal constipation is, also, unfortunate. And is a man with breasts a likely romantic lead?
Problem Number Two?: The premise. For this "comedy" is centred on a man dying of terminal cancer, with a plan to kill all his enemies before he passes away. The first line in the entire movie is "It's cancer, Harry" which doesn't exactly get the laughter muscles prepared for a treat. Problem Number Three?: Michael Winner, who directs, produces and co-writes. While his script isn't terrible, just misconceived, the staid blocking and direction do pall somewhat. And this being Winner not only does the king of name-droppers rope in all the name-heavy cast, but he also casts his girlfriend, Vanessa Parry, as a minor cameo.
For some odd reason, Harry, the characters, Lisa, always seem to call each other by their Christian names every single sentence, Maurice. Perhaps this is because the characters are so forgettable that Winner thought we needed constant reminders as to who they are. As if in throwback to comedies of the cheesy seventies, we get a jingly-jangly "light" incidental music in between bouts of suicide-inducing Chris Rea songs, and a completely unconvincing ending where all the characters laugh heartily as it fades to black. Harry's need for revenge is spelt out in a series of childishly-motivated vignettes that are almost cartoon-like in their simplicity, and we get a sample of Winner's right-wing vigilante sympathising.
Who would like this film? It's not unwatchable, but who will it appeal to? The romance between Chris and Felicity Kendal never seems more than fake, and seeing him murdering other characters is never satisfying. When he drowns Bob Hoskins, you wish it could have been the other way round, and that Hoskins would have emerged from the swimming pool, and stopped lazily going through the motions. Maybe SF fans would like it. It does contain a variety of British genre stars, including Peter Davison, Nicola Bryant (Doctor Who), Lumley (Sapphire & Steel/New Avengers), Diana Rigg (Avengers) and Gareth Hunt (New Avengers). Then again, they probably won't. Even seeing the lovely but wooden Daisy Donovan (a presenter on Channel 4's 11 0'Clock show) behind a bar, or Bryant in a see-through bra is unlikely to arouse much interest in these lifeless confines. Bryant, for her part, later slated the film as "creatively a very sterile situation. I think that a lot of creativity was screamed out of people." She went on to add that most people were "terrified" of Winner and that in her opinion the story wasn't strong and it wasn't "very well directed". This image of dissatisfied actors is what sticks in your mind, almost as much as the bloated Winner doing his own TV adverts desperately trying to sell the thing.
Yes, Parting Shots is a stinker, and anyone who couldn't see the "you weren't terminally ill after all, but whoops! You've killed all those people" ending deserves to be shot like most of the "characters" in the film. A pretty lame experience all round, and a squandered waste of the talent involved. However, it's brevity and it's reasonably intriguing plot (as a drama it may have reached the giddy heights of mediocrity) mean that, while not brilliant, I have seen a Hell of a lot worse. 4/10.