The sequel to Trainspotting is tinged with despair, but James McAvoy’s damaged kidnapper brings out the best in M Night Shyamalan
“Has it really been more than 20 years since Trainspotting?” was my first thought before watching T2 Trainspotting (Sony, 18), in accordance with the cruel law of ageing dictating that the older you get, the shorter your life seems to have been. By the time the closing credits roll, I felt differently. It may hardly show on Ewan McGregor’s face, but a palpable passage of time separates Danny Boyle’s 1996 scuzzy thunderclap of a youth movie from this slicker but slacker sequel, which throws many of its predecessor’s tricks against the piss-stained wall without any of its antsy social fury or reason for being.
Boyle and writer John Hodge have roughly adapted Irvine Welsh’s Porno into a chattery whinge about the complacent perils of middle age for men – with or without a drug habit – but that’s not quite the same as a generational rebel yell. T2 (if we must call it that) has sizzle-flashes of wit and energy and, by the time it starts plastering Snapchat filters over the screen, a hint of desperation. But it’s made by gifted artists without an itch left to scratch.
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Source: Guardian
