The latest release from Ealing Studio brings us nothing but anguish. Here, an English production, which too, brings together the crème da la crème of British comic talent, is spearheaded with American director John Landis. It all seems such a quaint and cosy relationship, that is, until the irony of its comic talents' being stretched to their limits to the point of an overbearing dull script that bears no content and meaning to the qualities of its cast. A script that having tipped over the precipice into the void of tumbleweed silence that is only projected with puerile gag after puerile gag.
It seems the progression of both writers Piers Ashworth and Nick Moorcroft, having both penned the St. Trinian's legacies, have stepped sideways rather than forward.
It may have its, few, moments of laugh-out-loud hilarities, but the tragic script has the film looking more redundant and childlike as the film goes on. It's more pantomime-silly, something the British excel when it comes to comedy, a change of direction perhaps? Rather than dark humoured wit. With the combination of British writers, actors etc and the American director it really does look like the overall production may have been lost in translation. With Mr. Landis's past works, in contrast, this effort is simply an embarrassing nail in the coffin of wasted opportunities. The jokes, gags, humour just does not gel into place to form any fluid coherent form.
In this lost land of weak and forgetful writing, we may also be witnessing Mr. Pegg's weakest and lowest point in his career, simply dire and if at times too uncomfortable to behold, we have not seen Mr. Pegg, here, at his best. While on the other hand, we are also witness to one of the most misplaced, miscast crimes of the century, and this being the role of Ronnie Corbett as one Captain McLintock. This is, again, pure undiluted and ridiculous pantomime theatrics.
The whole exercise seems patchy. At an individual level, the prime of British comedy here is more than exemplary, such as Bill Bailey, the great Ronnie Corbett, Tim Curry, Simon Pegg, Andy Serkis and Reece Shearsmith for example, British comedy spanning decades. I truly believe that here, with Burke and Hare, a true opportunity has been lost in the smog of a high-octane director and its eagerness to exploit this Englishness. The rain has comedown too early and the colours have run into the gutter before one had the chance to truly explore the vast picture of experience of this great British elite.
It seems the progression of both writers Piers Ashworth and Nick Moorcroft, having both penned the St. Trinian's legacies, have stepped sideways rather than forward.
It may have its, few, moments of laugh-out-loud hilarities, but the tragic script has the film looking more redundant and childlike as the film goes on. It's more pantomime-silly, something the British excel when it comes to comedy, a change of direction perhaps? Rather than dark humoured wit. With the combination of British writers, actors etc and the American director it really does look like the overall production may have been lost in translation. With Mr. Landis's past works, in contrast, this effort is simply an embarrassing nail in the coffin of wasted opportunities. The jokes, gags, humour just does not gel into place to form any fluid coherent form.
In this lost land of weak and forgetful writing, we may also be witnessing Mr. Pegg's weakest and lowest point in his career, simply dire and if at times too uncomfortable to behold, we have not seen Mr. Pegg, here, at his best. While on the other hand, we are also witness to one of the most misplaced, miscast crimes of the century, and this being the role of Ronnie Corbett as one Captain McLintock. This is, again, pure undiluted and ridiculous pantomime theatrics.
The whole exercise seems patchy. At an individual level, the prime of British comedy here is more than exemplary, such as Bill Bailey, the great Ronnie Corbett, Tim Curry, Simon Pegg, Andy Serkis and Reece Shearsmith for example, British comedy spanning decades. I truly believe that here, with Burke and Hare, a true opportunity has been lost in the smog of a high-octane director and its eagerness to exploit this Englishness. The rain has comedown too early and the colours have run into the gutter before one had the chance to truly explore the vast picture of experience of this great British elite.