Trainspotting Review

Choose life. Easy enough, expanded on from the brief entry it receives in the Irvine Welsh novel of the same name, but Trainspotting makes that “choose life” slogan a choice. Part of the cultural revolution that followed came from smart marketing, material choices of artists new and old littering the soundtrack, and a broad range of talents that had not quite been tapped of their full worth just yet. Ewan McGregor stars in what will likely always be one of those grand, legacy-defining performances. He is forever tied to Renton and the ambition displayed in such a character. People go to the great depths of hell when they cannot escape their own horrors, and the colloquial nightmare of drugs littering the streets of Scotland is key enough to that.

There is that surge of adrenalin experienced in Trainspotting, a piece that holds a little more of a narrative streamline than that of the book. Omissions here or there, characters pieced together or smashed into one another, Tommy (Kevin McKidd), for instance. What it means for Danny Boyle and his incredible range of detail in the streets of heroin-heavy Scotland are vignette-like approaches that adapt the scum undercutting Welsh’s book, but centralising on that real drive for change. Renton might be as bad as it gets for junkies, but there is, clear as ever throughout this film, the identity of his worth as a person and how much more he can do for himself and those around him. Detailing that by contrasting him with the likes of Begbie (Robert Carlyle), Spud (Ewen Bremner) and Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller) is crucial, and perfectly rounded.

Much of that messaging, the understanding that to move on to the next stage of life is to cut ties and lose a few friends along the way, is handled with sincere care. It was the core of the book, and for Trainspotting to mark itself as a genuine success in handling the concepts of the book, it must do the same. That it does. Boyle works swiftly behind the camera to create some horribly dingy, very simplified areas. Empty pubs that are not just empty of patrons but of character, life and spirit. Everything is run down in that post-Conservative, urban styling. Everything is just a bit grimier, and that change of pace incites a sincerity, a genuine, passionate rage against the system that is keeping those under the thumb of drug abuse and those in the pocket of maniacs, colloquial woes and the inability to move on. Doing so is crucial for the survival of the self. Fly the nest, choose life.

Culturally essential for the United Kingdom at the time of release, Trainspotting now serves as a time capsule for a generation nostalgic for a music, culture and filmmaking scene they were born a few years after. It’s heyday the afterglow, its fans content with looking back with steadfast intrigue. But that inherent message, of ditching your friends for the sake of self-comfort when the choice is there to make, is still as important now as it was back then. To do so is a gutsy move, an inarticulate choice. It is a feeling more than anything. Trainspotting is keen to observe that people grow up, and move on from one another, but the fleeting reality and the close-knit community make it impossible to truly up sticks and make a runner for a new, opportune life unless those ties are severed completely. Trainspotting showcases that with a wry charm, a Pulp-clad soundtrack and a quality bit of direction.