Degeneracy has never looked as sorrowful as James McAvoy, screaming, crying and berating his way through a comfortably unnerving hour and a half, adapting the words of Irvine Welsh with director Jon S. Baird. Filth is just that. Utter smut. It is vile and depraved in ways only Welsh could conjure. Trainspotting might be a delve into the heroin scene, but it is the acceptance of decadence there that makes it less shocking. When the long arm of the law is dabbling in the crimes that they are meant to crack down on, all under the guise of catchy and obnoxious taglines, the same rules mentality and the care-free attitude of a proud Scotsman hating his fellow man, it becomes a melting point of vagrancy and a sincere turn of how forgiving an audience can be.
Knock-on effects of rather primal and thoughtless decisions are the bread and butter of happenstance writing. It gives the author scope to work with the unbelievable. How can a series of severe and strikingly different events piece together naturally? Well, if they are in as close a proximity as the circumstances those characters in Intermission find themselves in, they were bound to overlap at some point. Speaking of such proximity, we are intimately involved with just about every character that shows up in this Irish ensemble from director John Crowley. Not just in the sense that we turn over their affairs and deeply held secrets, but, quite literally, are often in their face.
As controversial as it may be to not hold Trainspotting in astronomically high acclaim, I find myself in a minority that believes the sixteen-year wait between first and second movie was not only worth it, but also that the length of time between these two films led to a sequel that was stronger than the original product. Returning to the life of Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) as he takes a nostalgic trip through Scotland, reminiscing, encountering and rekindling relationships with former friends and family, T2 Trainspotting is a bittersweet culmination to many stories of Irvine Welsh.