Starring: Andy Serkis, Naomie Harris, Olivia Williams, Bill Milner, Toby Jones
Directed by: Mat Whitecross
Certificate: 15
Runtime: 113 minutes
UK release date: 08 January 2010:
In a nutshell: Andy Serkis disappears in mold-breaking Ian Dury biopic.
There are a couple of ways to avoid death, declared Ian Dury, and one is to be magnificent. On that basis, and on this performance, Andy Serkis is immortal.
Having delivered so many great performances in the past - quite often under the cover of CGI (King King, Gollum) or a massive wig (24 Hour Party People) - Andy Serkis has been slowly turning himself into one of the UK's leading actors. After this portrayal of wild poet of punk Ian Dury, Serkis is so far ahead of the pack it's no longer a contest.
It's not that it's the best performance by a British actor that I can remember, it's one of the best performances I've ever seen, full stop. Having re-recorded the Ian Dury back catalogue with the original members of Dury's band, The Blockheads, Serkis vocally is indistinguishable from Dury. Even Chaz Jankel, Dury's long time collaborator, couldn't always tell them apart.
But this is no mere impersonation. This is a brilliant portrayal of one of music's most interesting, charming, and frequently unpleasant, characters.
The film takes a scatter gun approach to Dury's eccentric existence, from the early days of his first band, Kilburn and the High Roads, to the latter stages of his career. It also doesn't shy away from the darker details of his life, from the childhood polio and days in a childrens home, to his fallings-out with those closest to him, including first wife Betty (Williams), long-term girlfriend Denise (Harris), members of the band and, particularly, his son Baxter (Milner).
"Flawed individual" doesn't come close to covering Dury's character: while he could be sweet and tender with the soul of a poet, he could also be a cantankerous old sod with a self-destruct button the size of London. Serkis, Viragh and Whitecross - with the support of Dury's family - wade heartily into this unpleasant side: the result is a biopic that leaves you feeling you've actually got closer to its subject.
Whitecross plays around with structure, celebrating Dury the artist and poet with visual abandon. It's essentially the sort of creativity you expected Sam Taylor-Wood to try with the pedestrian Nowhere Boy only to be disappointed. You can only imagine what that film might have been like with this sort of dazzling flair and energy. And, of course, a central performance that didn't make Lennon look like he was made of oak.
Mind you, nobody can compete with Serkis in this form. It's a stellar performance and one that MUST be rewarded with every possible acting gong available. He won't win the Oscar - I doubt Dury's witty word play and Essex English made much impact that side of the Atlantic - but if BAFTA don't throw little statues at him, there is no justice. He, and the film, are simply brilliant.
