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Swing
*
Rated on a 4-star
scale
UK
Directed by Nick Mead
Written by Nick Mead
From a story by Su Lim and Nick Mead
CAST.....
Hugo Speer..... Martin Luxton
Lisa Stansfield..... Joan
Clarence Clemons..... Jack
Paul Usher..... Liam
Scott Williams..... Buddy
James Hicks..... Oi
Alexei Sayle..... Mighty Mac
If movies could take IQ tests, Nick Mead's
"Swing" would get minus-points. Incompetent, overlong and
pointless, it's the only film I've seen that thinks a keyboard is a brass
instrument. I'm sickened by the knowledge that it was filmed right here,
in our great city of Liverpool, and some wonderful 70s furniture was wasted
in creating its sets.
Of course, there isn't much reason for the movie
to be set in Liverpool, and it isn't even set in the 70s. The latter factor
doesn't bother me much, since the bits of dated decor were nice to look at,
and the double-decade regression in fashions mirrors the arrested development
of the characters. They're morons, plainly and simply, speaking their nonsensical
dialogue like forced zombies, except for the odd cliché, like "I want
you to have this..." or "You didn't think I'd wait for you forever, did
you?"
The film exists in no genre known to man, with
not enough jokes to be a comedy, plot to be a drama or romance to be a love
story. Its situation involves Martin Luxton (Hugo Speer), who's getting out
of jail as the film opens, and being given a saxophone by cellmate Jack (Clarence
Clemons). Martin decides to form a swing band, and as he informs the
neighbourhood, we meet his circle of family and friends. His mother and father,
the ones with the 70s furniture, are unfathomable; his brother Liam, who
develops a mean streak in the last act, had an accidental hand in getting
Martin locked up; the love of his life, Joan (Lisa Stansfield), has married
his odd arresting officer; and a lively neighbourhood kid, Buddy (Scott
Williams), has developed the despicable dream of wanting to play for Manchester
United.
You'd think Martin would despair around this bunch
of losers, like I did, but he keeps his dream alive, sporting a simpleton's
smarmy grin and the kind of confidence that nobody as stupid as him should
have. In its assortment of cretinous oafs, "Swing" contains an impotent sadist
cop, a twitchy British Nationalist, fat Orangemen thugs -- but bewilderingly
glosses over them, insisting to exist as silly fluff. I don't know why the
filmmakers think sexual inadequacy, racism or any of the other issues beneath
their characters' surfaces can be ignored, but they can't, and their inclusion
is distracting when not dealt with.
The interesting Clarence Clemons is criminally
underused, appearing mostly in odd cutaways, to recite some "how to" formulas.
Hugo Speer, overused, doesn't bring the presence to Martin that a lead role
requires, and made more of an impression with his less substantial turn in
"The Full Monty". Lisa Stansfield, a successful singer early in this decade,
carries herself appropriately, but her performance is marred by a sound mixer
who hates her, and synchs her speaking voice in a strange manner. Most of
the exterior scenes, in fact, see all the actors' voices lip-synched worse
than in Z-grade monster movies, although the supporting performance of arrogant
comedian Alexei Sayle gives all flaws a run for their money in the ridiculousness
department.
There are, inevitably, some nice musical numbers,
but "Swing" has virtually nothing else going for it. I'm tempted to give
it my lowest rating of half a star, but it gets a whole one, since the feeling
it left me with was not one of passionate hatred. I simply didn't
care.
COPYRIGHT© 1999 Ian
Waldron-Mantgani
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