Shallow Grave

Oh what a treat! An evening dedicated to Danny Boyle as part of the “15 British Films” cycle on Film 4! Yes, last night I added two others notches on my bedpost, with “Slumdog Millionaire” and “Shallow Grave”. I shall concentrate on the latter here.

Shallow Grave is a crime thriller inscribed in Boyle’s proud lineage of goofy-crime-thrillers-gone-wrong-with-Ewan-McGregor. In this series I obviously place A Life Less Ordinary (see earlier review), but also Trainspotting for its final psychological battle around the archetypal suitcase full of cash. In fact the three movies can almost form a trilogy, directed as they were in succession during the 1990s.

As usual for Boyle, the characters in Shallow Grave are awesome. What else is there to say about Ewan McGregor? But the main female character is again a stroke of genius. Kerry Fox’s charms can not be hidden for long beneath her desperate Lady-di haircut, impossible collection of patterned cardigans, and totally un-hollywoodian curviness. Like Cameron Diaz in the later A Life Less Ordinary, Fox oozes magnetic sensuality and perversity, her expressive mouth as if made for loving, and yes fellas, we do get a gratuitous shot of her plump breasts – but I digress…

To have a story, you need to make the characters interact. Throwing them together as housemates is one such devices, that can feel totally artificial in lesser chick-flicks like Catch and Release (why on earth would a newly widowed posh girl move in with her late fiance’s batchelor flatmates?). In Shallow Grave, the characters’ incidental relationships and their environment are exploited to their full potential, from the first lengthy exposition of the “interview” of new prospective tenants, to intimist, nearly theatre-like psychological developments, to horror at the mercy of the shy accountant turned voyeurist stalker entrenched in the loft.

The exposition part of the movie, the interview, is not only perfect to establish the characters, but also gorgeous, placing a cast of misfits auditioning for the coveted housematedom on an absurdly grand couch in the shabby chic apartment. Does it matter what colours the doors are painted or what cardigans Fox wears? Yes, because Boyle is a total filmmaker, a master of his art, in all its visual, musical, cinematic, photographic aspects. Everything matters, every scene, every chiselled diamond-like shot, every great song of his soundtracks which are classics in their own right.

Shallow Grave has been compared to Hitchcock’s films noirs. I see in it more the ultraviolence of Stanley Kubrick in a Clockwork Orange, down to the name of the main character, Alex. Do I dare saying that I prefer Danny Boyle to Kubrick? Well, every scene of Boyle’s films fills me with awe and glee, and I just want to watch them again. Not next year, or next month, but tomorrow.