Royal dazzler
Deborah Ross The Last King of Scotland 15, Nationwide Tfilm will knock your little socks I off. In fact, it knocked my own little socks off so comprehensively that I'm still searching for them. I think it may have even knocked them to Sheffield. But you mustn't care about the socks. Socks are only socks and you've got others, I bet. And the fact is: you must, must see this film This may even be one of the best films I have ever seen. It does everything right, has everything: terrific story; terrific script; terrific performances that may even be beyond terrific. (Forest Whitaker is simply breathtaking; a force of nature; staggering). Plus, it also contains what must be the mightiest, most stupendous fart in cinema history. And that in itself is worth the loss of a pair of socks, surely.
The Last King of Scotland is an 'inspired by true events' tale about a young Scottish doctor, Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy), who travels to Uganda in the early Seventies to 'do good' with his medical degree but instead is lured into becoming Amin's (Whitaker's) personal physician and, then, 'closest adviser'. Well, it beats flipping burgers in McDonald's, I guess, except that it doesn't. Remember this and remember it well: if you ever have to choose between working with a genocidal, violently brutal maniac or flipping burgers, go for the burgers. If in doubt, read the small print really, really carefully.
The film begins with Garrigan in Scotland, just after he's qualified and is expected to embark on the dreary life his GP father has mapped out for him He has other ideas, though. He wants adventure. He wants excitement. So he opts for Uganda, chosen at random by spinning a globe and blindly stabbing it with his finger. Garrigan is not a bad person. But he does have all the most trying qualities not only of youth but also, perhaps, of the white man who wants to 'do good' in Africa. These qualities are ego, vanity, naivety and arrogance. He imagines he is doing good for others while actually only serving himself. Does it matter, though, if good is actually done? Not really, I suppose, but what if harm is done?
Garrigan works initially in a village clinic but is quickly dazzled by an encounter with Amin (who suffers a minor car accident nearby). He is dazzled by the dictator's flashy clothes and flashy limo and, later, his flashy state banquets and flashy mansion in Kampala. But mostly he is dazzled by Amin and you can understand why. Perfectly. Amin is a monster. And he is just a monster. As such, he is monstrously seductive and woos Garrigan . . . well . . . dazzlingly. But here's what I most want to say about Whitaker: he plays this monster as a man who still has to exist in the real world, even though he is a monster. Do you get what I'm saying? (Do I?) I think what I'm trying to say is that he makes Amin amusing and vulnerable and fun and capable of the most almighty, wallshaking farts while never allowing us to forget his murderous intensity and insanity. He plays Amin neither as a cardboard cut-out nor as a fully rounded human being. He plays him as a monster who has to have other attributes simply to get by on a day-to-day basis. Seriously, if Whitaker does not get the Oscar for this I will eat my hat (but not my socks, which are believed to be in Sheffield). This is, unquestionably, Whitaker's movie but I should add that McAvoy is excellent, too. The Garrigan character may be rather like the gingerbread man who accepts the fox's ride across stream and doesn't see what is truly going on until he is all but gobbled up. And McAvoy does confident, care-free optimism dissolving into abject horror quite wonderfully.
This is a seriously tip-top film, superbly directed by Kevin Macdonald (Touching the Void). There is light and dark, humour and brutality. The landscape is shown as both beautiful and treacherous. The early scenes, so full of colour and dance and music, leach as the story becomes more sombre. I'm sure this film will come in for some flack. It's Africa through a whiteman's eyes again. Garrigan's pain matters more than all the black people being slaughtered and mutilated around him Garrigan never takes responsibility for his own vanity and ignorance. The end is a bit of a cliché. But you know what? I just don't care. Cinematic experiences don't often get more powerful than this and that's what matters most to me. Go see it, I say. And sod the socks.
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