For much of the film, you'd be forgiven for thinking it was set during 1996, just as Britpop reared its head, and Loaded magazine convinced everyone that drinking beer until you puke over some woman's breasts was the thing to do of a weeknight. It stinks of lad-culture bullshit, and it is transparently an attempt to sell something to foreign markets who are tired of cockney gangsters and comedies about Hugh Grant stutters and then messes up, but it's alright cause he gets a fuck in the end.
The soundtrack that screams "I'm cool as a motherfucker, honest!", the ever-so-gritty dialogue, the laughable stereotypes; it'd make a motherfucker split a side or two if the whole thing wasn't so reprehensible.
And if you thought Tarantino had sticky fingers, then Nick Love's got a surprise up his sleeve, by which I mean he steals every iconic scene he can think of from the kinds of films which do so effortlessly what he spends an hour and a half fucking up dramatically.
There's the aforementioned intro monologue what wants to be Trainspotting, there's the line-up shot for the titles like the posters for Trainspotting, there's the scene in the bar that plays virtually word for word, the "Do I amuse you?" scene from Goodfellas (itself based on a popular frozen pizza).
Then there are the hilarious slow-motion fight scenes that look like something out of a 1990-vintage Happy Mondays video, except at least the Happy Mondays had good tunes. There's the assault to the fellas in the parked car skit from Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Snatches, there's even a scene in a hospital that is nigh-on identical to the final scene in Harry Potter And The Philosophers Stone, when wise old Dumbledore tells young Harry about "What's going on". And then there's the finale, ripped frame from frame from that other Yob Classic, American History X.
At least Tony Kaye's film tried to approach the material from a different perspective, tried to grant an ounce of humanity to these misguided cretins. The Football Factory tries this too, but for Love, giving a bit of depth to the young lead just means having folks say "Tommy, is it really worth it?" and "D'you think it's all worth it" and then a bit about "Tell me, is it worth it?" You half expect him to walk past a billboard with "IS IT REALLY WORTH IT" written on it, and then, honest to God, he does.
There is one genuinely brilliant scene though, one that serves to illustrate how good this could have been, if it wasn't as one-dimensional and empty-skulled as its protagonists. Going for a piss in the public toilets, or "lav's" as you might call them, were you to be a Football Hooligan From London, Tommy is cornered by a group who are looking for him, but don't know what he looks like. It's tense as blazes is what, but then, thank heavens, it's over, and more slow-motion, awful-dialogue-riddled bollocks ensues.
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