BLACKBALL Dir: Mel Smith. Starring: Paul Kaye, James Cromwell, Alice Evans, Bernard Cribbins, Johnny Vegas, Vince Vaughn. Every time I become optimistic about British cinema, something like Blackball comes along to show that we can do mediocre just as well as anyone else. Lawless Heart and 28 Days Later last year proved that we could do intelligent, innovative and un-predictable films and not just rom coms or period pics, and advance word on this year’s Love Actually suggests it could turn out to be one of the finest films yet made on this isle. But Blackball? Blackball is the most tedious and banal of comedies. And mostly painful throughout.

Lacking any originality (the story isn’t even a flight of fancy, but one based on a true story) this is basically Rocky set on a bowling green, and with jokes which revolve around profanity and toilet humour. Kaye plays Cliff Starkey, a local Torquay lad from the wrong side of the tracks but with a love of bowls which is supposed to redeem his weaker points – like his inability to say anything funny, ever. After winning a local tournament, but then being banned from playing again, the local press pick up on the story, and soon an agent appears on the scene with promises of fame and fortune and it’s not long before Starkey is in the England Bowls team. I would go on, but well, it’s all so predictable that I’m sure you can guess how it all ends anyhow. Paul Kaye’s uncharismatic and frustratingly egotistical lead is one of the biggest problem’s the movie has. He’s self obsessed and annoying from the beginning, and as his transition from local yob to the bad boy of bowls sees his character becoming even more unlikeable, you’ll find yourself praying for time when he’s not onscreen, but alas this rarely happens. But it’s the lack of any originality in the story, and humour in the script, that makes it such a tiresome affair. Perhaps I’m being unfair, because Blackball isn’t particularly hideous in any way, there are a fair few jokes which will make you smile if not laugh (Kaye coming on to the bowling green whilst a brass band plays the theme from Rocky being the best of these), and Johnny Vegas and James Cromwell make the best of severely underwritten roles. Mel Smith moves proceedings along at a decent pace too, and even manages to make the game look fairly interesting at times. But what annoys the most is that it could have been so much better. There was real potential here considering the cast, which includes some real heavyweight talent, as well as a fair few cameo’s from comedians you’ll think you know but can’t quite place (Oh, and yes, that is former Whose Line Is It Anyway stalwart Tony Slattery as the referee at the end. And we thought he was dead too). But no. It’s by the numbers nonsense, and at times you’ll really be considering walking out of the cinema, or at the least getting a little sleep. Blackball was written by Tim Firth, who’s also behind Calendar Girls which was released this week too, and it’s a sad state of affairs where such scripts can get funding when they’re so trivial and mundane matters, whilst mavericks like Danny Boyle struggle at times (well, post The Beach anyhow) to get funding for movies. So don’t go and see this, and maybe someone will finally get the message that the British cinema going public demand far more than such monotonous nonsense like this. Alex Finch. Click here to discuss Blackball on our film forum.

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