In times of social and economic crisis, we tend to turn to speculative fiction. There’s an explosion in the sales of sci-fi and fantasy; we’re desperate to escape from our realities.
In times of social and economic crisis, we tend to turn to speculative
fiction. There’s an explosion in
the sales of sci-fi and fantasy; we’re desperate to escape from our realities. And if the world we’re escaping to is
worse than the world we’re living in, so much the better. Nothing peps up your day like a bit of
The post-war years, with their political upheaval and their looming
spectre of nuclear war, saw an explosion of what Brian Aldiss dubbed the ‘cosy
catastrophe,’ where, in books like The Death Of Grass and The Day Of
The Triffids writers like John Christopher and John Wyndham ensured that the world
ended not with a bang but with a whimper.
With the global economy in the toilet and various unwinnable wars being
fought on multiple fronts, Perfect Sense is the first of a wave of
apocalypse-themed dramas (Argentina’s Phase 7, Xavier Gens’ queasily
brilliant The Divide, Brad Pitt’s upcoming World War Z) to wash up on
British shores. In Perfect
Sense, David Mackenzie uses the tentative romance between brittle,
commitment-phobe Eva Green and cockish commitment-phobe Ewan McGregor and the
Glasgow-based onset of a global pandemic to ask some big, sophomoric questions
about life, love and what it means to be human.
Cool, driven Susan (Eva Green) is an epidemiologist at a Glasgow
hospital who has little time for cocky but charming playboy chef Michael (Ewan
McGregor) who works at the trendy restaurant across the alley from her
flat. She’s nursing a broken heart
and has no time for romance as a mystery illness sweeping the world has just
hit Glasgow. The first symptom is
an overwhelming feeling of grief followed by the loss of your sense of smell. Though why you’d automatically assume
people randomly bursting into tears in Glasgow is part of a disease and not
football-related is anyone’s guess?
So, after a hard day at the office, Susan allows herself to be seduced
by Michael’s cooking and the two spend an emotional night together and wake up
the next day minus their sense of smell.
While the authorities try to maintain calm and Susan and her team
investigate the illness, the world just gets on with it, adapting to the loss
of smell, Michael adding more and more spice and colour to his dishes,
shoehorned in street performer Anamaria Marinca coming up with a show based on
texture and memory. Then comes an
overwhelming sense of terror followed by an insatiable, bestial hunger turning
people into gluttons who’d eat anything from lipsticks to (in the case of
Mackenzie’s brother, former Monarch Of The Glen, Alastair) live lab
animals. Next comes an
uncontrollable violent rage and deafness.
As they lose their senses and the world slowly spirals towards anarchy,
Susan and Michael cling to each other.
When Glasgow was awarded the title European City of Culture back in
1990, many Glaswegians at the time joked that the rest of Western Europe
must’ve been wiped out in some sort of nuclear holocaust and that no-one got
around to telling us. It’s both
refreshing and ironic then that Glasgow seems to have become the location du
jour for the End of the World (Brad Pitt just finished shooting zombie
apocalypse World War Z there).
It’s also refreshing that Mackenzie’s film takes a quieter, more
thoughtful approach to the end reminiscent of films like Don McKellar’s Last
Night or the classic On The Beach rather than the can-do,
against all odds, heroics of the likes of Armageddon. It’s just unfortunate that the script
is so thumpingly obvious and, in common with most of Mackenie’s films (Young
Adam, Hallam Foe, Spread), that it revolves around such dislikable
One of the key requisites of any love story is that you should empathise
with the lovers, you should like them, you should want their love to
triumph. In short, you should give
a damn if they get together. While
an attractive pairing, Green and McGregor’s characters are thoroughly
dislikable. They’ve been cast to
type, playing versions of themselves they’ve played half a dozen times. She’s cold, aloof and frequently
naked. As she is in most things. He’s a bit of a knob and frequently
naked. As he is in most things. Despite their shared baths, frequent
nudity and shaving foam guzzling (don’t ask) there’s no real chemistry between
them, they don’t convince as a couple.
You just don’t care if they make it. And with humanity in the grip of a global pandemic you can’t
help but feel that Eva Green’s epidemiologist should maybe be, I don’t know,
TRYING TO FIND A CURE rather than boffing Ewan McGregor every chance she gets.
Pretentious and underwhelming, Mackenzie’s film is rather
ponderous. The scenes of society
breaking down, while effective, just look a little Glasgow after a midweek Old
Firm game and Mackenzie’s tendency to cut to events in Africa, India and Japan
feels unnecessary, serving not to underline the global significance of the
pandemic but to stop the film dead for a few minutes while we watch some Third
World villagers adapt better than the Developed World. Deep man. It’s like, they’ve got nothing but they’re so much wiser
than us. Yeah, right. The film strives for poignancy and
emotional resonance but bogs itself down in the kind of existential questions
only teenage poets and Danes find interesting (it was written by a Dane) and
could serve as a companion piece to von Trier’s Melancholia. While it’s more hopeful and upbeat than
von Trier’s gloomfest, and rallies itself for a life-affirming climax, Perfect
Sense is far from perfect. Yup,
I made that pun and I’m standing by it.