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UK 1999
Reviewed by Philip Kemp
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
London, the present. Jonny talks his childhood friend Jude into asking his uncle, North London crime boss Ray Kreed, to take Jonny on as a probationary gang member. Jonny works a scam on stolen credit cards. When a shopkeeper's suspicion of the cards leads to violence, Jonny saves the situation by taking the store's security videotape. Ray makes him a full-time member.
Jonny and Jude visit a pub where the game machine supplied by Ray's gang has been replaced by one owned by Ray's South London rival Sean. They smash the machine and pay Sean a visit. Sean condescendingly apologises. Jude and Jonny overhear Sean's henchmen, Mathew and Trevor, discussing a cocaine stash hidden in the boot of a car. Jonny, who dislikes Mathew, vandalises the car and persuades Jude that they should steal the drugs.
Ray, knowing nothing of the theft, sends two henchmen, Bill and Fat Alan, to placate Sean. Sean has the pair beaten up. The two gangs meet on neutral ground to make peace, but Jonny sparks off a gun battle; he later tries to shoot Mathew. At Ray's wedding, Mathew shoots dead one of Ray's gang. Months later Jonny is invited to a party, where he's confronted by Ray and Sean - and Mathew, who shoots him dead. Ray then kills Mathew.
The competition is hotting up. Already this year has given us Fast Food and Rancid Aluminium. Now comes Love, Honour & Obey, another strong contender for the Worst Britflick of the Year. Michael Winner should look to his laurels.
Love, Honour & Obey comes with an impressive pedigree. It was written, produced and directed by Dominic Anciano and Ray Burdis, who also treat themselves to a couple of self-indulgent supporting roles. The same credits graced last year's Final Cut, in which a group of prominent British actors, including Ray Winstone, Jude Law and Sadie Frost, appeared playing characters with their own names and inflicted grievous damage on their careers. Against all reason they've now returned for more of the same, joined this time by Jonny Lee Miller, Sean Pertwee, Kathy Burke and the increasingly egregious Rhys Ifans.
The formula hasn't changed much from last time: lots of chortling violence, blokeish sex jokes and performances that mistake shouting for comedy. Production values are minimal to the point of invisibility. Interior sets look like a cheap job lot from one of the more cramped television soaps, while exteriors are mostly shot on street corners and parking lots where traffic noise all but drowns out the dialogue. Not that this is any great loss: Jonny's taunt at Mathew (played by the Welsh actor Ifans), "Sorry, Taff - didn't mean to make you feel sheepish," is about as witty as the script gets. The level of humour turns dire in the running subplot involving Anciano and Burdis' own characters as a pair of bouncers, the latter afflicted with impotence. Anciano, encouraging his girlfriend to demonstrate fellatio on a cucumber: "There! Isn't that a peach?" Burdis: "No, it's a fucking cucumber."
But the most cringe-inducing moments in Love, Honour & Obey come when the film gropes clumsily towards effects well beyond its reach, such as irony. A scene of heavy-handed torture played out off-screen against a video of children's games may even have been conceived as a nod to The Godfather (1972). Jonny's remark, "It's just like watching a gangster film... you know the woman's going to fuck it up in the end," was presumably seen as a clever touch of Scream-style postmodernism and not just naked misogyny. Amazingly, this wretched production was financed by the BBC, which must count as the worst use of licence-payers' money since John Birt's severance package.