Yesterday I saw The Trip. Currently on a brief sejour to Paris, I have been taking advantage of the city’s vast array of independent cinemas. This film I saw in the marvelous Pagode, whose fascinating architectural design and beautiful lush tea garden is matched by the most luxurious theatre inside, dripping with gold embellishments and chandeliers, with eagles watching overhead. I sunk into a plush red velvet chair and gawked in wonderment. However would I concentrate on the main feature?
I had reservations about The Trip. I had enjoyed the television series but was surprised to see adverts appear for it in film format. The series, (a collection of restaurant reviews in the north of England) was particularly special because of the style with which Michael Winterbottom pieced together proceedings. The seemingly unadulterated conversations which comedy duo Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play out, reverberate throughout the film and penetrate their hilarious antics, leaving a trail of questions on the cult of the celebrity.
In many ways it was exactly what I expected it to be; a little rushed, missing rambling detail from the series. However, the comedy carried it through, leaving the audience roaring with laughter.* Interestingly, the majority of the humour was orientated around accent in-jokes, which begs the question on what extent the range of nationalities present understood the goings-on.
But anyway, another day, another film.