Nothing to do with the once good, now shit TV show of the same name. This is a film about a pair of amateur film makers who decide to investigate some myths surrounding a near-derelict housing estate in some anonymous area of Britain. Probably the south as many people seem to have RADA/Essex combo accents.
It starts off well, with Blair Witch style vox pop interviews with local folk before arriving at the estate and meeting some of the residents. They're a predictable bunch of poorly dressed, unwashed cliches, all of whom seem to be in cult-like thrall to a character named 'Aunty'. It turns out that Aunty is the world's least convincing tranny and keeps the residents of the estate under his control by supplying them with a highly addictive, very potent weed.
Because we all know that everyone on British council estates are grubby, workshy drug addicts with an unusual fondness for burly men in dresses. Apart from the majority, in real life, who are decent, frequently hard working people, unfortunate enough to be on the bottom of the social-economic ladder. I'm not going to spout off like some Guardian columnist bell-end and claim they're all saintly, social housing will always have a higher than average percentage of 'problem' people, but they're still in the minority of residents, and we're living in times when the government, press and opinion formers of this country are laying the blame for society's ills at the wrong end of the economic scale and punishing them unjustly for it.
What I'm basically saying is: fuck lazy stereotyping of poor people. It pisses me off, and it makes for lazy, unimaginative film writing.
So, to summarise the film: Starts well, turns shit, stays shit, ends.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2087720/
3.5/10
Bricks, doors and a word.
"Darling! I love what you've done with the place!"
Gazing upon Croydon, our heroes absorbed its beauty.
"Are you ready for me, Joel?"
Noel Fielding: wanker.
Perkin.
