Dead Babies

'Dead Babies' is perhaps of the shallowest of Martin Amis's novels: a vicious satirical attack on the smart set in 1970s London: wealthy, fashionable, drug-addled, and paranoid, it follows them through a desperate and debauched weekend. The book's tone is flippant, with the strong implication that the characters don't actually deserve any treatment more reverent; while the novel justifies its own existence through the outrageous comedy of its hyperbolic prose. But hyperbolic prose, and drug-fuelled hysteria, are two things hard to capture in film (think Terry Gilliam's disastrous adaptation of 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, for example). In his film of 'Dead Babies', director William Marsh uses the imagery of the modern video game, or pop video (something by the Progidy, perhaps, although this idea is maybe brought to mind merely by the presence of a grotesque character called Keith). This technique is less anachronistic than it might seem, as the setting is also updated to the present day, but unfortunately it's also familiar, and dull, in a way that the book's original prose never was: a collection of gross-out images set to techno. In places, flashes of Amis's humour shine through, but elsewhere the film seems amateurish. Amis's novels have always had a self-awareness that allows their author to get away with excesses that would otherwise be inexcusable; but this movie lacks the faint hint of self-mockery that help redeem the book. Finally, I haven't read the book for ages, but unless my memory is playing tricks on me, the ending was somewhat different the one we get in the film, which is also excessive, but futilely stupid in a way that the original writing never was.

I remain a big fan of Martin Amis, and I suspect that some (but not all) of his other books might potentially make more successful films than this one. But the path to adaptation is strewn with peril. In the case of 'Dead Babies', something is definitely lost in translation.

I am a great fan of Martin Amis, on whose book this film is based. Unfortunately the director has been unable to translate the book to the screen. The novel is thoroughly post modern and highly artificial in its wildly overblown characters and the disintegration of traditional plot line and character development. It is an hilarious examination of human greed, excess and emptiness by one of the most moral of contemporary British writers. The director of the film has completely missed the point of the novel. In his hands, the film screams along at breakneck speed, indulging in every known trick shot and 'odd' camera angle possible. It is like Ken Russel on acid, and suffers from that older director's self indulgence cranked up to a hundred. Not even the (brief) glimpse of gorgeous actor Christian Solimeno's penis was enough to save this wretched film for me. Abysmal!

It would be true to say that William Marsh's directorial debut pulls no punches. In fact shock tactics are deliberately played right from the word go. One of the first shots is of the alcoholic Giles' bloody teeth falling out one by one. From here on in the audience is left with little doubt that we're in for a bumpy ride. However, we end up being bombarded with so many scenes of drugs, violence, nudity and general depravity that one soon develops an immunity.

The plot centers around one hedonistic weekend where a bunch of directionless English graduates who inhabit a country mansion, are visited by three American friends (one of whom is played by Marsh himself) bent on supplying the perfect weekend of sex and drugs. It's kind of like watching a drugged-up version of Peter's Friends. The films' sub-plot involves a net based terrorist group known as The Conceptualists, who have somehow infiltrated the proceedings. It soon becomes clear that one of the revelers is not what they seem. However any intrigue, or indeed suspense, is dulled by our lack of empathy for the characters, who are either too larger-than-life to be believable or just totally un-likeable.

Dead Babies would no doubt like to be thought of in the same tradition as other drug fueled British cult classics such as Performance, Withnail and I, and Trainspotting. However, these films were far more character driven and weren't so heavily dependent on artificial means of stimulation.

A terrible storyline (Amis at his worst), pointless and self-conscious 'decadence', obvious shock tactics and patchy acting make this film (rather like "Rancid Aluminium") embody everything that went wrong with the much-vaunted British film revival. The humour is, at best, limp, and the pretentiousness of the whole set-up (including some kind of "internet terrorist group" - ooh, how contemporary) really begins to grate.

Final summary - a half-baked attempt to be 'edgy' that does no-one any favours. Still, it's always a pleasure to see Katy Carmichael on screen...

Having been an avid Martin Amis fan for many years I was understandably excited when this film came out. Although I never caught it at the cinema, indeed, I didn't know it existed until it was on television two or so years ago.

The most important aspects of a film adaptation are present: the characters stayed true to those in the book, no vital points were missed out and the director took the same perspective on life and the book as Amis did.

If the Marquis de Sade were to crash one of P. G. Wodehouse's house parties, the chaos might resemble the nightmarishly funny goings-on in this film. The residents of Appleseed Rectory have primed themselves both for a visit from a triad of Americans and a weekend of copious drug taking and sexual gymnastics. There's even a heifer to be slugged. But none of these variously bright and dull young things has counted on the intrusion of "dead babies". Or on the uninvited presence of a mysterious prankster named Johnny, whose sinister idea of fun makes theirs look like a game of backgammon

I fear the author of the previous review assumed that this film would be a cheap horror, as I'm sure many people have owing to the somewhat dubious title. However, the term 'dead babies' was used in the book to mean 'dreary spasms of reality', the unpleasant facts of life that invariably must be dealt with sooner or later, and thus I can use this review as a platform to ward away hammer horror fans.

Instead rent or buy this movie if you want an ingenious dark comedy with a kick. I loved it!