The Lives of the Saints

Don't be fooled by the title of this film - there are far more sinners than saints in it. What happens when you go out for a jog and stumble across a bundle of humanity, thinking at first that it is a drunkard in the gutter, but you then discover that it is a small, angelic looking child? Not only are you surprised by this find, but what subsequently happens when this little beautiful boy appears to have supernatural powers and can change your life according to your will? The possibilities are endless and this film explores some of the enduring themes which have haunted and perplexed mankind since the beginning.

If you like the ancient urban myth of "The Monkey's Paw" you will find much of interest in "The Lives". Be prepared to be taken on a series of personal and emotional journeys, with unexpected results.

Next time you wish for something, be careful. Be very careful indeed.

Local gangsters stumble across a foundling boy and believe that he can confer good luck on whoever "possesses" him. However, the presence of the foundling unearths various deep seated divisions between people and amplifies them, with startling and tragic consequences.

Othello, the stepson of small-scale villain Mr. Karva, wants to step out from his stepfather's shadow and claim his own destiny. He believes that, with a little success, he can jettison certain relationships and seek out new ones, which will be more suitable (in his eyes) to his new station in life. Othello's girlfriend is a local prostitute who specialises in hand relief. She lost her childhood innocence and now yearns for a better, cleaner life, with different values to those of the gangsters. Othello's sidekick, a callow youth who is always in Othello's wake, wants to prove himself in his own right. Mr. Karva is not really as hard as he portrays himself, but he is frightened that others will consider him weak, so he poses as a tough nut in order to gain respect. Stepfather and stepson are very small fish in a very small pond, but both think that they are sharks.

The action takes place in a relatively small decaying urban area. The film captures the character of the neighbourhood perfectly. Interior and exterior shots accurately depict the unwholesome, incestuous, stifling atmosphere of a closed inner city ethnic community, portraying very effectively a low level, low life, parochial localised gang and their contacts, making the film a contemporary example of British realism at its best. The casting is faultless, with the child who plays the foundling as the paradigm.

This film continues the rich heritage of mob films beginning with "Get Carter", followed by "The Long Good Friday", then "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels", "Snatch" and more recently "The 51st State". There is homage to "Reservoir Dogs", but this is not simply a reworking of the genre; it is more a blending of the earthy gangster movie with "The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser", "The Rocking Horse Winner" and "My Beautiful Launderette". It explores various enduring themes of human conduct including betrayal, guilt, kinship, lost chances, self delusion, ambition, greed, hatred and lost innocence.

Complex relationships are developed and examined. There are scenes of violence and of compassion. The climax is tense and taut. These are the mean and sometimes comical streets of London. Geoffrey Chaucer would be proud to include "The Lives of the Saints" as his final Canterbury Tale.

Well, usually I give a plot outline in this section, but considering the fact that I didn't know myself what the hell was going on myself, I'll try to be as concise as possible. A group of losers find an abandoned child, who can help them predict results while gambling, thus making them a lot of money. The local Russian(?) gangster doesn't like this (more on him later) and tries to get the little blighter. Then we have a stupid cafe worker who suddenly decides an old drunk she meets is her son, a priest who dances in his church when he is all alone, A black guy called Roadrunner(!) who.. runs everywhere and.. ARRGH I GIVE UP!!

Populated exclusively be people with stupid accents and with one of the most incoherent stories I have ever seen, it is unbelievable that this film ever got made. All throughout I was thinking to myself: What was the point in THAT scene? Why am I watching these boring people? Why is this such pretentious drivel? What's with the portentous narration? In the end I just gave up and started to play Literati on the Internet, leaving the film on so I could write this review having claimed I had watched it.. but my God, it was painful just to LISTEN to it. Repeat this film on a loop in Guantanamo bay, and I guarantee you'll be up to your neck in radical Muslims making confessions, whether they're guilty or not.

I must give a special mention to the obese gentleman who plays the foreign Ruskie mobster. Simply put, the delivers the WORST performance I have ever seen in the thousands of films I have watched. That ain't hyperbole. To look at him is to hate him. To hear him is to hate him. Heck, even his tan is fake. I sincerely hope that if he ever decides to act again, someone close to him will politely but firmly remind him what a fool he made of himself here and tell him to forget it. If he still won't listen to reason, drug him. Lock him up. Break his legs if needs be, but don't let him anywhere near a camera again. Please.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot.. What a terrible, terrible movie. 0/10

As a photographer myself, but don't find the aura of Rankin to be beguiling at all, I was almost hoping that this was a failure, that it was as bad as most reviews make it out to be.

Direction-wise, it is very ordinary, indeed. No 'special eye'; just pointing the camera in the right direction at the right time. But, I like a challenge, I like a difficult movie and I'll give Brit flicks an extra effort, so I watched this with an open mind.

Yes, James Cosmo as gangster Karva is a difficult fella to like and I can't work out if he's being himself or is indeed, acting. Either way, he's either overacting or an extremely overexcited, maybe unstable individual. David Leon, as the Runner at least adds some semblance of decency until the movie descends into Tarantino territory, in a torture scene. Then it goes back into a Cockney 'Shameless' zone, as the wide- eyed 'saint/angel' or whatever "it" is goes from speechless orphan to fortune teller and caster of wishes in a nano-second - and miracle of all miracles, everybody knows this, without the child seemingly having said anything.

Unfortunately, The Lives Of...has the narrative consistency of school- dinner custard as it jumps about like a frog in a blender and basically one's faith in it diminishes as all credibility crashes.

The script wants to be big and clever but isn't, it's just shouty and aggressive. As the religious bits kicked in, I was not relishing the afore-warned appearance of Marc Warren, who is, to my mind a greatly overrated actor, who always manages to rub me up the wrong way. That's a personal thing, of course and shouldn't affect my view of the film itself, but it does.

At this point, during a scene in church, where a man burps and then plugs from a large bottle of vodka, I did a rare thing - and switched it off. A waste of everybody's time, especially mine. I saw it on BBC2

Without question, the worst film I've seen for a long while. I endured to the end because surely there must be something here, but no. The plot, when not dealing in clichés, rambles to the point of non-existence; dialogue that is supposed to be street is simply hackneyed; characters never develop beyond sketches; set-pieces are clichéd. Worse, considering its co-director, the photography is only so-so.

Comments elsewhere that elevate this alongside Get Carter, Long Good Friday or Kaspar Hauser are way way off the mark; Lives of the Saints lacks their innovation let alone their depth and shading. In short, their craft. A ruthless editor could probably trim it down to a decent 30-minute short, but as it stands it's a 6th form film project realised on a million-pound scale; rambling and bloated with its own pretensions. That it received funding (surely only because of Rankin's name) while other small films struggle for cash is depressing for the British film industry.