L'étrange histoire d'Hubert

'Rat' is a charming, funny film that has been getting somewhat overpraised here because films from this country are generally inept, pretentious and/or cliched. 'Rat' is none of these things, and so is a cause for rejoicing, but to use epithets like 'Borgesian' seems inappropriate - the film has few of the philosophical resonances of true Borgesian films like 'Performance', 'The Spider's Strategem', 'Belle de Jour' or even 'Being John Malkovich', to which this film has been mostly compared. We are never shown what the transformation from human to rat has on Hubert's psyche; there are no questions about what it means to be human or its limits.

With the exception of a couple of point-of-view shots necessary to resolve the narrative, the film takes place entirely outside Hubert's experience, focusing instead on his family's reactions, so that it's almost irrelevant that he is a rat. This distances the film somewhat from another source, Kafka's 'Metamorphosis', although both share the emphasis on family reaction. Kafka's fable is a dramatisation of alienation, from identity, body, family, society, epoque even species.

Some eager critics of 'Rat' have seen it as an allegory of racism in latterday Ireland (and it is a very xenophobic society at present), but the links are tenuous - Hubert begins as a confirmed member of his society; any mocking of the family are just that, jibes at the family, just as you'll get in any society based on begrudgery or gossip (although, considering the near-sacred status of the Irish family not so long ago, this is pointed enough).

Before I go on to praise the film - and it is a film, for vision and audacity, that deserves much praise - I just want to mention one more flaw - Wesley Burrowes' excellent script is frequently let down by ponderous direction, which sometimes drags out the script's nimble wit in attempts to be 'deep'.

The thing that surprised me most about 'Rat' was not its modernity or intellectual sophistication, but its recreation of a certain Ireland that is only a generation old, and yet seems as remote as the Famine. It could be set in any time from the 40s to the early 70s - only the blurred clip from 'Eat the Peach' (mid-80s) and the Karaoke machine in the very last scene gives away the setting as any later (yeah, and maybe Marietta's bizarre tights). This is an Ireland mercifully free of mobile phones, go-getting yuppies and strategic planning - this is a world of Johnson Mooney and O'Brien delivery vans, quiet pints in quiet pubs, smelly bookies, young sons who want to be priests, priests who are psychotics and perform exorcisms with what appears to be bondage gear, neighbours trying to openly steal husbands, know-all brothers-in-law who know nothing.

What is modern about the film is the way it captures a particular social phenomenon. With the breaking of old social and religious ties in recent years, there has been a greater personal freedom never experienced in this country. With this liberty, though, has been an increase in selfishness, in general apathy towards anyone else, and the reaction to Hubert brilliantly shows this, the family worried about how it will affect THEM, what people will think of them. Their willingness to kill is chillingly plausible (and mirrors the icy piety of pro-lifers), and maybe this is where the anti-racism comes in, that we're not used to so much prosperity and happiness, that we are violently hostile to anyone who threatens to take it from us.

As an entertainment, 'Rat' is full of good things, the off-centre dialogue, the gloriously silly performances (Niall Toibin's parody of 'the Exorcist' is priceless), the arched-eyebrow situations. There are some lovely visual set-ups, the opening narration which moves from the hackneyed Romantic Irish landscape of American legend to a rat's eye view (on a boat!) of Dublin down the Liffey; the chase of Hubert as he escapes from a pub, finally upending a beer delivery truck; the second chase, the camera swooping back on a sprawling housing estate as chessboard.

The revelation for me, though, was the showbands on the soundtrack. For decades the word 'showband' has been an insult, its dominance during the reactionary era seen as collusive; now we all listen to tedious, serious rock or whatever. But the Brendan Bowyer song that closes the film is remarkable, as huge, celebratory, melancholy and musically exhilarating as early Scott Walker.

Rat

Hubert Flynn (Pete Postlethwaite) has had a hard day on his bread delivery round. and so, stops off for a pint on the way home to Kimmage – to wife Conchita (Imelda Staunton), daughter Marietta (Kerry Condon) and his saintly son Pius (Andrew Lovern). Inevitably one pint becomes a ‘few'. He's also under the weather. Daisy Farrell's (Veronica Duffy) expert diagnosis from the snug is Asiatic flu. Back home, with Conchita giving him some of her mind, Hubert wants only to go to bed. But Hubert hasn't the flu. There he metamorphoses into a rat.

Initially normality reigns in the Flynn household in this freak circumstance of Hubert as rat. He's a bit picky about his food and the family unsure of rat habits, but widely read Uncle Matt (Frank Kelly) proves expert on all things rodent.

But journalist Phelim Spratt (David Wilmot) worms his way into the home with a plan for a book, a film, a book of the film … However the satanic entrepreneurial approach is a Pandora's box and sets the film off in glorious chase of the punchline.

Wesley Burrows' screenplay is in the tradition of the farce – a comic creation built around exaggeration of character and event, extremes of personality and occasion; soaked in satire and nonsense; action-driven, leading to the climactic joke that is the point of the piece.

But the punchline is not the whole point. Farce should also have a point of view. Without unveiling the joke, how ought we to respond to ‘freaks', ‘aliens in our midst'? Burn them? Expel them? Exploit them? Accept them?

Director Steve Barron and his cast carry off Burrows' farce with verve (with Imelda Stauntion in splendid form) according to the rules of the genre – including hilariously developing the moral debates.

This movie is despicable. It's bad-humored. It's extremely painful. It's discouraging. I went to bed so disappointed and angry I thought I'd have night terrors.

It could have been so good! I don't know how you mess up a plot the way they did! The crew had to consist of the least funny people in the world! There isn't a single character and not a single joke.

It's baffling!

I've always found popular Irish comedies like `Waking Ned Devine' to be either overkill on the charm, or like `The Van', to be overkill on the sardonic wit. This film truly nails the balance of charm and sardonic wit, and it also has an energy that I haven't seen since `A Hard Day's Night'. Bob Geldof –formerly of The Boomtown Rats (!) – was the musical consultant, and the score is mixed with bouncy pop songs in the background that seem to recall the joy of that era. The film opens with a fable-like narration letting us know that we're into the kind of Irish story-telling that is of its past (i.e. deliciously wicked!). Personally, I'm grateful to see this kind of story-telling still alive and not reflective of the new generic Ireland that's looking more and more like the USA. There already is a `Babe' and a `Stuart Little', so why make those films over again? This film stands on its own, and it can certainly entertain adults every bit as much as kids. I found it to be one of the funniest films I've seen in years! The key to much of the humour is in its subtlety. One definitely has to have a love of the absurd in its most subtle form (like one of my favourite scenes, when the desperately ill rat is thrown in the washing machine so it will look nice and clean when the priest comes to exorcise it). The cast is magnificent, especially Imelda Staunton whose personality is more rat-like than her husband, but can switch emotional gears faster than her husband can scamper across the floor. And of course, Pete Postlethwaite does actually look like he's `half-way there already' in terms of his physical appearance. I couldn't imagine anyone else in the role. A sweeter rat you've never seen!

When their father Hubert suddenly turns into a rat, his family don't really know how to react, apart from putting him in a cage. When a journalist convinces them to write a book, he moves in and starts to mould their emotions to exploit the situation for fame and fortune.

The key to this film is in the imaginative set up and the funny telling rather than the actual plot itself. In terms of plot the film runs out of steam a little towards the end where it seems to realise that plotting hasn't been the main driving force of the film. What does drive the film is that it is laugh out loud funny almost all the way through. If you like the sort of Irish humour and characters then you'll like this a lot. The idea of being turned into a rat isn't really explained but this doesn't really matter.

The characters are all excellent, although Postlethwaite is really little more than cameo for most of the film, his part being played rather well by various white rats! Staunton is the strongest character and has captured the hard love of an Irish mother very well – focused on the practicals despite circumstances (a priest is called to the rat and she throws it in the washing machine so his dirty fur won't shame the family, `it's ok, he's on wool' she assures a concerned family member). Her character is hilarious throughout. Kelly (Father Jack) is strong in a small role, but Wilmot's character is less clear but seems to be the one that the plot is riding on. The kids' roles are pretty funny and the support cast of Irish stereotypes all do what they are expected to do.

When I watched this movie on TV I had never heard of it and I wonder how many people have actually seen it, it's a shame because this is really funny and worth seeing despite the fact that the actual plot itself is not as strong as the laughs deserve. Overall this is very funny throughout if you like the Father Ted style of slightly exaggerated Irish humour.