A Belfast Story Review

Nathan Todd’s A Belfast Story was notorious before it even hit cinema screens, as a widely distributed press-kit for the post-Troubles thriller contained nails, a balaclava and duct tape. The move caused several critics to vow not to review the film, in order to not give it any more publicity.
Little do those critics know that the most damaging stand they could take against A Belfast Story would be to review the film solely on its own merits – or distinct lack thereof.
A combination of cliché, tasteless humour and some of the most ludicrous, stilted scripting ever committed to film, A Belfast Story stars Colm Meaney as a Belfast detective, one case away from retirement. (Aren’t they always?) When former IRA members are systematically killed off, his hard-earned loyalist sympathies are ignited, and his ambitions seem to consist of uttering Horatio Caine-style one-liners at crime-scenes, instead of arresting anyone. The emotional pull between personal justice and community peace is felt across the city, as the city’s First Minister (Tommy O’Neill) tries to keep his violent past and affiliations under wraps.
It’s potentially compelling stuff, but sadly Todd’s screenplay is a painful onslaught of preachy, pseudo-philosophical soliloquies, horrifically amateurish acting and made-for-television visuals. There isn’t dialogue; only big speeches, themed musings, personal statements and exposition masquerading as conversation. Meanwhile, ironically foreshadowed explosions and undignified deaths seem to be searching for cheap laughs in the midst of the drama.
As the tropes of crime-scene drama are relentlessly scored with stereotypical and emotionally patronising fiddles and whistles, it turns out that Todd’s PR stunt may be the most subtle aspect of this misjudged project.