A Cock And Bull Story

Even if we choose not to remind ourselves of the worthless drivel that was Nine Songs, it’s clear that Michael Winterbottom is frequently compromised by his own prolific tendencies. For some years, potentially interesting films – think Code 46 – have been squandered as mere doodles. As such, one might well feel apprehensive of his adaptation of the most famously unfilmable book in the English language, Laurence Sterne’s fastidiously meandering The Life And Opinions Of Tristram Shandy. And yet, against all odds, A Cock And Bull Story proves Mr. Winterbottom’s most accomplished film this side of 24 Hour Party People.
Remarkably, A Cock And Bull Story manages to cover a great deal of the entirely tangential text, though often Martin Hardy’s deft screenplay cheats outrageously by alluding to characters and events without actually depicting them on screen. In the circumstances that’s just peachy. The novel was, as Steve Coogan (playing any number of leading roles) observes, post-modern when there wasn’t any modern to be post about, and the film is slavishly faithful in tone if little else. Just as the novel was a self-reflexive joke about writing a novel, this is the latest film about making a film.
The principal actors are thus obliged to play both characters from the book and thinly veiled versions of themselves. Unquestionably, the film works best when representing contemporary bitch-slapping, with Coogan and Brydon trade undermining yet friendly banter about perceived physical defects and Alan Patridge impressions.
Terrifically funny and impressively inventive, it’s a far better film than we could reasonably have expected. Still, I would prefer if Mr. Winterbottom doesn’t attempt Gravity’s Rainbow – The Movie any time soon.