Tape

Endlessly talented, if erratic and compulsively experimental, Richard Linklater’s latest offering – an entirely dialogue-driven, Dogme-inspired film of a play, set in a cheap Michigan motel room, and shot on hand-held digital video – might not sound all that appetising, but it’s easily the finest entity of its kind since Hurlyburly.

Crackling throughout with the wry, cerebral wit that has consistently distinguished even Linklater’s lesser work, Tape is entirely focused on its three central protagonists. It opened with the high-fiving, back-slapping, beer-guzzling, spliff-tokin’ reunion of two (male) best friends, before spiralling off into far darker conversational territory. A constant throughout, though, is the enormously entertaining smartarse verbal sparring between Ethan Hawke’s loudmouthed extrovert stoner and Robert Sean Leonard’s slimeball go-getter, as the former tries to elicit a shocking confession from his guest that might be captured on tape...

Uma Thurman - Hawke’s real-life wife – turns up for the final, pivotal stretch, serving as the film’s moral centre in the crossfire of these two losers and rounding off a trio of superb performances. Meanwhile, Linklater works wonders with the digital format, which although disorienting and harsh on the eye for the first few minutes, soon becomes watchable and even seductive thanks to the dazzling range of shots employed.

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All in all, as fine a film as can ever have been set within a moth-eaten bedroom.