I Against I

I would like to make it clear that it is a very hard thing to make a film. To give the writers and directors of I Against I some credit they at the very least managed to make a feature film. I just wish that they hadn’t bothered. I Against I was a colossal waste of their money (not that there was much a budget judging by the look of the production) and of their time. The film is essentially a series of shots of men driving around the M25 and M40 Westway at night interspersed with scenes of bad actors in suits standing around having conversations on their phones, neither of which make an interesting cinematic experience. Worst of all, this was apparently meant to be a black comedy. This is less Get Carter and more get out whilst you still can.

The film is apparently set in the ‘nocturnal underworld’ of London’ (which is basically just a fancy way of saying nighttime) where Ian Drake (Doughty) is being forced to play Russian Roulette by bad-man Joseph Carmichael (Womack). Joseph is pissed off because he believes that Ian has murdered his gangsta dad, Tommy (Castle). Ian protests his innocence and says that he was the one who found Tommy dead but saw another man, Issac (Sigurðsson), leave the building just ahead of him and that he is the real murderer. Joseph gives Ian a mission – murder Issac before 6am the next day or he will kill everyone Ian loves. What then follows is a trite and tedious chase around the outskirts of London at night before Ian and Issac realise somewhat belatedly that things might not be what they seem.

It is hard to get too enthusiastic about a plot which could have been lifted from any media studies graduate film. Especially when the budget is so small you know there won’t be any good car chases (the explosion on the poster never appears) because there just isn’t the cash to make it happen. The film is also hilariously limited in its location choices, with one office in the city doubling up for the main character’s house and as another office space whilst the bad guy’s lair looks like a faux-Bond set, with white pleather sofas which we imagine your bottom would get stuck to instantly if it was hotter than fifteen degrees inside. To combat the location expenses the two main characters spend around sixty minutes driving around or calling people, or driving around whilst calling people. For all of the money they spent on petrol they probably could have shelled out for at least one good location to ground the ‘action’ in. They try to use a multistory car park at one point (sigh) where Ian asks to meet his girlfriend, gangster-mistress Sophia (Balacó) and she turns up…in her dressing gown and fluffy slippers. Boys, whilst we may sometimes dress like slobs, women tend to put some clothes on before leaving the apartment. Especially before late night car park tête-à-têtes…

Besides a terribly misjudged subplot – involving the ubiquitous drugs-in-a-briefcase shoot ’em up, all of the acting is also woefully bad. This film showcases wonderfully why it is a bad idea to get models to act with Balacó giving the most vacant performance since Tyra Banks in Life-Size, and Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson with the worst Icelandic accent for someone who is actually from Iceland. Any good points about this film? It ends. If you want to see a poetic tribute to the motorway signs on the M25 then I Against I can give this to you. This and nothing else.

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