This isn't really a film about a story with a beginning, middle or, even, an end. It's more a film about a book being turned into a film, and about how that all pans out with the actors in and out of character throughout. It's Steve Coogan who takes on the title role in a film about a landed character from Georgian England who is determined to make his mark by writing a novel about himself. Thing is, his life is just too rich and varied. He is just so interesting that he can't fit everything it... Meantime, the production crew are facing all of the issues in trying to make the film, reconcile the ambitions and peccadilloes of the cast, the writers, visiting family, bits on the side and a particularly Darwinian sort of special effect. Jeremy Northam features sparingly as real-life director Peter Winterbottom (who always looked so completely fed up when doing publicity for this) and the story flows at it's most naturally when it's just him, Coogan, Ian Hart and the man vying for (alphabetically) top billing - Rob Brydon. It's when they decide that one of the characters - the "Widow Wadman" needs to be written back in, and they discover madam "X-files" herself (Gillian Anderson) is going to come and play the part, that Brydon gets all excitable and the film starts to become a little bit too much like a farce. Still, it's an enjoyable introspective on actors, writers, directors - throughout the ages, offering us ninety minutes of characterful fun, babies screeching and copious vodka and tonics.
