Slumdog Millionaire: MSN Review

Danny Boyle is an unashamedly flashy filmmaker, and when he has a script to match his visual panache there is no-one in Britain to touch him. Simon Beaufoy’s screenplay supplies oodles of Dickensian intrigue, and what Boyle has done with it is something to see. His India is a continuous adrenaline rush: hallucinogenic beauty set alongside appalling squalor, adrenalized with continuous peril, shot with handheld breathlessness, superbly edited and scored to brilliantly chosen bhangra pop and hip hop. Your jaw drops at the sheer skill on display. The performances are universally excellent, from the delightfully natural kids to Anil Kapoor’s quiz show host, a charming Mephistopheles to Jamal’s wide-eyed Faust.

The only downside to this sensational, almost hedonistic filmmaking is a lack of context. We are as ignorant of the political and social complexities that surround Jamal as he is. It adds to the fairytale atmosphere, of course, but Boyle’s insistence on whisking us onto the next marvel or horror before we’ve processed the last one can be frustrating.

 

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That aside, there’s very little wrong with Slumdog Millionaire. You could argue that Latika is little more than a pretty damsel in distress for Jamal to rescue, and you’d be right, but it doesn’t really matter while you’re watching. Boyle’s flawless sleight-of-hand distracts you from the thinnest characterisations and unlikeliest plot reversals with a crack of the whip and twirl of the moustache. It’s a glorious bit of filmmaking, perfectly poised between pathos and grit, with a finale that will stir the sternest heart. Don’t miss it.