by Irvine Welsh, Adapted by Harry Gibson
Directed by Kelly Reay
“They say if you drink whiskey, you’ll never get worms. Wrong!”
Meet our antihero: Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, a corrupt cop who likes to get the job done his way. A recent murder and the ensuing investigation sets the scene of this very funny black comedy about sleaze, power and the abuse of everything. As Bruce journeys through the lower reaches of degradation, he encounters opposition - in the form of truth and ethical conscience - from the growing tapeworm which has started philosophizing deep in his intestines.
From the creative team that produced Sage Theatre 2006 hit of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting.
Critical praise for Sage Theatre’s production of Trainspotting:
“This gritty, no-holds-barred production had me squirming in my seat. It was the kind of totally enthralling experience I long for.” - Calgary Sun.
My own review
Conceivably, Filth could be filthier. It could, for example, have real worms, or lice or maggots, eating their way through its pages rather than the imaginary one which is gobbling up the novel's protagonist, Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, gnawing away at him like the Ebola virus. That, however, might be asking readers to stomach more than they are capable of holding down. For Filth, as Irvine Welsh's publisher accurately points out, is a book that does not contravene the Trades Description Act. Few books fulfil the promise of their titles so graphically. My latest post here
DS Robertson is the 'filth' in question, a member of the Lothians and Borders police force, with whom the novelist enjoys, at best, an ambivalent relationship. Robertson is not, however, a detective like Marlowe or Sam Spade, or even the lugubrious Taggart. He does not, for example, seem much interested in solving crimes. Quite the opposite, in fact. Given half a chance, he steals from old ladies, rapes young girls and puts substances up his nose which will not clear his sinuses. Dixon of Dock Green must be turning in his grave.