'YOU know what Scottish people are? We're ashamed … ashamed to be Scottish." This observation is made early in Stone of Destiny and if it's not an opinion you share, you may well change your mind after experiencing the relentless embarrassment this
dated slice of tartan tweeness serves up. Ruining all affection I had for his awkward turn as Terry "The Toad" Fields in American Graffiti, it is the work of Canadian-based American actor-turned-writer/director Charles Martin Smith, whose links to Scotland extend to a supporting role opposite Sean Connery in The Untouchables.
Not that a blood link is required for making a good Scottish film (Danny Boyle ain't Scottish). But whatever Smith's motivation for casting his outsider eye on the true story of the four students who broke into Westminster Abbey on Christmas Eve 1950 to steal back the Coronation Stone, he's turned a potentially rousing tale into a feeble caper full of toe-curling national stereotypes, tourist-board visuals and bluntly scripted platitudes that spell out the film's themes in 72-point bold. Not once does he attempt to interrogate the psyche of a nation dealing with the intricacies of an issue as complex and incendiary as home rule. What's more, for all the lip-service he pays to discussions about freedom and oppression and very real grievances about under-representation in 1950s Scotland, the film appears to have been written in a vacuum, with zero attempt to filter the events through the prism of the past five decades of Scottish history, something that perhaps might have helped contextualise the story – or at the very least helped it achieve some Braveheart-style mythical resonance.
Instead Smith has opted for the lazier option of churning out a simplistic Yank-friendly underdog story, one in which all Scots are either older patriotic pragmatists who've had the fight beaten out of them by years of English oppression, or plucky, bicycle-riding upstarts readying themselves for a symbolic scrap against their evil Sassenach rulers. No London street (and I use that term loosely, since the whole film appears to have been filmed within the same Glaswegian postcode) seems to be without a Scots-hating toff ready to scowl at anyone with a bit of a lilt to their accent. To be fair to Smith, though, I suppose it's demonstrates some chutzpah to try and get away with such pantomime-style characterisation in 2008 when the two most powerful politicians in Britain both hail from Scotland.
Twelve years on from Renton's "It's shite being Scottish" rant from Trainspotting, however, it's more than a little depressing that Stone of Destiny represents such a depressing step back cinematically. Its wincingly nostalgic storytelling is more in keeping with safe Sunday-night television serials such as Heartbeat, where at least the frantic and tediously repetitious hunt for a set of car keys would actually qualify as a tension-raising high-point in the action rather than the shameless padding it comes across as in Stone of Destiny. There are plenty of other dubious attempts to disguise the fundamental lack of incident in the story, which is based on the book of the same name by the group's leader, Ian Hamilton, who was a law student and the University of Glasgow at the time. (Hamilton is played by young English actor Charlie Cox who seems to be under the impression he's been cast in the role of Ewan McGregor.) There's the wacky recon mission in which our heroes adopt posh English accents to discuss the finer points of Westminster Abbey's oak doors. There's the scene where practically the whole of Scotland Yard turns up to interrogate Hamilton et al prior to them committing their "crime" after a sinister English B&B proprietress informs the police that "Scottish boys" are in the vicinity. Then there's that nerve-wracking moment when key conspirator Kay Matheson (New York actress Kate Mara) wakes up on the day of the robbery to discover she's got – wait for it – a bit of a chill.
If you're currently gnawing your fist at the mere thought of such cringe-inducing lameness – and I should warn you, it's all soundtracked to bagpipes and jaunty ska-punk pop songs – wait until you get a load of the scene in which a group of cheery Saltire-waving Scots start dancing in the streets of Glasgow the moment news of the Stone of Destiny's theft breaks on the radio. Self-respecting Scots won't be on the edge of their seats; they'll be sinking right into them, cheeks blazing.
But hey, apparently this is that the kind of film-making that Scotland is supposed to embrace. After all, while the majority of the budget came from Canadian sources, Scottish Screen did pump £500,000 of public money into it and the Edinburgh International Film Festival rewarded it with one of its prime Gala slots this past June. Its defenders will doubtless try to claim that it's an unashamedly populist piece of film-making (note to distributors: don't even think about lifting this quote for your poster), but such thinking strikes me as a weak, patronising and damaging justification for something that in the end is basically a national affront. I can't imagine for a second that the (very popular and very successful) National Theatre of Scotland would be allowed to get away with mounting such a tatty, shortbread-tin-inspired production, so why should the makers of this be let of the hook just because it's a commercially minded film? Audiences deserved better. A lot better.
HOWLER OF THE WEEK
STONE OF DESTINYIN WHAT might be the most pointless use of an Oscar-winning actress in movie history, Stone of Destiny casts Brenda Fricker as a Glaswegian housekeeper and barely gives her a line of dialogue, which is one way to avoid having talented actors accidentally lend your film credibility.
