They say the 18th Century novel Tristram Shandy, a book meant to be a narrative of the title character’s life but doesn’t even get so far as his birth, is the least filmable novel ever written. Then how does the ingenious Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story manage to pull it off? Simple: It leaves out most of the story.
It’s been called “a post-modern classic before there was any modernism to be post about.” Sure, it’s the film’s pretentious jerk of a star who says so, but he’s got a point. The genius of Tristram, both as a novel and as a film, defies logic. But, it’s wryly brilliant and is already a standout film of 2006, only six weeks in.
A film within a film, Tristram Shandy spends its first 45 minutes with the novel, bouncing from tangent to tangent, from the circumstances of Tristram’s conception to the military career of his Uncle Toby (the hilarious, scene-stealing Rob Brydon). Steve “I Am Alan Partridge” Coogan, as Tristram and his father, narrates in direct-to-camera addresses, delivering such tongue-in-cheek lines as, “Groucho Marx once said that the problem with writing a book about yourself is that you can’t fool around. Why not? People fool around with themselves all the time.”
Tristram Shandy fools around with itself with aplomb, pulling back at the height of the birth scene to reveal the director and crew, and then follows the behind-the-scenes of Tristram Shandy for the rest of the film.
Tristram Shandy basically has nothing to do with Tristram Shandy and everything to do with the film industry, its egos, its idiots and its difficulties. Coogan ignores his visiting girlfriend and infant to make goo-goo eyes at production assistant Jenny (who, apparently, is the only one who has read the book and knows anything about film), the director squabbles with producers over an expensive re-shoot and the team panics over last minute rewrites and scrambles to get X-Files star Gillian Anderson on board in a glib split-screen telephone conversation.
Director Michael Winterbottom, who failed so miserably with last year’s porn-tastic 9 Songs, is pure genius with Shandy, which is hilarious, fascinating and surprisingly unpretentious, despite the high concept.
Coogan and Brydon’s good-natured bickering, over everything from who has whiter teeth (Brydon asks, “What would you call this? Tuscan Sunset?,” pointing to his choppers) to who has the best Deniro impression (it’s close, but that one goes to Brydon), is the highlight of the film, though BBC America fans may appreciate the in-jokes more than the average art-house aficionado. Nevertheless, Tristram Shandy is a star-packed (albeit with British ones) self-mocking industry satire that has a lot of wit, charm and, yes, a cock and a bull. Grade: A