Film review: Angel’s Share

MUCH like whisky, Ken Loach movies are an acquired taste; a product of elemental ingredients that can create fieriness and some unexpected, earthy flavours. Few vintage filmmakers have Loach’s cask-strength earnest political commitment, and as such he’s something of a prized local product.

The Angels’ Share is Loach’s sixth film set in Scotland, and sees him attempting to uncork his jaunty side. And on the whole, it’s a pleasant, warming experience, even if some of the plotting is a bit hard to swallow. The film opens in Glasgow Sheriff Court, where sentence is being passed on a series of offenders. Hot-tempered, troubled Robbie (Paul Brannigan) narrowly escapes prison on the grounds that he is about to become a father. Instead he’s given community service, where he falls under the wing of the project’s avuncular supervisor Harry (John Henshaw) who is sympathetic to Robbie’s struggle to make a fresh start with his girlfriend Leonie (Siobhan Reilly) and their son. Harry introduces him to his love of fine malt whisky, and discovers a surprising talent: Robbie is an apt pupil with a discerning nose.

Of course, The Angels’ Share is also the whisky trade’s term for the small percentage of whisky that evaporates during maturation, and Loach’s film is intent on tracing Robbie’s distillation from wild young hothead to father and provider.

The providing element comes from a cask of rare whisky which comes up for auction in a Highland distillery. Along with three of his community service mates, Robbie hitchhikes north, intent on a heist that could help them make a break with the past.

Like Loach’s last comedy, Looking For Eric, this is an ambitious mix of crowd-pleasing whimsy, social commentary, high drama and violence. And if the plot sounds a little like Whisky Galore, The Angels’ Share really is much more raucous than that. Already there’s been controversy over Angels’ Share’s use of the word that rhymes with “Jeremy Hunt”. Maybe queuing for taxis on a Friday night has made me slightly deaf to wide Anglo-Saxon in movies, but the language felt authentic and necessary. I’m less convinced that a Glaswegian could fail to recognise Edinburgh Castle – even if he’d never ventured east of the M8, did he close his eyes and avoid every Hogmanay show on TV since birth? I’m not sure anyone could mistake whisky for Irn-Bru either; since one drink is a delicate straw gold, whilst the other is electric orange, surely only the colour blind could find them indistinguishable, even from a distance.

My real problem with Paul Laverty’s script, however, is the ungainly effort of welding Robbie’s violent past – detailed in the first half of the film – to a redemptive Whisky Galore-style heist in the second half. Both parts are absorbing, but they go together like chalk and champit tatties. Besides, what is so redemptive about a criminal who steals?

The best parts of the film are the serious ones, such as the confrontation between Robbie and the victim of one of his violent lash-outs. The fervent acting is another real strength: Brannigan’s chaotic lead is touching and authentic, while in the lighter moments he’s well supported by his gang of Rhino (William Ruane), Albert (Gary Maitland) and Mo (Jasmin Riggins). Inevitably there are jokes about kilts – expect more of that from Brave next month.

On general release from Friday