(2016) is a character immediately recognisable to anyone familiar with cop shows from the 80s. From his leather jacket and turtleneck sweater, to his flash, fast car and beautiful girl on his arm, he is the very epitome of these TV detectives, albeit with the added ability of a bionic eye that lets him literally detect lies (coining his wonderful catchphrase: “It’s truth time!”). It’s the perfect recipe for success, both for the show and leading man Richard Thorncroft (Julian Barratt), who is at the height of fame when we first meet him. However, a disastrous TV interview during which Richard insults the whole of the Isle of Man (the setting for the show) and an ill-advised decision to head to Hollywood, quickly sees his star begin its slow, inevitable descent.
Cut to 25 years later and the actor is living alone in a tiny flat in Walthamstow, his age and weight has caught up to him, and his luxurious hair has been replaced by a cheap wig. It is this rock-bottom version of Richard that writers Julian Barratt and Simon Farnaby recognise is ripe for comedy gold, as they show the one-time famous actor desperately and hilariously trying to reclaim some of the relevance he had all those years ago, whether that be by taking part in dubious casting calls, or advertising orthopaedic socks (a job now gone to rival John Nettles). So when Richard gets an offer from the Isle of Man police force to speak to a murderous criminal who thinks Mindhorn is real, Richard jumps at the chance, ready to squeeze everything he can out of this brilliant PR opportunity.
And squeeze he does as soon as he arrives back on the island, Barratt and Farnaby having fun with the notion of a man so bloated on his own ego and sense of fame that he can’t see how irrelevant he now is. Oblivious to the gaping mouths and incredulous stares that he induces, Richard swans around the police station (in glorious slo-mo and accompanied by the sax-ridden Mindhorn TV theme) making demands and treating it like his own personal dressing room, even though he’s only there to answer a phone call. Richard is so full of himself that he even believes he can slip back into the arms of his old flame and co-star Patricia Deville (Essie Davis), despite her now being with Clive (Simon Farnaby), Richard’s old stuntman. These scenes between Richard and Clive, or rather Barratt and Farnaby, are some of the funniest in the film, the two verbally sparring back and forth in brilliant moments that often seem unscripted (and probably were). The fact that Barnaby plays Clive with a ludicrous Dutch accent and often wears nothing but a pair of tight denim cut-offs only adds to the hilarity and the suitably bizarre tone felt throughout the rest of the film.
With a sense of self-worth as big as his gut and the knowledge that he’d step on anyone to get back to the top, Richard Thorncroft could have easily been turned into a hateful character. But despite his dubious personality, Barratt excels at creating a man who is at once hilarious because of these flaws, yet also easy to sympathise with, a hint of pain and frustration often seen on his Richard's weathered face as he comes across another setback in life. This tragi-comic tone is also noticeable throughout the rest of Mindhorn, particularly in the comparison of the Richard of the TV show era (recounted to us at the top of the film in perfectly grainy VHS footage) and Richard as he is now – a stark and immediate juxtaposition that while hysterical, adds a definite poignant edge as well. It is this undercurrent of melancholy that gives the film its heft, preventing it from becoming just another throwaway comedy.
Director Sean Foley is still keen to maintain a lightness of touch throughout the film however, keeping proceedings from becoming too dark and revelling in the many jokes that keep flying as Richard finds himself in more and more trouble. While the first two parts are entertaining and often laugh-out-loud funny, there is a point towards the end of the second act when the film does lose momentum – a slight flaw in an otherwise tremendous film. This is soon forgotten about when we reach the last act though, the pace suddenly jumpstarted again as we begin to head to its superb side-splitting conclusion. It is here that Mindhorn really comes together, the film very much wearing its 80s TV influences on its sleeve as it descends into the usual fight scenes, car chases and shootouts, albeit in a brilliantly skewed way. It also features one of the funniest scenes of the whole film as Richard is given an unwelcome…update. Mindhorn 2.0 if you will.
While this film is a magnificent comedy and one which is destined to become a cult classic, there will be many who compare it to that other famous British character whose life also had a rise and fall. Indeed, the comparisons to Alan Partridge are easy to make yet impossible to ignore. A man trying to reclaim his fame and alienating more people on the way? - very Alan. Even Steve Coogan himself appears here as a character who once played Mindhorn’s sidekick, and who now has his own inexplicably successful spinoff show. However Barratt is able to avoid the pitfall of repetition, here creating another iconic character who is all the more memorable for his funny yet anguished performance – something that adds a surprising layer of realism in amongst the more odd moments of the film. Barratt and Farnaby’s excellent script also makes this an instant hit in its own right, with the end result being a hilarious and endlessly quotable film that would more than hold up in repeat viewings, even if the pace does let it down in the middle. There hasn’t been any talks of sequels yet, but I sincerely hope that Mindhorn does return to the big screen in the near future. I’d be more than excited for a little more “truth time”.
Music is my hot mistress