At first I thought maybe, just maybe, “The World’s End” would be an English version of “The Hangover.” But as it progressed, it became evident that this was an English version of “The Stepford Wives” in drag.
Being a recovering Stepford Wife who ironically was directed by an Englishman, Bryan Forbes, I resented this — especially since it was not funny, though it attempted lame jokes repeatedly.
I would have walked out, but I wanted to see how the director got out of it.
Don’t waste your time.
When we are fortunate enough to have stellar TV in series such as: “Ray Donovan,” “Homeland,” “Breaking Bad,” “Boardwalk Empire” and “Girls,” why go to the movies — when they can be as bad as “World’s End”?
What makes those series so good? The writing, the writing, the writing. Then the editing. Then the acting. These champion series are works of art when compared to “World’s End,” a work of dreck.
Oh, the acting wasn’t so bad in “World’s End” — in fact it was good. But good acting cannot a bad script make. It can only make you wonder how much these actors needed a paycheck to stoop so low as to be in such mediocrity. That or they never read the entire script and trusted their incompetent agents who said, “Do it!”
Star Simon Pegg also wrote this self-involved piece of merde. The other actors who go on their one last drinking binge were Nick Frost, Paddy Considine, Martin Freeman and Pierce Brosnan. Good Lord! Handsome and talented Pierce Brosnan agreed to be in this!
Director Edgar Wright wrote this with Pegg, as well as their previous. Shaun of the Dead. I never saw that one, I think I’ll stop here and consider myself forewarned. You can’t go back in time; you certainly can’t drink yourself back in time, which is one of the themes of “World’s End.
After I left the theater, I remembered that article by Bernardo Bertolucci, the esteemed director of “The Last Tango,” wondering what had happened to the quality of films in Hollywood. “World’s End” makes it apparent that the contamination of great films produced by Hollywood has reached blessed England that in the days of Peter Sellers’ great old B&W films of the ’60s – “The Lady Killers” and “I’m All Right, Jack” — had been the pinnacle of English and possibly world comedy. No more.
