‘That’s in London, bud. Like, the London where the English are’
Scottish actor James McAvoy has swapped out cloven hooves and X-Mansions for his first spin in the director’s seat with California Schemin’. As the opening text of the film says, this is a real story based on a ‘true lie’, that of Dundonian rap duo Silibil N’Brains. The pair rose to prominence in the early Noughties by pretending to be American; their earlier efforts shot down seemingly just for being Scottish – ‘the rapping Proclaimers’. It’s a remarkable story, and one that I was surprised I hadn’t heard prior to the film’s first trailer. The boys’ story was previously told in The Great Hip Hop Hoax, director Jeanie Finlay’s 2013 documentary, but I can understand McAvoy’s interest in approaching a more dramatic take on the tale for his first feature. There’s certainly ample room for it.
The film gets a lot of mileage out of its story, with a fair shake of liberties taken to keep things interesting. McAvoy spins the yarn as something of a cautionary tale, with the pair’s innocent enough initial lie spinning off with ripples in all sorts of unexpected directions, to the point where neither man can really tell fact from fiction. The real-life Silibil N’ Brains made no half measures when it came to their deception – they went full method, creating entirely new personalities for themselves and crafting a fake history to draw upon for interviews. It was the sort of metamorphosis that would have even Jared Leto taking notes (between appearing as Skeletor in the upcoming Masters of the Universe and casting himself as his own Personal Jesus in last year’s Tron: Ares, of course).
It’s an inherently interesting bit of subterfuge to watch play out on-screen, and both of the film’s stars – Samuel Bottomley and Séamus McLean Ross – take to the challenge well. It would have been all too easy to have the pair rattle off pitch-perfect American lingo, but their Californian accents are fantastically naff in the way that only two lads from Dundee could muster up. Given that the whole thing revolves around them both being somewhat on the back foot – never far from being well and truly found out and scuppering their shot at fame – there’s a real authenticity to their performances.
It’s brilliant, then, that having come to London expecting to pull the wool over the English’s eyes with ease, the boys soon come face to face with record mogul Anthony Reid, played by McAvoy himself, who stands as the most Scottish Scotsman who ever did bagpipe. He’s armed with a severe Glaswegian accent and piercing eyes that threaten to pull apart their alter egos at any moment. Given the control of the director’s seat, McAvoy is able to play up that tension really well, leading to a fun sense of a cat and mouse chase at times, but crucially, his presence in the film never feels like an indulgence. Even the pair’s surroundings seem to tease their true heritage, with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sight gags cropping up all over the place. I don’t know where he got it from, but Reid’s managed to find a miniature Statue of Liberty decked out in patriotic Irn Bru colours for the top floor of his office building, as if anyone was likely to question his own origins.
As a first feature, McAvoy’s direction is solid if a little safe. The character dynamics really make the film, but it’s surprisingly sure-footed in marking out a place for itself among other mainstream Scottish films. There are jokes at the expense of Braveheart, for example, and the film’s bookended by an interesting motif that’s a clear, reverential nod to the ne plus ultra of contemporary Scottish cinema (viewable on your nearest bloomin’ big television and the spirit-crushing streaming service of your choice) that fits perfectly. This is also the first film I’ve seen that includes not only the ‘Welcome to Scotland’ road sign but the likely-to-make-you-shudder ‘Welcome to England’ sign as well. I invite Scottish audiences to give a big cheer in the cinema for the former and come to your own conclusions about the latter. Either way, McAvoy leaves a clear-cut Scottish stamp of approval on the film, which is a genuine boon to the narrative.
Elsewhere, some of the emotional highs and lows feel a little like the weak links of the chain. The cast are very good. The boys manage to play up the joy and excitement of their new lives very well, and they’re energetic in their stage performances. Lucy Halliday has charm as long-suffering girlfriend Mary, relegated to an onlooker’s perspective as she watches the pair’s rise on TV, and in a way, she actually outshines both stars when that distance comes to a head in the third act. In his obsession with keeping the lie alive for fear of losing everything, Brains’ portrayal feels like a step too far into melodrama, and it’s hard to steer the ship back into port for a neat conclusion, but it’s an otherwise capable and engrossing enough story to keep the ball rolling and the records spinning til the credits roll.
BBFC: Rated 15 for strong language, drug misuse.
California Schemin’ is in cinemas now.
