This is a work comprised of bits of other films that weren’t very good in the first place, inconsistent in tone with some laughable attempts at depth, where nothing makes sense and any nostalgic fun is shattered by insincere dialogue, jarring performances and inept direction.
Billy Boyd’s distinctly un-Pippin turn as a psycho drug dealer aside, there’s little of interest in this misjudged, miswritten mess.
Just say no, kids.
The script’s eulogistic appraisal of ecstasy as a love-drug capable of taking users to higher states of consciousness all sounds drearily quaint, while the absence of specific period detail fails to say anything interesting about the either the 1990s rave scene (when Es were the scourge of the government and the tabloids) or today’s youth culture.
Whatever the title says, this is most definitely not Irvine Welsh’s Ecstasy, but an agonisingly watered-down imitation, a long, languid come-down after the frenetic buzz of Trainspotting.
Knuckle-suckingly awful.
Does little to peddle Welsh's undoubted brilliance.
Ecstasy is partying like it’s the mid-Nineties, but thankfully, everyone else has moved on.
Only those still clubbing on ecstasy are likely to enjoy this but then they love everything.
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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