Illegal Foreign Object

We made our way into Chepe in rapt anticipation for Trainspotting. Iggy Pop’s “Lust For Life” was everywhere. The video for the hard-charging song was a visual smorgasbord of a shirtless Iggy dancing his diminutive ass off, interspersed with movie clips of a gaggle of good-looking Scottish junkies bouncing from one drug-fueled adventure to the next. It HAD to be a blast; Irvine Welsh didn’t fuck around.

I can’t recall the theater we visited, but it wasn’t Magaly or Sala Garbo. It was a dive, that much I remember. Maybe Líbano? Hell, it could have just as easily been one of the porno joints making a few extra bucks by showing a bootleg.

While we waited for the doors to open, we snuck around a corner and smoked a joint, courtesy of a friend’s ex. She was a horrid person, but she always seemed to be holding. When you’re a broke kid in need of lift-off, you’ll tolerate plenty. Besides, how else would we watch Renton & Co. be absolute degenerates besides blazed as balls?!

Once inside, we found a spot dead center near the back. When Renton hurled himself into “the worst toilet in Scotland”, our eyes widened. When the baby crawled across the ceiling, then spun his head around, we damn near fell to the floor (a decidedly poor decision if this was, in fact, a part-time porno theater). When Begbie started the bar brawl, we howled with laughter.

Therein lies the greatness of the film. It’s dark, moody, at times terrifyingly real, but it never shrugs off its sense of humor. It throws a bucket of divergent emotions at you, then leaves you to sort ’em out. There are no heroes or villains in this thing — just a bunch of broken fuckers trying to slog their way through the muck. It’s a fantastic watch.

Lastly, what are you doing if you didn’t sing the title of this article like the “mirrors on the ceiling/pink champagne on ice” lyric on the Eagles “Hotel California”?