The World's End Review

Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg have a fair old amount to live up to with this final installment in their Cornetto trilogy. Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, the two previous flavours of B-Movie goodness, showcased the duo’s penchant for lovingly aping genre pics and were almost universally lauded. The gory dissection of lad culture as a zombie flick helped, at least in part, to usher in the current infestation of walking dead; while their Lethal Weapon meets The Wicker Man in the West Country follow-up proved their success was no fluke (barring a couple of messily elongated, but largely forgivable action set-pieces).

So the pressures well and truly on then with the third one. The mint one.

Gary King, is the local legend and lord of all he surveys (at least in his own mind) who drags his school chums along on an apocalyptically messy pub crawl down The Golden Mile. It’s 12 pints in 12 pubs from The First Post to The World’s End and it’s an unqualified disaster for the 5 learner-drinkers who make it no further than number 10. Some twenty years later and the adult King has not managed to shake the memory of bender to end all benders and feels compelled to reunite his old gang for one last crack at that golden, foaming prize.

Problem is his mates have put that night behind them and seem less than keen to reacquaint themselves with the destructively spontaneous King who appears like a bolt out of the blue to rustle up another round of drinks. With a fair bit of cajoling though King succeeds in dragging his five musketeers back to their old town and back down memory lane to relive the glory days and possibly heal a few festering wounds. But before their pints have had time to settle it’s apparent that the old dynamic has changed and that somethings are just never the same as you remember; although in this case the group’s 20 year hiatus may not be entirely to blame.

Wright and Pegg’s sights are set on the sci-fi invasion genre this time around as an army of otherworldy robot-alien things wreak havoc against the infinitely recognisable backdrop of the fair-to-middling English town. It’s a neat juxtaposition that’s worked for the pair in the past and continues to amuse here. Peggy’s bloody-minded insistence that they finish the pub crawl when all hell is breaking loose in a shower is blue slime both nods in appreciation of, and sticks the knife into the image of the archteypal British binge drinker. The stagger down memory lane allows Wright and Pegg to indulge themselves in a spot of nostalgia, pulling an audience of converts along with them, but never losing sight of the bittersweet danger involved in attempting to relive one’s youth.

The charming homoeroticism of Pegg and Frost’s previous bromances is muddied with more than a tinge of anger and regret at a genuine falling-out between two best buds. The twist works well in terms of narrative – it keeps you guessing plot-wise – and sidesteps the issue recycling old material.

Wright made a point of insisting that details relating to the film’s numerous cameos but kept under wraps so it’s difficult to shed any meaningful light on them, other than to say they are plentiful and provide the majority of the funniest surprises, which is to be expected.

Not faultless, the epilogue feels like oddly lacklustre sign-off designed only to frame an admittedly cracking sight-gag and, as is Edgar Wright’s wont, more action can too often feel like less. Still, The World’s End is the dessert course in a meal consisting entirely of puddings, and it’s a pretty tasty way to sustain yourself.