Flip through the latest issue of Gulf Weekly.
This is a monumentally naff film, shaming and depressing in a way that British feature-film comedies have persisted in being, intermittently, all our lives.
Oh my, look - there in the cast of the new Lottery-funded British comedy film! It's, it's Lily Cole, isn't it? You know, the slightly weird-looking supermodel. Some film producer has seen a picture of her in a glossy magazine and thought: it would be a good idea to cast her in a remake of the 1950s St Trinian's schoolgirl comedies. (Perhaps Jade Jagger and Plum Sykes weren't available.)
A throat-clearing subordinate might have pointed out that there is every likelihood that Cole, through no fault of her own, would be completely rubbish. But the decision to cast her has in a sense been vindicated here. She is essentially no more rubbish in it than anyone else.
She is, for example, no worse than professional comic Russell Brand.
This film is cheesy, dated, humourless and crass, it's a nightmare of stunt-casting, and was apparently composed by a committee of suits, PR execs and press agents. Despite its continuous stream of up-to-the-minute pop culture references, it has been updated only to about 1978, a spiritual cousin to the late-period Carry Ons.
The drag convention, which started with Alastair Sim in the original, is revived with Rupert Everett as the leering headmistress, Miss Fritton, presiding over the feisty boater-wearing tykes and kittenish dollybirds (only the 70s term will do), wearing naughty-but- nice school uniforms.
Of all the wretched cast, I concede that Everett does show some flair. He may not have the comedy gold, but he knows roughly where the treasure map is. However, his presence is swamped by a dire script and catastrophically unamusing contributions from everyone else.
Lena "300" Headey is the nerdy, speccy, Joyce Grenfell-y English teacher: a baffling performance from which the punchline has perhaps been amputated in the edit. Russell Brand, unable to do his own material, is uncomfortable in the laugh-free role of Flash Harry.
Colin Firth plays a pompous schools minister who, oh my sides, winds up in bed with Miss Fritton. It is as funny as the worried frown on the face of an oncologist.
