After "Trainspotting," Irvine Welsh's book sales must have shot through the roof. Small wonder, then, that a film based on his short stories should pop into theaters now. He's still a hot property. And "The Acid House," should continue that trend, even if it fails on some levels. 

A trilogy of short films, all directed by newcomer Paul McGuigan and written by Welsh and based on his published short stories, "The Acid House" begins with a segment called "The Granton Star Cause" that has soccer as it's flavor, much like the novel "Trainspotting" did. But the film here boasts only a very little to like. Stephen McCole is cast as a beautiful loser. McGuigan films him in such extreme close-up that the pimples on his face seem as if they are about to burst out of the screen. But the comic twist of the film, it's crux, is juvenile and silly. Worse yet, it's almost completely meaningless. Are we supposed to believe that the Kafkaesque wrath which God himself ladles out on McCole is truth or is this an analogy about a man who, so defeated by the unforeseen foils in his life, seeks revenge before killing himself.

The true diamond of the film comes in it's least likely segment, the middle short film, "The Soft Touch." Kevin McKidd, who performs so against type here, plays Johnny, a milquetoast for the new millennium. Johnny is dumped on by his wife and his upstairs neighbor Larry, played with Robert Carlysle wannabee posturing by Gary McCormack. McKidd really works wonders here able to bring anger, love and pathos to the role without ever being a real sad sack. His ode to fatherhood here is so touching and so beautiful, it propels the film segment into the realm of greatness. McKidd takes what could be a simple and unfulfilling cinematic story and makes it truly something to behold. At first, we think we know what is coming and we squirm in our seats, knowing we will have to endure McKidd being shat upon for 30 minutes. But his ability to elevate the role, contrasted against McCormack's wonderful punter, makes for some truly tense and dramatic cinematics. It ends up being quite worthy.

Alas, nothing can be said for the final piece, the titular "Acid House." Ewan Bremner is hard to see without thinking "Spud." His one role in "Trainspotting" will haunt him for the rest of his life. Sadly, he has nothing to offer us here to help us reevaluate him as an actor. Playing a druggie who switches places with a baby due to a bit of acid- inspired magic, he is forced to act like an imbecile, a retard. It's almost unwatchable. Worse yet is the baby he inhabits, a phony animatronic infant that makes the Chuckie doll seem like Lucasfilm mastery. This segment is such a shambles, unable to begin to deliver what Welsh's comic short story surely demands of it. Why use an animatronic baby? What a waste. Not only is it not necessary, it surely ruins any depth or interest the film version might begin to attain. And Bremner's horrible playacting diametrical against it makes the segment nothing but chaotic crap. It's bad stuff.

McGuigan has lotsa problems here. His first segment may have the wonderful McCole to look at but it has absolutely no sense of timing or panache. The segment contains so many camera "flying through air" segments that it becomes tedious and threatens us with airsickness within in a matter of moments. Worse yet, the segment has no sense of visual irony. The best it offers is McCole in close-up and Maurice Roeves as a wonderful God. This could be awesome as Welsh's dialogue between the two borders on sublime bewildering delight. But McGuigan has neither the talent nor the chops to take it to the necessary place for it to succeed. Also, Welsh and McGuigan don't know what to make of the final segment. Bremner is forced to goo-goo and twaddle his way through the muck while the director and writer try everything they can think of, from camera trickery to silly plot contrivances (the baby Bremner actually sees McCole from the first segment) to make something happen. They do not succeed.

The only segment to work is the middle one. McKidd's wonderful performance accentuated by McGuigan's visual take on modern Scottish urban squalor is wonderful to behold. It makes sitting through the beginning near-miss and the final nonsense worth the trouble.

Note: Subtitled throughout for those of us who do not understand the heavy Scottish accents and regional slang.

The copy I saw at the Dobie had the British film label rating it for over 18 only still intact.

McCormack played bass for a band called The Exploited.

Welsh has a cameo as the guy sweeping up the locker room in the first segment.

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