This Brit indie returns us kicking and screaming to that millennial moment when any passing Guy Ritchie wannabe might have pitched something along the lines of Danny Boyle’s The Beach. Here, it’s director Charles Henri Belleville, reducing Simon Lewis’s 1999 novel Go to a threadbare endeavour concerning the non-funny, non-sexy, non-thrilling misadventures of three charmless chancers – headed by a perma-chewing Robert Sheehan – fleeing violent sex traffickers on sandy South Indian shores. Belleville cranks up the colour saturation and ironic Yuletide soundtrack, but all his slo-mo hedonism can’t disguise an otherwise addled story treatment: we chop haphazardly between hemispheres, leaving characters and subplots treading crystal blue water. Doubtless a nice holiday; shame about the movie.
