Remember how in the early days of the EEC we used to talk about agricultural overproduction in terms of “butter mountains” and “wine lakes”? Sometimes it feels as if there must be a secret “common cinematic policy” that subsidises British film-makers to make grim dramas in decrepit seaside towns where a native son returns, usually from military service, to help save loved ones being exploited or abused by shady crime bosses. Pleasure Island is another.
This time the setting is Grimsby, and the prodigal redeemer is played by Ian Sharp. He’s back to save Gina Bramhill, playing the stripper widow of a dead buddy, and Nicholas Day as his irascible, pigeon-racing father mixed up with drug dealers running one of cinema’s more ludicrous smuggling operations. Given the lazy script, mostly shabby acting (Samuel Anderson is an honourable exception) and flat digital lensing, this is a subpar contribution to the genre quota, which will no doubt soon sink into on-demand distribution.
