Slumdog Millionaire

Editorial

Danny Boyle, eh? Mr Trainspotter seems to be embroiled in a film tussle with countryman Michael Winterbottom to see who can make as many wildly divergent movies as is humanly possible.

Coming off a movie whose special effects took almost a year to get right, the post-Sunshine Boyle raced on to a project which could be shot fast and furiously. Using convenient and super-portable digital equipment to capture many facets of India's huge cultural and social cornucopia, Boyle's pulsating hyper-realism fuels a telling human drama that may represent an entire populace.

Based on a pretty-darn-great novel that was thought to be a true story, Slumdog Millionaire centres on 18-year-old orphan Jamal Malik (Dev Patel, from TV's Skins) and how he found his way from living in Mumbai's garbage ghettos to the "lock it in" hotseat. Meeting Malik as he's being tortured by police men – who accuse him of cheating on the popular program – is an awkward introduction, largely due to the amateurish performances. But the rhythm of Boyle's fractured flashback (tied well enough to each Millionaire question) settles fairly quickly, drawing us into Malik's episodic memories.

Filmed largely on bustling locations, Slumdog whips along with unguarded authenticity and understanding of those battling to survive at the destitute base of a restrictive caste system. After the sadly funny childhood of Malik and his naughty brother – a poo joke is hilariously wrong – things slow down when the almost saintly Millionaire contestant yearns to save his eternal sweetheart, Latika (Freida Pinto).

While movie stuff of a more standard variety sprouts towards the big, rousing finale, Boyle's portrait of poverty, aspiration and human worth has too much heart and startling levity to collapse into cliché. Like his own Millions, Boyle makes child's play again of believably real "fairytales".

Ben McEachen