Film review | Carnage

Hooray! Hosanna in the highest! Christoph Waltz - of Inglourious Basterds fame - has finally secured a role worthy of his Oscar-grabbing turn as the villainous 'Jew Hunter' Landa.

It physically hurt me to see him degrade himself in far from impressive roles following his devilish take of Quentin Tarantino's Nazi uber-villain, and for a second there, I was worried that he was going to become typecast as 'continental bad guy' for eternity.

But despite the horrendous mess that was The Green Hornet and the just-OK vintage melodrama Water for Elephants, the beleaguered Polish-French director Roman Polanski has swooped in to the rescue, and has regaled Waltz with a role of such delicious deviousness that it might just erase his recent missteps from cultural memory altogether.

But this is not just Christoph's show. Far from it. Polanski's adaptation of Yasmina Reza's play, God of Carnage - a success ever since it debuted in Zurich in 2006 - is  a complete ensemble piece. Since its debut, the show has been successfully staged on both the London and Broadway stage: pulling in names such as James Gandolfini (Sopranos) and Ralph Fiennes.

The black comedy, now transposed to New York, is set into motion after two boys pick a fight on the playground, with one boy injuring the other with a stick.

Following the incident, their parents decide to get together to discuss which course of action they are going to take.

The two couples - Penelope and Michael Longstreet (Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly) and Nancy and Alan Cowan (Kate Winslet and Waltz) - meet at the Longstreets's apartment to smoothen the waters.

But as the meeting progresses, far more sinister (and more farcical) truths about all involved emerge, leading to a dissection of their cosy middle-class pretensions.

Setting a film within the confines of an apartment is already a big enough challenge; making the lines sing and zing with vicious energy, and keeping you hooked to the hilarious downward spiral that the foursome plunge into is an even more impressive undertaking.

But Polanski succeeds, though it wouldn't be fair to give him all the credit. A tight chemistry between all involved is crucial with a project like this, and holes would be very easy to point out.

But they don't show up. Foster grows borderline psychotic - the lines and veins on her face straining and fit to burst all too often - and watching her happy-clappy liberal outlook disintegrate before our eyes is quite something. Penelope, however, might be an all-too-easy target.

Her husband, on the other hand, is far more of an interesting specimen: bumbling, Yogi Bear-like figure one minute, bitter, thwarted 'John Wayne' lout the next. Reilly is good at portraying characters whom we end up rooting for despite their shortcomings - here, he performs a refreshing switcheroo on that attitude.

But it is perhaps Waltz who both gets the best lines, and Polanski's sympathy. A wily attorney for a pharmaceutical company of dubious moral standing, he sees through everyone's front... although his wife is losing patience with his habit of putting his mobile phone first - which results in one of the most hilarious mini-set pieces of the film.

It is Winslet, however, who's bagged the most memorable bit of gross-out slapstick. It's a shame, then, that when compared to her colleagues her Nancy is a bit of a nobody, only there to counterbalance Penelope's hysteria with her stoicism.

Polanski has created a film adults can relate to and enjoy - albeit from their darker, more vicious side.

Coming out in the same week as a less than welcome 3D reboot of Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace, this is a refreshing fact indeed.