Film Review | Dredd

Forget about Stallone.

This (relatively) low-budget take on the futuristic lawman Judge Dredd is a short, sharp and appropriately grimy representation of the cult British comic book character, who first found life in 2000AD, a weekly comics anthology, before being embarrassed by Hollywood with the critical and commercial flop that was Danny Cannon's 1995 Sly Stallone vehicle.

But we're now living in a world where comic book fans - really, 'fans' of any persuasion - have a stranglehold on Hollywood productions. If you don't respect their beloved character or property of choice, there will be complaints. And they will go viral.

Created with the full consent and participation of Dredd's original co-creator John Wagner, Travis's (director) and Alex Garland's (screenwriter) cinematic reinvigoration of the titular Judge and the dystopian world he's made to police - shot in a CGI-enhanced Johannesburg - Dredd does not once lift his helmet off. Neither does he have a love interest - two unforgivable trespasses made in the Stallone production.

Instead of trying to humanise the Judge (Karl Urban), Travis and Garland shrewdly point our emotional sympathies towards his erstwhile understudy - the Rookie Judge Cassandra Anderson (Olivia Thrilby), whom Dredd is ordered to test by his superiors despite her middling police-academy record. What makes her so special, then (the no-exceptions lawman asks)?

Turns out Anderson is a telepath; naturally an asset for any police investigation, even (especially?) in the futuristic wasteland that is their home - Mega City One.

Pushed by Dredd to respond to one of the million criminal alerts that besiege the Judges each passing second, Anderson decides to peek into what's troubling the 200-floor apartment block of Peach Trees.

But listening to her intuition might just be the first - and last - mistake Anderson makes on the job. Because though Mega City One's Judges may have the right to execute unpardonable criminals on sight, Peach Trees is effectively run by a formidable criminal overlord - the prostitute-turned-drug-kingpin Madeline 'Ma-Ma' Madrigal (Lena Headey), whose current trendy drug - SloMo, which makes the user feel like the world is running at a fraction of its speed - is making big waves, and attracting an army of loyal gangsters...

In case the 18 rating hasn't alerted you to this already: this film is violent. And by violent, I mean wince-inducing, bullets-bursting-through-cheeks-in-slow-motion violent.

The particularly squeamish might want to look away, but anyone with a taste for meaty crime thrillers with an over-the-top comic book dressing will find this to be a delight. Dredd is also satisfying for being a distinctly un-Hollywood affair: its plot is purposefully cost-cutting (just contrast the stripped-down tower block setup to Stallone's misguided picaresque adventure) to enable the team to make the best out of very little. Another example of this is the clever choice of slo-mo as the druggy condiment of choice: it gives the cinematographers license to create arresting visual interludes by just slowing things down and adding a dash of airbrushy colour (which also evokes more recent incarnations of Dredd's comic book aesthetic).

The edifice - tower block and all - would be bound to crumble if the titular character is not marshalled properly. Thankfully, Urban is humble enough to not only leave the helmet on for the film's entire duration - admittedly, a brief 95 minutes - but he immerses himself in the character with the gusto of a long-time fan; gravely voice, on-point one liners (rare as they are) and a Clint Eastwood like demeanour being all present and accounted for. What adds to the film's charm (if we're even allowed to use that adjective, given the bone-crunching violence on display) is that what we witness from beginning to the end is nothing cataclysmic: it's just another day for Dredd, with Anderson being the only kink in what is essentially a routine drug bust.

Though she's meant to be Dredd's emotional foil, Thrilby - probably known to most as 'Juno's Hot Friend' - doesn't indulge in excessive emoting or hysterics, making it clear to us that she's budding crime-fighter first, trembling rookie second.

The other female lead in this testosterone-fest is less impressive, though. Fans of Game of Thrones will be surprised to find that though Lena Headey's Ma Ma looks the part - facial scars and all - her supposed malevolence never really comes across as strongly as it should. It feels as if the team were going for a more subtle take on the merciless baroness, but some gleeful baring of (rotten) teeth would have been welcome, particularly during the film's bloody climax.

But despite this and other faults - some slow exposition at the beginning, repetitive action scenes - this is a film that, refreshingly enough, lives up to what it promises.

Which, granted, isn't much. But in a cinematic landscape littered with empty hype, perhaps this is the best we can hope for.