Enjoying Marshall's Law

What is it that makes a sizeable chunk of British cinema so bleak? Is it, like most things associated with the conquering isle, all about the weather? Or is it just a case of resorting to ‘documentary’ tactics when funds don’t even begin to compare to the US? (Observer columnist Jason Solomon wrote that “if you look at the opening credits of a British movie, it’s like gazing at a mosaic of media company logos”). What it probably boils down to is a bit of both. Having inherited a realist tradition that stems from the British New Wave of the 50s and 60s, developed by the social realism of Ken Loach et al and given a popular boost by the likes of Get Carter and the subsequent gangster film boom, an unapologetic flintiness is now more or less default, and it’s an affordable style that makes for some entertainingly gritty alternatives to the glossy, politically correct avalanche of Stateside blockbusters.
And as far as underdog cinema goes, it doesn’t get more runt like than Neil Marshall’s latest the historical thriller Centurion, about a pack of Roman soldiers on the run in the unforgiving terrain of what eventually became Scotland.
AD 117. The Roman Empire stretches from Egypt to Spain, and East as far as the Black Sea. But in northern Britain, the relentless onslaught of conquest has ground to a halt in face of the guerilla tactics of an elusive enemy: the savage and terrifying tribesmen known as the Picts. Quintus (Michael Fassbender), sole survivor of a Pictish rain on a Roman frontier fort, marches north with General Virilus’ (Dominic West) legendary 9th legion, under orders to wipe the Picts from the face of the earth and destroy their leader Gorlacon. But when the legion is ambushed on unfamiliar ground, and Virilus taken captive, Quintus faces a desperate struggle to keep his small platoon alive behind enemy lines, evading remorseless Pict pursuers over harsh terrain, as the band of soldiers race to rescue their General, and to reach the safety of the Roman frontier.
Marshall had previously shown considerable directorial cajones with both his military-werewolf debut Dog Soldiers and 2005’s The Descent, one of the most memorable horror films of the decade. And like its predecessors, Centurion runs on a simple plot that puts the protagonists through considerable hardship and never skimps on the violence, resulting in an heady brew that’s thoroughly enjoyable if you can handle it. And because of the Britgrit pedigree, this aesthetic never comes off as gratuitious because it fits perfectly with the harsh environment… both in terms of the meterological challenge that Scotland poses, and the implied corruption of Rome (although cutting for an intermission just as our tired, cold and hungry soldier troupe tucks into the entrails of a freshly slaughtered reindeer may not have been the shrewdest marketing move to make).
There’s a niggling little problem from the get go… one that Marshall was aware of while cooking up the film, judging by interviews. The story is told from the invaders’ point of view, and in Marshall’s own words: “it’s like telling Braveheart from the point of view of the English!” – not a small challenge, but one that’s met squarely: the focus here is on an unambitious pack of individuals who just want to get home. What’s less successful is the inclusion of a love interest for Quintus, which betrays Marshall’s mission to film an old school, politically incorrect yarn. The Pict exile Arianne (Imogen Potts) is arbitrary and out of place – a shame when what we’ve had previous to that is an unabashed boy’s own story of the highest order, the likes of which they don’t really make anymore.
No such reservations for ex bond girl Olga Kurylenko’s take on ruthless, mute Pict tracker Etain. She’s the embodiment of revenge: her family was slaughtered and raped by Roman soldiers, who raped her and her mother while also cutting her tongue out in the process, so that she would never speak of the crime. Kurylenko’s physical presence is masterful, her glare terrifies and her combat skills speak for themselves. In such a ‘guy’ film, having a formidable female antagonist of that caliber is very welcome.
Coming more or less straight after Robin Hood, Centurion only amplifies how irrelevant the Russell Crowe extravaganza really is. Marshall strips down the edifice of lavish costume epics to dwell in the grisly undergrowth, creating something more akin to Sam Peckinpah’s westerns than what we’re used to.  
Surely that’s more interesting than Ridley Scott’s medieval Gladiator?