Words by JANE CROWTHER
Gavin (Séamus McLean Ross) and bestie Billy (Samuel Bottomley) long for fame as rap duo Silibil N’ Brains. Trouble is they’re two lads from Dundee in the early noughties, and they can’t get a record company to take them seriously as they repeatedly cold call from local payphones. When they’re not dreaming up Eminen-style lyrics, they work in a call centre where code-switching helps them sell internet services; they swap accent and cadence according to the caller. So it’s hardly surprising that their desperation for a music industry break leads to them deciding to adopt American accents and allow a record company to believe they are from California. But as they begin to achieve their dreams, at what price is their compromise on identity?
A mirthful set-up, but made all the more ticklesome by the fact that the tale is true – the real-life twosome boasting less convincing Cali drawls than their on-screen avatars and their story previously being told in 2013 documentary, The Great Hip Hop Hoax. With James McAvoy making his directorial debut with a screenplay by Archie Thomson and Elaine Gracie, the grift of a couple of chancers is turned into a bromance, an underdog fable and a celebration of Scottish singularity. McAvoy also plays a nasty record exec with relish and seems to be dipping from the well of good will vibes that made him a star in Starter For Ten. Gavin and Billy are painted as hopeless dreamers trapped in their own lies, their friendship the greatest casualty of their hoodwinking – Billy’s girlfriend Mary (Lucy Halliday) the integrity of the piece. The fictional record company duped by the duo is populated with ruthless career climbers, cynical money grabbers and snobs, allowing audiences to fully root for the rappers whose ruse is bow-tied as a deliberate exercise in exposing the bigotry of the record industry.
Their likeability is enhanced by Ross and Bottomley’s almost guileless performances. Ross is the child of real Scottish musicians (his parents are Deacon Blue’s Ricky Ross and Lorraine McIntosh) and brings a fury to a man gobbling down a dream knowing it has a limited shelf-life. Bottomley, reminiscent of a Scottish Glen Powell, essays the lure of fame and fortune with a charm and twinkle that outperforms a dreadful mullet. Billy struggles to forget his heritage and rages against the metropolitan elitism and classism controlling entertainment, understanding that to pull away from it is to cause a chasm in a friendship. It’s that relationship that drives investment in a film that is predictable in music-movie highs and lows. But like Silibil and Brains, it’s scrappy, ambitious and ultimately, champions authenticity.
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Pictures courtesy of StudioCanal
CALIFORNIA SCHEMIN’ is out in cinemas now
