The World's End

2013, 15, Directed by Edgar Wright

Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Paddy Considine, Eddie Marsan, Martin Freeman, Rosamund Pike

Teased for what feels like an age, the final slice of Edgar Wright's genre-juggling 'Three Flavours: Cornetto' trilogy (kick-started with the near-decade old Shaun of the Dead, followed four years later by the somehow superior Hot Fuzz) arrived this summer amongst a wave of superhero sequels and animated minions. All it takes is a few short scenes to settle into the company of Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and the remainder of the ensemble before realising the territory is identical to those previous yarns, allowing the viewer to approach the entire thing as comfortably as a catch-up down the local with your pals. The World's End is almost identical in tone to the films that have launched the careers of all three to heights they'd have never expected sat on that Spaced apartment circa '99: both zombie horror of the 60s and buddy cop actioners of the 70s have come before, with attention now fixed upon 80's sci-fi. The plot sees Gary King (a never better Pegg, on dickhead form) beg his former teenage beer-guzzlers to reunite in their old sleepy town of Newton Haven. Why? Well, to neck a pint in each of the 11 pubs that make up 'the golden mile,' beginning with 'The First Post' and culminating at 'The World's End'. The more boozed up the gang get, the more awry things becomes - largely thanks to the strange beings that seem to have occupied the sleepy town's residents.

The screenplay, as you'd imagine, is filled with dialogue placed to destroy you with laughter, and each amassed cast member (Paddy Considine, Eddie Marsan, Martin Freeman) ensures their character could stagger about on their own two legs in their personal sitcom.  But this is Pegg's moment. In an at-first alienating switcheroo with the former catalogue of Frost, everybody knows a Gary King (read: annoying 'mate' you'd like to punch in the jaw but can't help but greet with laughter.) The quickfire montages - long since a trademark that sets these comedies apart - take tongue-in-cheek form here, becoming neat visual gags (4 pints and a tap water), repeated but never repetitive, wittily-choreographed sequences that would've made Chaplin chortle, the aesthetically-pleasing 90s soundtrack: these are five ordinary guys doing something ordinary, but it's the talent, not the budget around them, that makes the whole thing extraordinary. 

Between this and Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa, the magic of British comedy shines oh-so brightly.

 4/5