By Bob Gibbons
There is a very funny, very British, very human movie in here and it keeps peeking through, even as the film turns contrived, ridiculous, and very violent. Unfortunately, in the end, the warmth and charm are simply not enough and the whole movie lapses into apocalyptic nonsense and becomes a non-stop succession of the zombie-like Blanks spewing blue ink. (Don’t ask) If only everyone would get off his back and let Gary (Simon Pegg) finish his twelfth pint, so he and his four mates could complete what they started out to do twenty-some years ago – make an epic pub crawl that will end at the appropriately-named The World’s End. Pegg is all raw energy, double-talking constantly, smoking incessantly, frantic, furious, and a whole lot of fun. He’s a one-man show and for me, it would have been story enough to watch him lead his mates on the crawl, remembering, reflecting, and retracing the days of his youth. He’s older now but not necessarily wiser; he’s lost none of his edge or his self-confidence and if he’s refused to grow up or remember how bad a hangover feels, well I can find entertainment in that. We don’t need all the violence from the zombie-like Blanks; we don’t need all the effects work or the confusion of those walking around with half a head. What I am remembering most from this movie is the great shots of those English pints – smooth, cold, golden, fully-carbonated, freshly poured. I could use one – or more – right now, to wipe out memories of this nicely-carbonated movie gone flat.