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From the mind of Irvine Welsh (TRAINSPOTTING) comes a pulse-pounding thriller set against the backdrop of Scotland's drug-fueled dance scene as one man tries to cut ties and kick old habits for the woman he loves.
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Critic Reviews for Ecstasy
Ecstasy is to ecstasy what Trainspotting was to heroin. Different times, different drugs, but the Scotland-set story of addiction and redemption is pretty much the same.
A drug-fueled landscape impacted by the Thatcher years, characterized by Scottish working class misery and massive unemployment feeding the underground drug economy. And reflecting Welsh's own conflicting personas as cult figure, pariah and antichrist.
Ecstasy attempts to conjure the same sense of insanity, musical muscle, and impish wit, only to stumble repeatedly as it struggles to put on a dazzling sound and light show.
Its fondness for the writer and the drug film genre may be evident; however neither can turn Irvine Welsh's Ecstasy into anything more than an inferior homage.
In the end, ECSTASY wants to have it both ways -- drugs are celebrated at the beginning of the film, and condemned -- or at least the crime connected with them is - by the end.
One gets the feeling this director doesn't think his target audience is all that smart.
A crass and shallow exploration of a potentially interesting topic, which makes for one downer of a cinematic trip.
Only those still clubbing on ecstasy are likely to enjoy this but then they love everything.
Ecstasy proved itself to be resoundingly more soporific than serotonin enhancing.
Ultimately disappointing, thanks to some dodgy performances, irritating characters and a hackneyed, seen-it-all-before script that has nothing new to say.
Getting a fix on reality is the challenge in this exploration of truth, lies & ecstasy set in Edinburgh drug & club scene.. captures the claustrophobic essence of the scene it depicts in a world without light
The film is supposed to be a transformational romance going from the love of ecstasy to the ecstasy of love but the two leads can't manage it any more than the director.
You can hear the people talk above the loud music. It would be so much better if you couldn't.
There's referencing and then there's photocopying, and Ecstasy screams "toner low".
The movie's low-level chat about uppers (boy, you wouldn't give this movie a nickel for its small talk) does little to peddle Welsh's undoubted brilliance.
Whatever the title says, this is most definitely not Irvine Welsh's Ecstasy, but an agonisingly watered-down imitation, a long, languid come-down after the frenetic buzz of Trainspotting.
Billy Boyd's distinctly un-Pippin turn as a psycho drug dealer aside, there's little of interest in this misjudged, miswritten mess.
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