Gregory's Two Girls Review

Image for Gregory's Two Girls

Now an angsty teacher, the 34 year-old Gregory - still gangly, still crap, still a girlfriend-free zone - is caught between an amorous and eminently suitable fellow staff member (Doyle Kennedy) and a crush he's developed for cute football-playing schoolgirl, Frances (McKinnon). Cue: inept romantic shenanigans. That would be, if nothing else, appropriate.


Gregory's Girl was a lyrical, magical ode to the agonies and joys of being a gangly, spotty nerk of a Scottish teenager in love and utterly rubbish at football; directed with a filigree touch and brimful of tender humour, it immediately took up residence in the hearts of millions.

In the intervening 17 years before this odious sequel came to pass, one can only surmise that evil film-nixing aliens have kidnapped the real Bill Forsyth and replaced him with a hollowed-out doppelganger utterly devoid of any filmmaking ability.

The blueprint for a Gregory sequel is not hard to imagine, but unfathomably, what we actually get is painfully lumpen comedy, tied around an incomprehensible plot about human rights, dodgy practices at a local factory, and Gregory with nubile schoolgirl in tow attempting to wreak righteous havoc. And it's just shite.

Forsyth has completely dislocated the heart of the original film. Sinclair is awkward and unlovable as an adult Gregory and his romantic travails seem more the product of an unhinged mind than heartfelt realities. So offbeam and distracted is the writing, that between interminable ramblings about political insurrection, Forsyth resorts to 'beaver' gags and ruinous slapstick.

If you cast about for redeeming features, McKinnon is suitably cute, and in one heavenly (but momentary) scene, Forsyth captures the spirit of the original when on that famous park bench at dusk she attempts to teach her goofy English master how to pronounce 'Nabokov'.

Jittering about its crazy plot without grace or humour, this has absolutely no ending. To add insult to deep injury, there is only one damn scene with any football in it. And no Claire Grogan. Criminal.