Dark, dark Africa ...
Africa's obviously in vogue at the moment. Hollywood has (inexplicably) grown a social conscience (as a response to the current American political situation?) and it's starting with the huge, dark continent. Obviously we don't want to give middle American audiences any real problems with their consciences so we're tackling regimes which have been well and truly toppled.
Most recently: that of Idi Amin. Adapted from the book by Giles Foden, The Last King of Scotland follows Nicholas Garrigan, a young Scottish doctor who, through a series of coincidences, becomes promoted to Amin's personal physician and personal advisor. He is a fictional character based on an amalgamation of real-life Brits who 
worked closely with the dictator.
The production design is spot-on, with Macdonald not shying away from the less glamorous aspects of the Seventies - paisley wallpaper, tight trousers, and sweat patches - think less Charlie's Angels grooming, more African-heat-addled fluffy hair. It's shot on old-style film stock as well, rather than digital, which gives in a sepia tinge and adds to the overbaked feeling he's going for.
Whitaker has won all the awards for a tour de force performance, and he really does embody Amin - his sharp sense of humour, his passionate patriotism, his overwhelming air of menace, and his childlike enthusiasm for Scotland, Garrigan and torture. But it is McAvoy who proves himself again to be a versatile and natural actor as he pulls off that most difficult of roles: the Second Fiddle. He allows Whitaker the opportunity to steal the show, yet it is his sympathetic and flawed doctor with whom we truly empathise
It's a slow-building piece, as Garrigan clambers to hang on to his innocence and is gradually sucked into Amin's intoxicating, dangerous world. By the time you're sucked in there's no escape, as you watch wher
e Garrigan's choices lead him. The knuckle-knawing finale is testimony to Macdonald's skill as a director and to McAvoy's performance. It's a little over-long and Simon McBurney's hideously hammy British diplomat grates, but these are small quibbles for a film which deserves every accolade which has been heaped upon it. I only hope that, come this year's awards season, James McAvoy is recognised for his understated contributions to cinema.
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