I took a break from studying last night to go and catch a flick at the Clapham Picturehouse (although I did take my Kerr’s Law of Sale and Lease to mull over in the coffee-shop beforehand), because I was starting to get seriously grumpy. Movie-wise, the choice was easy: The Last King of Scotland, an gritty indie featuring a larger-than-life performance by veteran charactor actor Forest Whitaker and directed by Oscar-winning documentary maker Kevin MacDonald. It was good. Very good.

Whilst MacDonald’s work in putting together an otherwise cohesive, attractive and poignant film shouldn’t be brushed aside, it is Whitaker who, like his character (the Ugandan president Idi Amin who rose to power following a military coup in 1971), rules with absolute impunity, bending the performances of those around him to his undulating will. This is a tour de force if ever I saw one. And yes, I did see Rocco Siffredi in New Wave Hookers 2.

I’m gushing now. No-one but Forest Whitaker could have bought a multidimensional behemoth like Amin to life with such vigour, and I’m certain that none could have done it as sublimely as he does. One minute he’s charming and innocent, the next scared and paranoid, then fiery and charismatic and, inevitably, cruel and terrifying. Yet not once does he drop the thread of humanity that ties together every facet of his performance, alluding to a somewhat disturbing but necessary empathy that Whitaker obviously has for the African icon. Magnificent.

The Last King of Scotland chronicles the early, glory years of Amin’s reign through the eyes of Nicholos Garrigan, a fictitious Scottish doctor (good effort by James McAvoy, but completely overshadowed – and as well he should be!), culminating in the thrilling Entebbe raid in 1975. Through Garrigan, Amin’s attrocities are initially hidden from the audience, but as negative international sentiment rapidly mounts against Uganda and the violence of the regime become more difficult to conceal, so Garrigan (and we) are forced to accept the devestating and bloody truth: that Idi Amin is a fat cock.

This is an intelligent, much-better-than-average movie with a few good laughs and some pretty sick mutiliation shots; it also serves to highlight the current sad state of African politics. Not much has changed, it seems. Tragic.

There are also some tits and a swimming pool. All good movies should have tits and a swimming pool.

The Salami reckons: check this one out.

Despite being a total bastard, Idi Amin was quite an amusing fellow. Here are some of his quirks:

Amin is reported to have expressed admiration for Adolf Hitler and kept the severed heads of political opponents in his refrigerator.

The depth of Amin’s cruelty was matched only by the eccentricity of his behaviour.

He declared himself King of Scotland, banned hippies and mini-skirts, and appeared at a royal Saudi Arabian funeral in 1975 wearing a kilt.

He awarded himself the Victoria Cross, offered to visit Northern Ireland as a peace mediator, and said that he, not the Queen, should be head of the Commonwealth.

According to Wikipedia: “It is said that he gave himself the title “His Excellency President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea, and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular”.

And, of course: “He is reported to have sent the Queen a telex that read: ‘Dear Liz, if you want to know a real man, come to Kampala.’”

Top dollar.