hughman55 In the summer of 2010 I found myself on a transatlantic flight with a book, "Christopher and His Kind" and, coincidentally, a list of inflight movies that included, "Cabaret". I had never seen the film nor heard of the book. I still don't recall how I ended up with it on that flight. I do recall turning to my husband halfway through the book and saying these words, "Holy crap. I wish I knew how to write a screenplay. This book would make an amazing film." It still would.Of all the failings of this film, and the downfall of every bad film, it is the weak screenplay that doomed it. It is trivial. And the source material, the novel, is anything but trivial. The screenplay is a grocery list of the parade of horribles that led to WWII. We already know them and half of the measly 87 minutes of this film did not need to be taken up by laying them out for the billionth time; and in the most hackneyed ways. You've got the Chrystal Nacht, the Swaztika banners, the good boy turned brownshirt, even the camera shot framing the main character through the Star of David painted onto a Jewish shop window. No imagination anywhere. And that brings us to the second worst failing of this film, it's star, Matt Smith. His Christopher Isherwood is little more than a potted plant with either a winsome or surprised look on his face that alternates A, B, A, B, throughout. No one who writes as well, or lived as interesting a life, as Christopher Isherwood could ever be so dull. The actual facts of Isherwood's life during this period is riveting. This screenplay, and it's lead actor, aren't. I would not recommend this film to anyone but it would be unfair not to mention here that there were several excellent performances in the supporting cast. Imogen Poots (what a name...) as Jean Ross was everything that Sally Bowles was, and Liza Minnell (according to Isherwood himself) wasn't: half talented and full of unearned confidence. Lindsay Duncan as Isherwood's mother was cold comfort, which is to say, no comfort. Her damp love did nothing for her sons both of whom fled from her when they were able. Pipp Carter with very little screen time as Wysten Auden, made a strong impression as Isherwood's best friend; and depressed, religiously tortured, brooding, confidant. But it was an interesting and bizarre performance by Perry Milward, as Christopher's younger brother, that stood out most. The character, Richard Isherwood, is odd. And as a viewer you're not quite sure why. He knows he on the outside looking in, and that is possibly the source of his gentle humanity, even if he is slightly "off". Milward gives a quirky, and interesting, performance that does more to define the dysfunctional family dynamics than his lines ever intended. Unfortunately, for this film, a few good performances in the supporting cast can't save it from a shallow understanding of the story by the screenwriter and a listless performance by the title character. Where would "Cabaret" be if Liza Minnelli were bad. Nowhere. If you are interested in this story read the book and watch "Cabaret". My only regret is that I didn't discover either of them until forty years after they came into existence. They are as relevant today as they were when they were made. This film won't be around four minutes from now.

steven-222 This is the BBC at its most disappointing, delivering glossy, glib, entertaining "product" which could have been, should have been, something deeply moving and profound. Acting, writing, directing, and production are all competent...and nothing more.Matt Smith's performance amounts to one unconvincing pose after another. To play Isherwood, one of the Fox brothers (James or Edward) in his prime would have been ideal. Surely there's a British actor out there who could have made an indelible impression with this part; Smith doesn't have the edge. It's hard not to think of you-know-Who when he does his trademark OTT posturing. There's no depth here.Deeply disappointing.

ianlouisiana From the hyperbolic verbiage of Oscar to the sparser prose of Mr Isherwood took only only two generations of Gay literature but during that relatively short time the love that dare not speak its name was being being grasped (figuratively speaking) by the incipient chattering classes and buggery - if "Christopher and his kind" is to be believed - was being elevated to the level of an Olympic Sport. Certainly Mr Isherwood,once having escaped from England's frying - pan to Nazi Germany's fire ( and you must ask what was he thinking about here)joyfully entered the fray,gleefully indulging in rough trade with all the energy of his class(posh domineering widowed mum,unwilling Cambridge student dropout). This programme was so bad it made me look back with affection towards the Laurence Harvey "I am a camera" of half a century ago - and anyone who remembers that will know what a leap in the dark I'm making. Mr M.Smith is very poor as Isherwood,inciting no sympathy whatsoever,rather a drawback you might think in a drama where he is the main character and,presumably,is supposed to be presenting a gay man in a positive way.Sadly Mr Smith does not seem to possess the acting "chops" to carry off such a complex part. His Isherwood is only interested in one thing - and we all know what that is. "Christopher and his kind" is a missed opportunity to interest a new generation to a minor but interesting figure of British literature whose life surely cannot really have been so proscribed by his sexuality.

reeceindie Inspired by Christopher Isherwood's 1976 autobiography of the same name Christopher and his Kind accomplishes it's greatest challenge in depicting the events and sights that would eventually inspire 1972's Cabaret, without actually imitating or reiterating the iconic Oscar-winner. BBC2's first-class feature-length dramatisation of Isherwood's formative years brilliantly presents the characters, proceedings, and atmosphere of 'thirties Berlin in embryonic form. The wonderfully witty screenplay smartly focuses on the Isherwoods' first travels to Berlin in 1931 and 1933, where both the romanticised sexual freedoms and the threat of fascism are seamlessly integrated into this snapshot of the inter-war years. Told retrospectively from an aging Isherwood, the film begins with the barely-published author taking the train to Berlin, at the urging of friend, WH Auden. Wisely, Isherwood is never portrayed as just a writer or observer, only briefly seen at the typewriter, and the film overcomes many of the obstacles in creating dramas based on writers to the extent that the publication of Isherwood's book 'Sally Bowles' remains just a passing reference, and receives little fanfare. Matt Smith is effortlessly perfect in the role of Isherwood displaying the ease with which Isherwood integrates himself into the sexual underground and 'divine decadence' of the club scene. If it was Smith's hope that this performance would inspire audiences to temporarily forget about his other BBC work then he has surely succeeded. Smith is perfectly accompanied by Toby Jones, as his rough-trade-loving neighbour and an impeccable Lindsey Duncan as his thoroughly British mother. Imogen Poots occupies the most difficult role as the proto-Sally Bowles, Jean Ross, all green fingernails and lousy torch-songs, a gift for any actress. Isherwood leaves Germany when it becomes clear that to stay would be fatal and unsuccessfully attempts to bring his German boyfriend back to Britain. The film closes with a brief post-war reunion between the two former lovers, and the difference between the two is made clear. Heinz, his German lover, is now married with a child and Christopher, as we know, is on the verge of being embraced by a burgeoning gay movement and meeting the man with whom he'll spend the rest of his life.