One of my friends is a taxi driver. I know, I know, you’re tired of hearing about the showbiz circles I mix in, but it’s entirely relevant for this post. Watching the terminally miserable looking David Morrissey’s performance as ‘sick of life’ cabbie Vince McKee was pretty much like watching my friend. Except for the bundling someone into a boot bit.
The incidences of vomit stained seats, incontinent drunks, foul mouthed abuse, shouty business conversations and uppity passengers criticising your chosen route would drive most people to a bit of road rage and Vince’s descent into being a man pushed over the edge was written and performed well, and stirred a kind of stressed but empathetic tension within me as I watched.
The setup was this: taxi driver Vince has been married for 18 years, has a teenage daughter and his life seems stuck in a rut. His job is dead end and the reappearance of an old friend who has been released from prison opens up a temptation to join a life of crime, overseen by the guy with the gun from the Alan Partridge Film. Continue reading