Tonight You’re Mine: Handcuffed to Mediocrity
No more than 180 seconds after the opening credits finish rolling, a nameless character appears in a golf cart bearing the tired plot device that the remainder of this movie will use to prop itself up: a pair of handcuffs destined to connect two people who hate each other. The victims of this prank are a couple of bickering twentysomething rock-and-rollers camping out at a muddy music fest in Scotland where their respective bands are slated to gig. She's a girl with an attitude, and he's a guy with an attitude, and if their big, empty personalities didn't leave much room for each other before the cuffing, how will they fare when they're only an arm's length apart? And how will this affect their personal and professional lives over the next day and a half? An unlikely romance, perhaps? No less than a third of this movie's paltry 80 minutes is composed of transition montages and lengthy crowd shots, which makes one wonder if it wouldn't have been better realized as a nonnarrative concert documentary.
Excise the flimsy plot and the poorly acted, uninteresting characters (undo the handcuffs of narrative demands?), and what remains is a fairground teeming with life, energy, and cinematic potential. The lights of the amusement rides and LCD ads blurred in the perpetual twilight of the clouds and mist or refracted through plastic cups of watery beer, the swaths of campground detritus, the muted hues of the countryside—all are photographed well, but they're presented only as intriguing establishing shots, a backdrop quickly marred when our shackled, whining protagonists drag each other into the frame, unwelcome reminders of an otherwise easily forgotten story line.