Tummy Monster

When tattoo artist Tales gets a call in the middle of the night from a man representing very famous pop star who is “in need of an immediate tattoo,” all sorts of possibilities suggest themselves. Tales rushes to open his shop within the requested 20 minutes. It’s very dark outside, the streets are quiet, and the celebrity is accompanied by a capable-looking bodyguard. This opening is a problem. It means that what follows is unlikely to live up to the film you’re already constructing in your head.

The Glasgow Film Festival, like many others around the world, always endeavours to make room for home-grown talent. The first feature by director Ciaran Lyons, obviously made with a small budget, Tummy Monster is a commendable effort and has a solid idea at its core. It pleased the local crowd at its festival screening, but may not travel so well. Though effective in places, it doesn’t have enough going on to justify its running time, mistaking expositional twists for substance, and when it slows, the device at its heart becomes really, really irritating.

That device? After completing the tattoo, Tales asks the pop star for a selfie. He says it’s for his niece. It’s actually for a different loved one – or is it? Perhaps he just wants it for himself, or for the various women who, over the course of the night, it emerges that he’s trying to impress. perhaps because he sense this duplicity, the pop star is determined to make him earn it. “Rub your tummy,” he says, “or I’ll think you’re an asshole.”

A psychological game begins. The pop star repeats the phrase. Tales repeats the action. Who will break first? Probably the viewer. To decrease the risk of this, Lyons moves the action around and punctuates these exchanges with snippets of conversation. Tales also manages to juggle phone calls and an unexpected visit, but he really struggles to stay on top of his responsibilities. The pop star is going to lose a lot of money but, one might surmise, can afford not to care. As various cinematic tricks are used to associate him with the demonic or the otherworldly, one wonders if he’s playing this game purely because he gets a kick out of cruelty, or if he has a different motive.

It plays out like a promising first draft, always taking the most obvious route and finding comedy in that but nevertheless missing out on opportunities. The actors work hard but not always successfully. One hopes that its success to date will encourage Lyons to try again, but also that he’ll take a step back first and avoid getting caught up in just the sort of narrow thinking that his film effects to criticise.