One day, 16-year-old Jess and her younger brother were sat down in front of the television and told to watch Trainspotting and Trainspotting 2 back to back, because we were now deemed old enough to be scared out of ever picking up a heroin spoon.
Naturally, we obliged. And celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, it remains one of Scotland’s most iconic pieces of media. It makes me more passionate than Rabbie Burns ever has, its soundtrack includes songs now sampled by Pink Pantheress (my name is Pink and I really need one more hit), and six years since hearing the words “baby Dawn”, Trainspotting still turns me into an angry greeting mess every time.
Illustrating What No One Wanted To See
Use of imagery in Trainspotting leaves the viewer nauseated by the truth about the lives of addicts in the 90s, with Edinburgh being regarded as the “AIDS capital of Europe” at the time. Symbolism leaves those watching with the gut-wrenching fear of the worst for our morally ambiguous characters, without anyone needing to actually say anything at all. The infamous bedroom scene makes me cry out of pure distress for a fictional person to this day, because he’s not fictional at all. This happened to someone. Underworld probably wasn’t playing in the background, but who’s to say?
But even the clips between this scene, of Renton’s parents appearing on a game show where all the answers are related to AIDs, is a chilling image. Mr and Mrs Renton are rehearsed, medical, and well-read on what their son may be going through. But Renton hasn’t even registered the concept. He’s upstairs, too busy with withdrawals. And the image of AIDs not even occurring to someone who may have it because they’re that painfully lodged in the cold turkey stages of heroin withdrawal, is a stomach-punching reality check.
As well as this, the film takes a nuanced look at active addiction, and whilst the characters are stylish and remain iconic to this day, whether or not the film glamorises their conditions is disputed. However, despite the iconic soundtrack, well-executed costume design, and virtually every other scene acting as a piece of indie iconography, no amount of Iggy Pop or Choose Life monologues can gloss over the horrendous events that Rent Boy, Sick Boy, Tommy and Spud proceed to go through.
A Spectrum of Scotland’s Bad Men
But the genius of Trainspotting lies in its characterisation, humanising those living on the fringes of Scotland’s capital. But whilst this humanised a group that was effectively treated as the boogeyman at the time, our central four are far from saints, often making poor or outright wrong decisions.
They aren’t the best of friends. The best men. It seems to illustrate a spectrum of Scotland’s bad men, descending from abusers to deadbeat misogynists, to enablers to the enabled and the “daft” boys that tag along and contribute. Obviously, some of these aren’t deserving of our sympathy at all. But this raw formula applies far beyond a group of Edinburgh heroin addicts; it’s a bold illustration of toxic masculinity.
Anywhere you look in life, you’ll see a Sick Boy who’s charming on the surface level but deep down, sees women as disposable. Everyone will meet a Begbie. Maybe they have already and don’t know it yet. And everyone knows a Renton who doesn’t stand up to a Begbie or a Sick Boy, but he’s not that bad because technically he’s not the one actually committing the abuse. Right?
Hence, Renton, in all his iconography (still haunting Edinburgh billboards to this day), is perhaps one of my favourite narrators of all time. He observes both ends of a spectrum. He’s a thief. He’s a childhood friend. He’s a man determined to change. He’s a desperate addict. He’s a shell of a man. He’s a conscience. Sometimes.
If I met him in real life, he’d repulse me, purely out of his silent complicity in his friend’s behaviour. But the quality that shines through him is that he is absolutely guilt-infested, with a thin veil of nihilism attempting to shield him. You might not know an addict, but I promise that you know a Renton.
False Nostalgia
And so whilst it was first presented to me as a local anti-heroin campaign by Mr and Mrs Urquhart (and a successful one at that), Trainspotting remains one of my favourite stories to this day. Every now and then, throughout the 94 minutes, I feel myself getting nostalgic, or I’ll read a couple of chapters when I’m homesick.
The sound of Pulp and the flash of a Hibs badge will make me feel safe, until I’m faced with some horrendous element that I forgot about, a brutal slap in the face from Irvine Welsh himself telling me, “This is not about you”. And whilst it leaves you with a guilty sense of self-awareness and the cliché “how fortunate am I” sentiment, it remains devastating.
Sometimes I watch it to remind myself that I’m still alive and feeling, and that you’re actually allowed to feel pain for scenarios you haven’t lived. Something doesn’t have to be explicitly relatable to ring true. And that bell rings every single time.
Featured Image Credit: Channel 4 Films
4th year Politics and Journalism student.
Secretary for Brig
The Herald Student Press Awards Columnist Of The Year 2024 (which sorry i’m still not over)
