Thunderpants, as its title suggests, is the simple story of a young boy born with two stomachs who farts a lot. And that's it. For the next ninety minutes, all we get are obvious jokes, most of which are about flatulence, terrible performances from smug 'name' actors (whose "look at me, I'm hamming it up in a kid's film, that means I have a sense of humour after all, aren't I wonderful" posturing reminds me of the ego freaks who make televised charity appeals such a chore), and not much else. Whilst I'm always grateful for a British film that isn't an obvious Guy Ritchie knock-off or more profanity-laden kitchen sink excess about football hooliganism, films as obvious and deadeningly stupid as Thunderpants are about as welcome as a kick in the groin with a pair of lead-lined diver's boots. And if I was the creator of the Viz strip Johnny Fartpants, I'd be contacting my lawyer.
Review of Thunderpants
