The Invention Of Lying Review

Ignore the naysayers. Somehow, Ricky Gervais has done it. Where so many British comedians skip over to Hollywood only to lose everything about their work that ever made it recognisably theirs, with The Invention Of Lying, Ricky Gervais has managed to deliver a baby that is obviously his, right down to the snub nose and chubbiness. The most glossily Hollywood thing about The Invention Of Lying is its slick poster, about which Gervais says on his blog: "Yes, of course they've airbrushed it. That's why I look like some sort of facelifted old queen."

In the movie itself, Gervais' character, brown-suited sad-sack Mark Bellinson, resembles David Brent of Wernham Hogg, stripped of the massive blustering shield of his preposterous ego. This is a perfect example of what a difference the truth makes: Brent's ego was shored up by lickspittles and people too well-mannered to tell him straight what a prize arse he was, as he almost acknowledged: "Every time you open your mouth you have this wonderful ability to continually confirm what I think." Mark Bellinson is a short, tubby loser who has had to hear for his whole life that he is a short, tubby loser. He is of course very much more likeable, if, due to the constraints of telling a story in an hour and a half, a less complex figure.

The alternate reality of The Invention Of Lying is touted as a world that has no concept of lying. In fact, it goes much further: it's a world where everybody constantly spills their opinions with the compulsive verbal incontinence of a low-rent TV pundit asked to reminisce about the television they watched as a child. Not only are direct questions answered with blithe, crushing honesty - "I'm depressed and pessimistic about our date tonight" - but all sorts of unasked for information is also volunteered: restaurant staff reveal that they're embarrassed to work there, Tina Fey's assistant type announces that she loathed every minute she worked for Mark, and Jennifer Garner's slinky beauty chirps that she had been in the middle of masturbating when she opens the door to Gervais' overly punctual date for the evening. It also means that once Mark discovers he can lie, anything he says is believed.

It's a great concept, but is it funny? Honestly - yes. The first half hour is the straightforward romp through a world of blunt truths we'd been led to expect from the trailer, and brings the yucks in a satisfyingly straightforward fashion. It's a world where adverts implore you to drink Coke "because it's famous" and drink Pepsi "when there isn't any Coke". Rest homes are "sad places for old people" and films are lectures on exciting historical events delivered by the likes of Christopher Guest.