Critics reviews

In character terms, In The Loop is less pessimistic than the show that inspired it, which never made room for a figure as relatively good-hearted as James Gandolfini's U.S. lieutenant general. But on the political plane, it's utterly, uncompromisingly bleak.

The steady stream of scatalogically creative epithets that flow from Tucker's maw – almost all of them aimed at Foster – are alone worth the price of admission. Add to that the scabrous, impious weaselry on display amongst these so-called statesman and In the Loop achieves a raunchy sort of glory.

[T]he film’s aesthetic lineage extends from Michael Ritchie’s 1972 The Candidate and Altman’s Tanner ’88, through to Nineties films like Bob Roberts and Wag the Dog. In direct contrast to the sober realism of Ken Loach’s political films, say, it’s a bluntly confrontational approach, but it does have the desired effect of exposing the ugly truths lurking behind the satire.

The genius of “In the Loop,” directed by Armando Iannucci and written by a crack team of British wits, is that it turns this mountain into a series of festering molehills.

Violently verbose and startlingly impolite, with shovelfuls of obscenities, “In the Loop” is the most savage, biting political satire on the big screen in years.

nnucci’s shakycam, quasi-improvised style, widely popularized by the onslaught of digital cameras, creates a sense of naturalism while giving the actors freedom to play with their roles. The story occasionally grows too dense for even devout political honchos, but the finest scenes of “In the Loop” thrive on a certain amount of confusion. Ultimately, Iannucci seems less interested in satirizing the government than in showcasing the absurdities that truly exist.

The film’s success, and ultimately its lasting power, comes from making the audience laugh more than it makes them angry. It’s bound to be controversial (and no doubt perceived in some quarters as anti-American), but its most uncontroversial strength is that it is, from beginning to end, hilarious

Political satire is a bitch to pull off. Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove set the bar high in 1964. But damned if In the Loop doesn’t at least nip at its skirts. Best of all, this ink-black comedy of war and how to stop worrying and love the spin is devilishly clever. The brilliant Capaldi turns cursing into performance art, spewing streams of invective that would make David Mamet blush... laugh you will, loud and often.

Balancing a crazed jigsaw of dozens of characters, director Iannucci creates a startling indictment of war-mongering officials whose invaluable lines of communication are suspiciously disengaged, with quick-paced, acerbic dialogue cementing the raucously droll backdrop. Let’s just hope the kids in Washington learn a lesson or two from this portentous, weighty satire.

Iannucci's superb film, shot in the docu-vérité style of the original TV show The Thick of It and boasting a cracking script by Jesse Armstrong and Simon Blackwell, with Iannucci, Ian Martin and Tony Roche, is the first really satisfying, really fearless dramatic assault on the scandal of Iraq.

In the Loop, like a lot of Iannucci’s work, is technically brilliant, but fatally flawed by the extent to which it is fascinated by – dotes on, even – the culture that it purports to abhor. It’s a sharper, bawdier version of Yes, Minister. And ultimately just as cosy, colluding in our cynicism about politicians rather than challenging it.

Shaky cameras, bad suits and crappy furnishings don’t automatically equal documentary-style reality – but combined with smart performances and a politically astute script that wisely sidesteps specifics but feeds on the tenor of real events, they go a long way to achieving it. It’s also a welcome celebration of polished and engaged comic writing that very rarely feels laboured and always feels that it has a serious point to make amid the ample gags.