I found this film embarrassing to watch. I felt like it was shoving the storyline down my throat as if I couldn't pick up the subtleties I needed a voice over to spell them all out for me constantly.Having a father who IS still an alcoholic, I didn't really feel it was a film about alcoholism as such. Alcoholics, true alcoholics are very lonely people inside, in my opinion of course. They find it hard to communicate, something that the main character had no problem with really, except he DID have a problem saying I love you at one point- which was a bit of a feeble effort at establishing his cold character. He was constantly surrounded with people too!? I felt cheated that at no point were we really alone with the character to really get a sense of his inner loneliness and turmoil. I couldn't connect with the character and felt no link at all considering my father. I felt nothing at all when it had finished, just relief it was over.Kevin McKidd is an okay actor but not a tough guy feature lead! The clockwork orange thing was as subtle as a brick. McKidd was too old for the teen, they should have got three different characters or avoided the teen stage and concentrated more on the adult McKidd.On a good note, I felt the little boy actor was really good at the start of the film!!

This is only the second time I stopped a video/DVD part way through.I was willing to give this film the benefit of the doubt at first, even though it managed to be both shallow, clichéd and stupid.. AND joyless, plodding and pretentious.It was like an After School Special directed by that weird grade nine kid who thinks nobody understands him... creepy and sad, with voice-over narration that only the most deluded adolescent would consider poetry... and some singing, and... no, really, the poor child's suffering...Enough, already, especially when it morphed into a brazen, clumsy, and insulting Clockwork Orange ripoff. And did I mention the singing?This isn't the worst film I've ever seen, but certainly the one I've felt least compelled to sit through. I don't recommend it to anyone.

"Sixteen Years of Alcohol" is a beautiful parable about a Scottish man who grew up into human society's trap of alcoholism and violence. A boisterous, loud-mouthed wannabe droog, the main character (excellently played)'s short, tragic life is recounted in flashback. Beautifully shot, this Scottish film has not received enough critical praise for its very artistic take on the self-destructive lives we all lead. The soundtrack is haunting and mesmerizing, the performances well-staged and inspired. The title card of the American DVD reads "A Clockwork Orange meets Trainspotting"; while this film parodies the former, it runs much closer to the latter in its themes of self-destruction and isolation. "Sixteen Years..." is a great meditation on human frailty.

"Sixteen Years of Alcohol" is the Edinburgh story of a guy with a philandering dad who starts to drink at twelve or so, turns into a violent, alcoholic punker, and finally seeks self-reform. Early scenes depict Frankie, the young boy and his father. We then jump forward to the big, muscular Frankie Mack (Kevin McKidd) terrorizing pubs and shops with his three mates like Alex and his dogies in "A Clockwork Orange" but without Alex's archness and glee. Frankie also gets into fights with his own mates and woos Helen (Laura Fraser), who clerks in a record shop.Eventually the hero, whose brooding voice-overs constantly intrude, loses Helen, though for a while she seems to have tamed him and turned him from Mars into Artemis, bearer of good news -- as she puts it in a game they play on a colonnade perched high up above the town. Frankie gets stabbed and kicked senseless (S.O.P. for the hoodlums of this piece) and winds up in a twelve-step group for alcoholics -- but when he shares at a meeting, he tellingly substitutes for the classic AA declaration, "My name is Frankie, and I AM A VIOLENT MAN." He also joins an acting workshop with Mary (Susan Lynch), his new girl -- or recovery pal: there's no lovemaking or physical affection shown. One shot hints that Frankie's employed in a workshop or factory, but specific detail is lacking: the film is deliberately short on connected narrative, going for passion and poetry over mundane realism.There's truth in the 'Village Voice's' thumbnail description of "Sixteen Years of Alcohol" as a series of "static tableaux," and it's also true that McKidd's better than "the dubious romanticism and hard-man clichés of his role." Parts of the movie fall flat, but what makes it worth watching is an intense clarity about the people and the sharply lit scenes they're in. Also welcome to an American is that unlike some Scottish films this one's English is crystal clear too. There is the power and sincerity of the simple small film in "Sixteen Years of Alcohol," but also a lack of narrative focus and sense of a whole world one finds in England's Sixties "angry young man" films beginning with "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning." Jobson isn't trying for "kitchen sink" realism at all, but for something poetic and expressionistic; and the stark, strikingly lit photography helps him approach that goal and make this a watchable film.What's less appealing is the simplistic fatalism of the plot structure. One may wind up wishing Frankie had received more practical tips about how to stay off alcohol and violence, rather than focusing on his relationships with women, which aren't developed very far anyway. The "dubious romanticism" shows up in the way a life is ultimately seen as circular (as is the film's "ring" framing device) and doomed, rather than -- what would be equally justified by the story -- moderately hopeful. The chap is still young and healthy, after all, and he wants to get better. Why not suggest he's going in that direction? This is the first film for Jobson, previously known as the front man for the Seventies Scottish art punk band, the Skids, and, later as a poet, model, TV presenter, film producer and critic. He has not disgraced himself in this semi-autobiographical effort (the time-line follows that of his own Sixties childhood and Seventies youth). What one remembers are the stark sometimes beautiful images. The high-flown, overwrought writing can be cloying, but may also point in a fresh new direction. No Danny Boyle here, but rather, perhaps, a new style and voice.(Seen March 26, 2005 at Cinema Village in New York.)