As one would expect—nay, demand—from a film based on a book by Irvine Welsh, Filth is completely, horrendously, gleefully sordid. By my count, every type of fluid in the human body gets some screen time, and the other bastions of depravity (drugs, erotic asphyxiation, naughty language) are also well represented. I say that upfront because if you're going to enjoy Filth, and you may, it will mean preparing yourself for an apocalyptic wallow in the taboo. by Ben Coleman