Porterhouse Blue

Tom Sharpe has to be one of the funniest writers in human history, and in my younger days I remember my joy every time a new books came out.

But some works are so rooted in their medium that attempted transplants are essentially impossible, and so it is here.

The screenplay does what it can, and yes, we get the outlines of the story. There are even a few funny scenes. But there's none of the magic, and there's none of gut busting absurdity that hurts your lungs one page after the next, just a somewhat mediocre story. No-one to blame and, hell, valiant effort, but some things just aren't meant to be.