Sometimes things line up oddly perfectly and when I heard of this screening of a new Irvine Welsh documentary, Paul Sng’s ‘Reality Is Not Enough’, it seemed to be one of those occasions. The screening, along with a Q&A with the director, was taking place in a relatively new cinema in my hometown of Montrose and moreover, the very building that now housed this new theatre was my previous place of work. ‘Montrose Playhouse’ sits in the old swimming pool where I spent probably thousands of hours watching people swim, occasionally sweating out hangovers and often thinking about Irvine Welsh and his work and probably romanticising my own youthful capers as if they were taking place in one of his novels. The cinema pays homage to it’s previous incarnation with diving blocks repurposed as seats in the halls and old signs (that I probably pointed at whilst looking disapprovingly at troublesome bathers) displayed throughout the theatre. This was my first visit and it was incredible to see how the place had been transformed and I was glad that now visitors would be treated to more enthralling viewing than I had been accustomed to when I worked here which ranged almost exclusively from swimming lessons or diving sessions to the odd stolen re-run of Desparate Housewives on the TV in the health suite, when I was supposed to be cleaning the sauna. All in all, it seemed like now it was certainly a bit less shite to be from Montrose.
The film rather than simply run through and reflect on Welsh’s career and work, aims to take us inside the mind of the man himself. So much of Welsh’s novels are written in the first person, constantly confronting us with the view points and inner workings of the protagonist. We’re used to delving into a character constructed by Irvine but here we are given a rare look inside of the writer, joining him as he reflects on his life and work, on how he has changed over the years and where he is now at this point in his life. Drugs and experimentation have been a huge part of his writing and throughout the film we follow Irvine as he takes on a new experience and are given a bit of an insight into why he still strives for this fresh exploration. The film is made up of footage of Irvine at various literary festivals and other events, clips from adaptions of his work and visuals which accompany readings from his work from various narrators as well as his own reflections. I’ll leave it there and let director Paul Sng fill you in on the rest…
When did you first become interested in filmmaking, and what drew you specifically to documentary work?
It was late 2014 when I first met Sleaford Mods. At the time, I wasn’t making films at all — I had a full-time job. Like a lot of kids, I’d once dreamed of becoming a filmmaker, but it never felt like a realistic option for someone from my background, growing up on a council estate. Film directors felt like people who lived in Hollywood, not people like me, so I pushed that dream aside before it really had a chance to take shape.
Meeting Sleaford Mods changed something. Almost immediately, I had this instinct that they’d make a compelling subject for a documentary — not just a film about the band, but a way of taking the temperature of the country in the run-up to the general election the following year. We put together a small crowdfunding campaign, raised a bit of money, and off we went.
Me and my co-director, Nathan, really didn’t know what we were doing — but sometimes, not knowing the rules means you end up breaking them in interesting ways. From initial concept to screening in a cinema, the whole process took just 11 months. It’s still the fastest film I’ve ever made.
We were incredibly instinctive about it. We had a cut, trimmed a few minutes, and then we had picture lock. These days, getting to picture lock involves countless versions and refinements- far more drafts than I can count. That’s probably what you’re taught if you go to film school, but back then we were just like, “That’s it – it’s done.”
I don’t really believe in going back and altering things. I understand why some filmmakers do, but I think that roughness is part of the film’s character. It’s imperfect, but that’s what gives it its energy. It’s become something of a cult film, I suppose. I haven’t seen it in years, but it would be interesting to revisit it now – more than a decade on.
“We were also very conscious of what we didn’t want to make. I didn’t want a film full of people talking about how great Irvine is or what his work meant to them.“
When did you become kind of interested in Irvine Welsh’s work and what’s your personal relationship with his books?
It goes back a long way, to 1996, when I first saw the film version of Trainspotting. I think I actually read Ecstasy before I read Trainspotting the book. I remember reading Ecstasy on holiday in Tenerife and absolutely loving it. I’d bought Trainspotting, but I don’t think I’d read it yet -when I eventually did, it took a little while to get into. If you’re not Scottish and you’re not familiar with Scots, it can be slightly disorienting at first. I remember thinking, “Who’s this Ken guy?” before realising that “ken” just means “know.”
Once it clicked, I loved it. Irvine’s work is transporting. On one level it’s about drugs, but it’s really about being young, about friendship, and about people on the margins. Those themes resonate across all kinds of backgrounds — especially for someone like me, who often felt like an outsider. Renton and the others revel in not fitting into society, because society, frankly, is shit. Reading those books made me feel alive. They also made me feel seen and heard.
It would be many years before I actually met Irvine. I’d read a lot of his books, but it wasn’t until I moved to Scotland seven years ago that our worlds began to overlap. We had friends in common, but we hadn’t met until we crossed paths backstage at a gig. We clicked straight away and got on really well.
A couple of years after that, I suggested the idea of making a documentary together, and luckily he was open to it. Working with a friend can have its positives and negatives, but for us it was overwhelmingly positive. Our friendship is stronger now than it ever was before. The time we spent together, the trust he placed in me as a filmmaker, and the belief he showed in the project meant a great deal.
Of all the people I’ve worked with, he was the easiest – which is funny, because he’s also the most famous.
How did the project evolve from the initial idea to actually making the film once you first approached him?
Initially, the idea was fairly loose – we were going to follow him for about 18 months and see what happened. But once we’d been doing that for a while, the film became much more conceptual. He’s an interesting person and he does interesting things, but on their own, those activities probably wouldn’t have sustained the film in the way we wanted.
The other elements, like the memory space and the readings, emerged during the editing process, as we worked out what we needed to connect everything together. It was really shaped in the edit.
At its core, I always knew the film was about someone who had reached a point in life where they were, perhaps for the first time, properly looking back. He’s a very forward-thinking person, not nostalgic at all, so that felt significant.
We were also very conscious of what we didn’t want to make. I didn’t want a film full of people talking about how great Irvine is or what his work meant to them. That could be interesting in another context, but here I wanted something more intimate, a film where you simply get to know him and spend time in his company.
Where did the idea of centring the film around the DMT experience come from, and at what point did it enter the process?
The idea came together while we were preparing for the Toronto shoot. I knew we were heading over for a book festival, and the opportunity arose through one of the Canadian producers we were working with, a guy called Charlie. He mentioned that he was making a film about hallucinogenic drugs – which, in Toronto, can be taken legally.
When he brought it up, I thought, yeah, this could actually happen. It didn’t take much persuading at all. I spoke to Irvine about it and he was keen. At that point, I don’t think I saw the experience as the connective tissue of the film, but once he’d done it, that changed.
Simply filming the trip itself didn’t feel interesting enough, so the question became how to visualise it. I’ve never taken DMT myself, but through talking to Irvine and reading about it, I tried to get a sense of the experience. You can never truly visualise a trip – whether it’s acid, DMT, or mushrooms — because it’s so personal. But what you can do is try to recreate a sense of the inwardness of it, that insular world you disappear into. That’s what we set out to capture.
In the end, it was a gift. Chad – the guy who supplied Irvine with the DMT – was an incredible character. Honestly, if you wrote Chad into a script, a producer would probably send it back with a note saying he was a bit on the nose and needed toning down. But that’s exactly who he was. You could tell from the very first Zoom call – he was unforgettable.
“Rules are made to be broken, but in this case, we couldn’t make it happen.“
When I watched the film, I assumed Irvine was wanting to do the DMT trip and that became part of the film, but it was actually for the film?
It actually worked the other way around. Obviously, I couldn’t force him to do anything – it was my suggestion – and luckily he was up for it. I thought he would be. He’d taken DMT before, but not that particular kind, the 5-MeO stuff, which is incredibly strong.
When we got there, he asked me if I was going to do it as well. I said I’d love to, but I couldn’t – I needed to keep an eye on him and Phil. Maybe one day.
Would I go back and try it myself? I think I would. Not just anywhere, though. I wouldn’t want to take some dodgy stuff ordered off the dark web and try it in some random flat. If I were to do it, it would have to be under the right conditions.
I don’t really take drugs anymore, but I’ve had a few experiences in my time – and that’s one I’d still be curious about.
The opening of the film struck me as echoing the reflective monologue style at the beginning of Trainspotting. Was it a conscious decision to open with a voiceover that contemplates life in that way?
Definitely. At one point, I wanted Ewan McGregor to do the reading, and we even tried to contact him through his agent. He was performing in a play just three minutes from where we were doing post-production, but we couldn’t get through – sometimes it’s really difficult to bypass agents.
That said, having him would have broken one of the rules we set at the start. With the readings, we decided that if someone had already appeared in one of Irvine’s adaptations, we probably didn’t want them reading. Rules are made to be broken, but in this case, we couldn’t make it happen.
I’m glad that Irvine opens the film himself, though – it works really well. It would have been cool to hear Renton, of course. And we deliberately avoided the Choose Life speech, Born Slippy, and Lust for Life — as iconic as they are, we wanted to steer clear of the obvious.
How did the other narrators come to be in the film?
It was largely a case of working with Martha Stewart, our casting director. I’d suggest names, and Martha would handle contacting the agents. We pretty much got everyone we wanted, though there were a couple we didn’t.
I’d worked with Maxine Peake before, and she introduced me to Helen Behan. Similarly, I’d worked with Ruth Negga, and we’d talk about Poly Styrene. A few of the others came from thinking about who had a distinct voice – someone recognisable, like Neeson, or who could bring gravitas in an unexpected way, like Nick Cave.
We also wanted to include emerging, working-class actors, like Olivia Caw and Mark Hanna – actors who love Irvine’s work and are hugely talented but not yet widely known. Inclusivity was important; I wanted underrepresented voices to be part of the film.
Olivia Caw, for example, was in a play of Trainspotting. She’s always teasing me, saying, “You never mention me in interviews.” So now I get to set the record straight!
What’s your favourite Irvine Welsh adaption?
Glue. Oh, in terms of adaptations… well, my favourite Irvine novel is Glue, which hasn’t been adapted yet, so if we’re talking films, it’ll have to be Trainspotting. I also like Filth, and there are some good moments in The Acid House, but Trainspotting takes it.
That was also the first Irvine book I saw adapted – and the first one made.
As for my favourites in general: Glue, followed by The Blade Artist, Skagboys, Trainspotting, Marabou Stalk Nightmares… then Filth, followed by Porno, and finally Dead Men’s Trousers.
If you were to adapt any of these yourself would it be Glue?
Yes, I’d love to do Glue as a TV series. Who knows what might happen? And if not Glue, then maybe an animated version of Marabou Stalk Nightmares – I think animation would really suit that one. Both would be wonderful projects.
You can’t really escape how episodic Glue is. Something like Our Friends in the North, with seven or eight episodes, lets you tell a story across multiple decades. With Glue, you wouldn’t need a straight adaptation – you could play around with it, maybe dedicate each series to a different decade: the ’70s, ’80s, ’90s, and 2000s. Of course, that would require a real commitment from whoever commissioned it, which isn’t easy, but it would be a fantastic way to tell the story.
I guess with crime dramas becoming more common on TV now – especially shows that get multiple series – there’s more room to explore long-form storytelling like that.
What was your early experiences with cinema and how you got into film?
I think the first cinema I really remember going to was the Coronet in Elephant and Castle, which was near where I grew up- fun fact, it’s also where Charlie Chaplin is from. I think the first films I saw there were E.T. and Clash of the Titans. Clash of the Titans was quite traumatic as a kid- the opening scene where Perseus and his mother are put into a chest and set out to sea really stuck with me. E.T. was also intense, but in a very different, celebratory way.
What I loved most, though, was just being in that dark cinema with all those people. My mum would take me to the movies regularly- maybe not every week, but at that age it felt like it- and it was such an immersive experience. Seeing those incredible films in the ’80s sparked a lifelong love of cinema for me. Even now, I try to go at least once a week—I’d go every day if I could. There’s something almost holy about a cinema: the big screen, the sound, the communal experience—you just can’t replicate that at home unless you’re extremely lucky.
That said, I do have my pet peeves! I get really distracted by people making noise—clinking drinks, rattling wrappers, eating loudly- it drives me crazy. Phones out in the cinema is another big one; I’ll politely ask someone to put theirs away because it’s so distracting. Most people are fine about it, though I did have one person get upset once! But when an audience is engaged, laughing, reacting to a film, that energy is incredible and makes the whole experience feel even more special.
Irvine Welsh: Reality Is Not Enough is available now on DVD and Blue Ray and is available to rent or buy on Apple TV and Amazon Prime.
