As our silicon counselor blurts out variations and evaluations, our tension slowly eases and we can finally claim we could have won: at one point, we had a clear advantage (+2.34). After a few brief words with the opponent, we rush to the hotel room, switch the laptop on, then the engine, and check the main mistakes. This is as idiosyncratic as they come arriving in a decade with a thirst for all things retro, it’s as close as we’ll get to the real thing.Our catastrophic game ends. But then Bujalski is not a director conditioned to the obvious. The observations are slight, the drama non-existent maybe focusing more on the chess contest would’ve solved this. Even at 91 minutes, the film feels overlong, never quite boasting enough narrative drive to merit its feature-length. The main issue comes with its running time. Then again, Computer Chess was never meant to win any beauty contests – and Bujalski’s brave choices should be applauded. On a big screen, it looks even worse – and this may be one of the few films where seeing it on DVD, where the deliberate flaws aren’t quite so magnified, is a plus-point. Admittedly, this approach – with its fuzzy pictures, rudimentary editing and old-school fonts – is liable to put off as many viewers as it will win over. Shot in a muddy monochrome, Bujalski has gone to extraordinary lengths to give his film that degraded, tired look using Sony’s old analogue video camera AVC3260 (the in-joke being that while most modern-day directors have graduated from film to digital, Bujalski seems to be working backwards, from the 16mm shoots of his first movies to this even more primitive stock). Then there are the aesthetic qualities to consider. Quite how many second-hand stores were rummaged and how many museum curators were bribed is hard to say, but Bujalski and his team have done a sterling job in digging out this 1980s hardware. Everything about it looks and feels right – from the bad fashions and hair (thanks to stylist Charlie Bratch and costume designer Colin Wilkes) to the cumbersome computer equipment that fills every frame. From a visual point of view, Computer Chess is spot-on. Insular in-jokes, awkward encounters and reams of tech speak – when computers were at the dawn of a new frontier – are the kings and queens of this chess-board. This may be The IT Crowd, but don’t expect Chris O’Dowd and Richard Ayoade to come along and cheer you up. Of course, it’s the night-time shenanigans that are meant to provide the comedy, but Bujalski’s scripting and characterisation is such that the laughs are always deliberately low-key. Some never quite get off the ground – as when Peter encounters a therapy-style group who have also booked out a space in the hotel for the weekend. Along the way, some jokes run way too long – notably Michael’s constant need to find a room to crash in after the hotel loses his reservation. With Bujalski allowing his camera to ping-pong between characters, the actual contest is relegated to secondary importance as we’re allowed to settle in front-row to observe these outsiders. Then there’s shy and retiring Peter Bishton (Patrick Riester) and oafish freelance programmer Michael Papageorge (Myles Paige). Among the participants are experimental psychologist Martin Beuscher (Wiley Wiggins) and Shelly Flintic (Robin Schwartz) – the first ever female contestant. Overseeing this battle is the mildly self-satisfied host Pat Henderson, played by real-life film critic Gerard Peary, one of many non-professionals recruited by Bujalski for the movie. Yes, it’s Robot Wars, only with more chess and no Craig Charles. Instead, groups of contestants bring together a series of homespun, Heath Robinson-like computers to go head-to-head. If you’re looking for a Kasparov versus Fischer-like showdown, only with ZX81s, then you’re just another pawn on Bujalski’s board. Don’t expect a lesson in grandmaster chess, however. When we join the contestants, the tournament is about to get underway.
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