Walk Like A Panther

Wrinklies Rule, OK?

The popular belief that post retirement represents a slow road to senility doesn't stir the imagination of film producers. What's must-see about going gentle into that good night?

It seems only a pot of Earl Grey and a chocolate ginger away since Celia Imrie was hoisting the rebel flag over self-satisfied middle-class hypocrites in Finding Your Feet. Now it's the turn of a bunch of has been wrestlers in a Yorkshire village to tone up their flabby six packs to save a pub from capitalist b**tards who intend on pulling it down.

Every cliche known to man (and woman) is celebrated here. Let's hear it for Underdogs United! Is this Leicester City winning the Premier League? Is this wee Davey taking on giant Golly with a rock and a sling?

In the days when telly was too young to know better British wrestling was a family favourite. Up north the Panthers were stars. Now they are old gits who are lucky to hold down crappy jobs. No one remembers them. Or cares. Or so they think.

The Half Nelson, run by Mark Bolton (Stephen Graham), son of Bulldog (Dave Johns), who always wanted to be up there in the ring with the rest of them but didn't consider himself good enough, is the Panthers' watering hole. When the manager of the local brewery (Stephen Tompkinson) declares "Time" the old boys, including a Jamaican transvestite, known as Zulu (Robbie Gee), agree to put on a show that will go viral in social media and be covered by BT Sport, or whoever, and make enough dosh to pay off the developers.

It's a dream; it's for real.

"Come on lads!"

Predictability is the name. Wrestling is the game. The acting does not match the endeavour, however, although physically these veterans put themselves through hell.

Does anyone remember *batteries not included, a lovely film about the last house in a New York tenement block that holds out against ruthless property sharks with the help of aliens? Far-fetched, maybe, but funny and heartfelt.

Walk Like A Panther takes you by the scruff and whacks you down on that sweat stained floor. The comedy is ready made. Whip it into a microwave and listen to the canned laughter.