Fish Tank

Peter Bradshaw
In this film, Andrea Arnold has demonstrated her mastery and fluency in the social-realist idiom, and simply makes it fizz with life. Having now watched Fish Tank a second time, I am more exhilarated than ever by Arnold's idealism, and in a movie marketplace where so much is vapidly cynical, this is a mistral of fresh air. Arnold finds a way into the fashionable notion of a "Broken Britain", but in place of the pundits' dismay and contempt, she offers tenderness and hope. If Ken Loach were ever somehow called on constitutionally to nominate a successor, it would surely have to be Arnold. She's got the grit; she has Loach's humanism and optimism and she has a happy knack of getting great performances out of her cast, particularly from Michael Fassbender, who proves that he's not just sex on a stick – he's complexity and vulnerability on a stick as well. Added to this, Arnold and her cinematographer, Robbie Ryan, conjure some glorious, almost Turner-ish images of the Essex countryside, with its racing summer skies.

1. Fish Tank
2. Production year: 2009
3. Country: UK
4. Cert (UK): 15
5. Runtime: 124 mins
6. Directors: Andrea Arnold, Andrea Arnold
7. Cast: Harry Treadaway, Jason Maza, Katie Jarvis, Kierston Wareing, Michael Fassbender, Rebecca Griffiths
8. More on this film

At the centre of the story is newcomer Katie Jarvis, playing Mia, a tricky, lairy 15-year-old in trouble with the social services for breaking a girl's nose after a contretemps in one of the windswept municipal canyons lying between tower blocks. She has inherited from her mum, played by Kierston Wareing, a stroppy insecurity and a nascent fondness for the booze. The family dog is actually called Tennent's. Mia has a feisty younger sister, Tyler – a scene-stealer of a performance from Rebecca Griffiths – who is always winding Mia up with shrill threats to "tell on her". There is no dad in the picture. Mia has just one interest in life: urban dance, and she isn't too bad, but the moves she practises are moody, introverted and subdued, rather like the dancer herself.
Their torpid lives are disrupted when Mia's mother miraculously gets a new boyfriend, Connor: and Fassbender gives his best performance yet. Connor is funny, sexy, confident and utterly relaxed where everyone else appears clenched with resentment. Noticeably articulate, Connor appears to come from a marginally more middle-class world and he is also, tellingly, a breadwinner. Mia rifles through his wallet while he's upstairs with her mum and instead of immediately nicking the cash, she gazes fascinated at his payslips: a man who actually works for a living. How many of those has she ever met?
Without consciously realising it, Mia is hoping that Connor could be a father-figure, and both sisters are secretly thrilled when he takes them all out for a drive in the country, and shows them how he can catch a fish with his bare hands. While her mother and sister cringe on the riverbank, Mia wades out into the cold, slimy water to help him and Tyler squeaks: "Is it minging?"
No, it is not minging. It is sensual and exciting, an exotic experience such as Mia has never known. And it marks the decisive point at which Connor and Mia's relationship drifts past being that of a quasi-father and daughter. Connor even takes an interest in her dancing, and casually lends her his expensive camcorder to tape an audition for a local competition, trusting that he will get it back. "You dance like a black," he tells her, with studied, flirtatious insolence. "I mean it as a compliment."
Mia has an enormous, poignant capacity for love, but she has never received any, certainly not from a damaged mother, whose one moment of intimacy with her daughter comes when she ferociously tells Mia that she was thinking of having her aborted. So she has no idea how to express or manage love and it is her muddled, suspicious longing for the safety and comfort of a father's care that makes the situation so explosive. As for Connor, it is far from clear how much baggage he has: he moves in to Mia's mum's flat because he says his own mother has thrown him out and often has to take calls from his "mum", but what is really going on? It becomes all too clear that if Mia has her own issues about family, then so does Connor – whose secrets are shabbier and more poisonous than either Mia or her mother could have realised.
The situation heralds an unwatchably tense finale as Mia's adoration turns into anger and then a determination to survive, to outgrow her surroundings, and to forgive. Arnold shows us that what makes the relationship between Mia and Connor so transgressive is not their obvious sexual attraction but their quite genuine, if thwarted and delusional longing to be father and daughter.
Jarvis has given a wonderfully honest and open performance to be compared with David Bradley in Kes, or Émilie Dequenne in the Dardenne brothers' Rosetta. Her relationship with Fassbender is what gives the film its beating heart.

Precious

Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire

1. Precious: Based on the Novel Push By Sapphire
2. Production year: 2009
3. Country: USA
4. Cert (UK): 15
5. Runtime: 109 mins
6. Directors: Lee Daniels
7. Cast: Gabourey 'Gabby' Sidibe, Gabourey Sidibe, Lenny Kravitz, Mariah Carey, Mo'Nique, Paula Patton
8. More on this film

Peter Bradshaw

This movie has arrived heralded by voices of acclaim, not raised in ­celebration but weirdly lowered: hushed in awe, correctness and respect, as if in entering a shrine or a sickroom or the intensive care unit of a maternity ward. At last year's Cannes film festival, some pundits were literally unable to pronounce its title without dropping into a timid and faintly contrite sort of semi-murmur. I strolled up to a group of them after the premiere and ­breezily remarked that it was "powerful stuff". It was like going into the stable at ­Bethlehem, lighting up a fag, clapping one of the kneeling Wise Men on the back and saying that the Christ child seems like a pretty nice little chap.
Set in 1987, and based on the novel Push by the Harlem poet and author Sapphire, it is about an obese, ­taciturn African-American teenager called ­Precious, who has had two babies, the result of being repeatedly raped by her father. One of these children has Down's syndrome, and Precious calls him Mongo, short for "Mongoloid" – that discredited term Precious ­uncomprehendingly overheard and liked.
Her mother Mary, the rapist's ­partner, takes out her self-hate in repeated spasms of grotesquely jealous rage against Precious, routinely subjecting her to violent assaults and screaming abuse: "You're a dummy, bitch! You will never know shit, don't nobody want you, don't nobody need you! You done fucked around and fucked my mother-fuckin' man and had two motherfuckin' children; one of them was a god-damned animal runnin' around lookin' crazy as a motherfucker ... I shoulda aborted your ass!"
Even when Precious begins to overcome this abuse through special ­educational classes – in which she has been enrolled by a sharp-eyed teacher who has spotted her talent for ­mathematics – and even found a ­measure of articulacy through burgeoning happiness and self-esteem, she ­receives news of a terrible new burden of woe in the movie's final act.
Undoubtedly, the heartfelt lead ­performance from newcomer ­Gabourey Sidibe is a powerful spectacle. Her mother is well played by the comedian Mo'Nique, who creates a ­monster of cruelty and sadism, and has a ­chillingly comic moment when the welfare ­inspector comes round to her ­  apartment and she must transform ­herself into a husky-voiced paragon of caring respectability.
Paula Patton plays Precious's ­unfeasibly beautiful and caring teacher in the special class and Mariah Carey has a no-makeup and bling-free role, playing Precious's social worker, a grumpy sceptical badass, who is nevertheless reduced to tears by the final, cathartic three-way facedown with Precious and her mother.
The most important figure is, ­however, the one who never appears on camera: the executive producer is Oprah ­Winfrey, to whose movie debut this film appears to allude, not all that subtly, when Precious's teacher asks the class what their favourite colours are: her own is purple. There are motivational posters all over the place, urging commitment and self-belief, and we get a glimpse of one featuring Winfrey ­herself, on the importance of reading.
Winfrey's subliminal brand-identity was not, however, the drawback. What I found disconcerting was the extreme shift of tone between the extravagantly nightmarish, and the inspirationally upbeat. The horrendous unending nightmare of abuse that Precious ­suffers, made somehow worse by her agonisingly poignant daydreams of ­red-carpet celebrity, suddenly gives way to easier-going and even faintly sitcom-ish class scenes with a pre-packaged cast of unthreatening kids in the new school, tricked out with all manner of picturesque street-cred mannerisms. What with the accents, the leg-warmers and the yearning for success in the music industry, the film it suddenly resembles is Fame.
Precious can't help the racism that may be coming her way on account of the colour of her skin, or the sexist jibes from nasty guys on street corners, and she certainly can't help the rape and abuse she suffered. But how about ­being fat? Isn't it bad for her? Aren't any of these caring teachers going to ­mention heart disease, or talk to Precious about overeating as addiction, or as the symptom of abuse? I had the uneasy sense that her body mass index was ­being ­tacitly treated as part of her cultural identity, and not to be questioned.
Well, the character is supposed to have been through sheer hell, and teachers and healthcare professionals in this situation might conceivably decide to ease off on the question of weight for a bit.
That beautiful, inspirational teacher of hers (who is naturally as thin as a rake) actually encourages Precious to eat some more when she is round at her comfortable, middle-class professional home – because she feels hungry!
There is no doubting the raucous, tactless energy of the film, and the brilliantly brutal performance from Mo'Nique. It isn't the transcendent ­masterpiece that some admirers would have you believe: more like a black-comic nightmare that isn't exactly ­supposed to be funny. It's certainly ­arresting, though.

Kidulthood

Review

Featuring bullying, casual sex, hard drug abuse, complete disregard for authority, organized crime and even murder, if ever a film wanted an ASBO more than an Oscar, it's Kidulthood. Wearing its multiracial "messed-up youth" mantra as a badge of honour, this seems - at first glance - to be a deliberate assault on Middle England values.

Writer-star Noel Clarke is having none of it, saying the film, directed by former music video and commercials maker Menhaj Huda, isn't meant to be controversial. Still, if you spent half a year tearing out the most unpleasant stories from around the country, pasted them all into one colour supplement - complete with a free cutting-edge hip-hop and 'grime' soundtrack - and held it up as a state-of-the-nation report, the dreadfully-titled Kidulthood would be the result.

Making social commentary out of such exceptional events is problematic at best. On one hand you've got Trife (Ameen), caught between pregnant ex-girlfriend Alisa (Madrell) and gunrunning for his malevolent uncle. Then there's Trife's mates Jay (Deacon) and Moony (Oyeniran), spoiling for a fight with neighbourhood bully Sam (Clarke), Jay going so far as to steal Sam's abused girlfriend (Fairley). Meanwhile Alisa's best friend Becky is going around the area granting sexual favours in exchange for cocaine. And Lenny (Spall), the brother of classmate Kate, who killed herself 10 minutes into the film, is seeking revenge on the bullies who drove her to suicide. By the way, most of these kids are fifteen years old. No one plot strand above is perhaps impossible, but collapsed into one whole it verges on hysterical.

The contrivances are all the more frustrating because when Kidulthood steers away from its tabloid-baiting antics to concentrate on more typical teenage struggles it is convincing. Clarke's screenplay teems with authentic modern slang and is filled with telling observations: how (lack of) sexual prowess is a potent tool to blackmail or shame a person; the fine line between fitting in or being true to yourself; how adults are often peripheral figures in a teenager's life; and the racial stereotyping that goes hand in hand with minority groups in urban areas. As hoodie-wearing Moony points out when he can't get a taxi, "ain't that ironic - black cab don't take black man."

The cast of near-unknowns, including the offspring of actors Ray Winstone (Jamie) and Timothy Spall (Rafe) handle their unlikable roles well, and the soundtrack, featuring artists like Dizzee Rascal and The Streets, hits home, even if director Huda's handling of the music, and shifts in his story's tone lacks nuance. Veteran Trainspotting cinematographer Brian Tufano helps add a persuasive, fresh look to the West London locations.

Bullet Boy

 

 Reviewed by Adrian Hennigan 

Gun culture goes under the microscope in Bullet Boy, Saul Dibb's powerful and moving directorial debut. Ashley Walters (aka So Solid Crew's Asher D) and newcomer Luke Fraser deliver compelling performances in this low-budget British drama, about a freshly-released jailbird who struggles to go straight on the mean streets of Hackney. On paper the clichés stack up like one of the film's high rise flats; on celluloid the movie overcomes its hackneyed plotline to deliver an all-too-believable message about the impact of firearms on a family.
Dibb's documentary past shines through here, as he goes beyond sensationalist headlines to examine the chilling domestic repercussions of packing a gun. Eighteen-year-old Ricky (Walters) doesn't have to go looking for trouble; it knows where to find him. On his way home from a young offender's institute with hotheaded pal Wisdom (Leon Black), his life collides - literally - with two rival kids from the neighbourhood (Clark Lawson, Jadiel Vitalis). Following an unresolved stand-off, the situation spirals completely out of control - in ways that will impact upon pet dogs and the whole of Ricky's family, particularly younger brother Curtis (Fraser).
"CLOSER IN SPIRIT TO LA HAINE AND KES"
The black characters and urban setting invite lazy comparisons to John Singleton's 1991 drama Boyz N The Hood. Bullet Boy, however, is closer in spirit to hard-hitting French pic La Haine (1995) and Ken Loach's depiction of lost innocence, Kes (1969). Sharing the compassion of Loach's best movies, Dibb's film becomes less about Ricky's desperate attempts to avoid his fate, and more about the effect the lethal weapon has on his impressionable young sibling.
A sensitive look at an incendiary subject, Bullet Boy really hits the mark.

The Wire season Four

This is England 86

http://www.channel4.com/explore/this-is-england-86/

For anyone who sniffs that television is a dumb or trivial medium, Shane Meadows has provided the perfect riposte: This Is England '86 (Channel 4), the director’s four-part follow-up to his acclaimed 2006 film This Is England. Its second episode aired last night and it is developing into a compelling TV drama which mixes light-hearted humour with a real depth of feeling.

The original film told the story of Shaun (Thomas Turgoose), a fatherless 12 year-old who fell in with a group of apolitical teenage skinheads in 1983. Their happy-go-lucky world collapsed when Combo, an older gang member, returned from jail, bringing racist violence with him. Set three years on, the TV series picked up last week as if the characters had been growing up in the background, with most of the original cast reprising their roles.

Whereas the film focused on the single, dark narrative of Shaun’s experience, the series allows Meadows to range more widely. So while Shaun – who fails his CSEs and gets a short-lived job renting out VHS videos (“These are the future!”) – is still a key character, the first two episodes told the story of Lol (Vicky McClure) and Woody (Joe Gilgun). A likeable couple, they perfectly captured that twentysomething teetering between rebellion and respectability.
Their alternative wedding – the bride wore Doc Martens – flopped when Woody couldn’t say his vows; by the end of episode two Lol’s troubled past was prising them apart. One of the most powerful scenes of the series so far was when she confronted her abusive father, whom her mother had welcomed back under the pretext that he had “changed”. “Changed how?” she asked. “Changed his haircut? Changed his socks?”
As ever with Meadows, there is a deft – and sometimes unsettling – balance of the tragic and the comic. The first two episodes have already provided many laugh-out-loud moments. “Mummy will be with you in one minute. I’ll bring you some milk and biscuits,” simpered a woman caught in flagrante, looking anything but maternal, by her young son. Also possessing an amusing lack of self-awareness was a nasty little oik who made Shaun knock on a girl’s door and insult her so that he could rush to her defence – if Shaun refused, he would beat him up. “She thinks I’m a bully,” he justified himself. “This will show her I’m sensitive.”
The shift to the small screen has not compromised Meadows’s artistic touch. He is the master of that creative writing mantra, “show, don’t tell”, lacing this series with images which communicate far more than many a laboured bit of dialogue. A “dole not coal” pin badge nodded to the context; the sight of Lol
in the shower, water cascading from her cropped hair to the nape of her neck, suggested the vulnerability beneath her toughness. There is, however, the occasional overlap in the imagery which might start to grate as the series wears on. In episode one, we saw the crazy young things racing wheelchairs down a hospital corridor; in episode two they hijacked two golf buggies for yet more mobilised hi-jinks.
Still, with Combo set to return, the drama is likely to take a turn for the darker. This Is England was a provocative title for the film, suggesting that national identity was tied up with lost innocence and bigotry. In the follow-up, the same gang again looks as though it will be torn apart, but this time by infidelity rather than racist hatred. If this suggests a gloomy take on the national psyche, there is much more going on here: Meadows captures a certain camaraderie, coarseness, irony and warmth that are distinctly English, and make for distinctly good television.

By Ceri Radford