‘Urchin’ review: Circling the drain

Harris Dickinson delivers a confident debut feature in the striking character study Urchin.

Over the course of roughly a decade, Harris Dickinson has slowly established himself as a risk-taker. Discontented with aligning himself with just tailor-made star roles, his interests have led him to the weirder side of showbiz. From his debut role in Eliza Hittman’s Beach Rats to supporting turns in art-house fare such as The Souvenir Part II and The Triangle of Sadness, to last year’s psychosexual character study Babygirl, it’s clear he’s an actor willing to straddle the star-maker side of Hollywood along with indie offerings. It’s in the latter camp where his feature film directorial debut, Urchin, rests.

Restless and raw, Urchin eschews a lot of the assumed self-indulgence that comes with an actor’s first foray into filmmaking. An assured, antsy film that allows its star, Frank Dillane, to drive the energy of the atmosphere (along with some superb needle drops), the film dazzles with the barely there restraint. Like its lead, the film yearns to break free into limitless motion, to succumb to its more destructive qualities. But the strength lies in what Dickinson withholds and how Dillane matches it.

We first meet Mike (Frank Dillane) as he wanders the streets of London, impoverished and without a home, looking for dry places to sleep. Dickinson establishes Mike’s place in the world through wide establishing shots, showing us not necessarily uncaring but apathetic passersby as they fail – or refuse – to interact with Mike when he asks for cash.

Crafting a frustrating but empathetic protagonist.

The script – also written by Dickinson – refuses to play its cards early. Yes, Mike is an addict, but the film doesn’t simply announce it.  Instead, we watch as he restlessly solicits strangers and accepts cash from an older couple, before a violent altercation leads him to a kind man, Simon. Simon, who offers to help him, to buy him something to eat. It only takes a few steps into a darker stretch of street, however, for us to realize what’s about to happen. Mike knocks Simon unconscious, steals his watch, and is arrested soon after trying to pawn it, sentenced to just a little over a year in prison.

Perhaps the greatest strength of Urchin is the refusal to simplify things. Mike is an addict, but one who is given multiple chances to improve himself, with a tendency to throw himself headfirst into self-destruction. When given the best route, he detours. The system tries to help him immediately post-incarceration through housing, but there’s a distinct and sinking sense that there’s no safety net. Mike’s social worker, although helpful, is rushed, as shown by her trying to heat her lunch while working on the finer details of Mike’s continued sense of stability. We’ve all grown so accustomed to multitasking, the grind, and burnout culture that we’ve forgotten how little it benefits us as a society.

This moral gray is where the film shines because there’s an aching abundance of empathy for Mike and his plight. When his social worker bluntly tells him he won’t be high up on the list for hostels, our hearts break at Dillane’s shuttered reaction.

Balancing an unsteady journey.

But there’s also no escaping the frustration when, in an act of restorative justice, he seemingly can’t meet Simon’s eye when forced to reckon with his actions. He’s impossibly human – worthy of care and compassion yet just as much a flight risk to his own inhibitions and impulses.  It’s what makes his journey such a taut one. From the beginning, we knew that the foundation he stands on is shaky. Dickinson’s script is careful with its generosity, showing how characters deal with Mike’s mood swings from olive branches to having to cut ties swiftly.

Throughout it all, Dillane is phenomenal, managing to withhold some of Mike’s greater, more tumultuous outbursts. Or, more to the point, he manages to bottle the feeling of someone who is always on the verge of a meltdown, either too accustomed to keeping their emotions at bay for survival or self-medicated and numbed to any disappointment or fear.

Dillane possesses a livewire, twitchy energy that marries well with the film’s constant sense of unease. It’s an excellent physical performance. He never fully unfurls from a hunched, defensive pose that diminishes his stature.

Urchin achieves a strong visual language.

Dickinson and cinematographer Josée Deshaies create a hazy, dreamlike state that flirts with a purgatorial fugue state. Willowy and withdrawn, there’s always a sense that Mike is a ghost haunting his own narrative – his own harbinger of doom. The aesthetic brings this to greater focus, especially in moments of movement and dancing, often when Mike discovers brief moments of joy.

That said, Dickinson doesn’t completely come out of the film unscathed by feature film debut snags. He has an apparent proclivity for hypnotic dream sequences that do little to propel the story forward. An early tracking shot from the drain of a prison shower into the outside world is cringe-inducing in its literal visual metaphor. It’s so obvious and telegraphed that it threatens to derail an otherwise strong opening. There’s a similar sequence towards the end that nearly undoes all the good grace established throughout the film, thanks to Dickinson’s empathetic writing and Dillane’s powerhouse performance.

The bottom line.

However, Urchin is undoubtedly effective. Emotional and observant without forcing any obvious messaging onto the viewer, the film instead chooses contemplation and methodical compassion. Mike isn’t without fault, but might his self-destruction have been better handled with greater care and attention from a system designed to last rather than merely provide short-lived bandages? Thought-provoking, unexpectedly funny, and rich with life, Urchin is a promising debut from a talent just at the start of his career.

Urchin is out now in theaters. Watch the trailer below. 

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Images courtesy of 1-2 Special.