Exploring the Best of British cinema at the 2019… | Little White Lies

Festivals

Explor­ing the Best of British cin­e­ma at the 2019 Edin­burgh Film Festival

29 Jun 2019

Words by Iana Murray

Lone figure crouched in dark coat against stormy sky
Lone figure crouched in dark coat against stormy sky
This year’s EIFF show­cased a diverse crop of home­grown films, from a mono­chrome Cor­nish curio to a love let­ter to Dundee.

British cin­e­ma has a long-stand­ing tra­di­tion of reflect­ing the country’s social, polit­i­cal and eco­nom­ic state, and 2019 is no dif­fer­ent. Ray & Liz, the debut fea­ture from pho­tog­ra­ph­er-turned-film­mak­er Richard Billing­ham, art­ful­ly por­trays the every­day strug­gles of a fam­i­ly on the bread­line. On the oth­er end of the class spec­trum, Joan­na Hogg’s The Sou­venir fil­ters a young woman’s bur­geon­ing first love through the prism of wealth and priv­i­lege in Knightsbridge.

This year’s Edin­burgh Inter­na­tion­al Film Fes­ti­val fea­tured a promis­ing selec­tion of home­grown films from estab­lished and emerg­ing direc­tors. There was a sense of a col­lec­tive reck­on­ing with the cur­rent state of affairs. How do we con­tin­ue for­ward when it so often feels that as a nation we are mov­ing back­wards? The films select­ed as part of the festival’s Best of British’ strand branched off into dif­fer­ent direc­tions, whether that be to bor­row from the past for pre­science, or to avoid the present com­plete­ly through escapist narratives.

The cream of the crop was Mark Jenkin’s Bait, a strange time cap­sule piece which sev­er­al crit­ics have already dubbed the first true Brex­it movie. The film fol­lows Cor­nish fish­er­man Mar­tin (Edward Rowe), who is scrap­ing by sell­ing sea bass to the local pub as his village’s indus­try suc­cumbs to sea­son­al tourism. As if it has been plucked from the ocean, muck and grime scrubbed off for pre­sen­ta­tion, the film feels like a rel­ic from a bygone era thanks to its anachro­nis­tic visu­al aesthetic.

Shot in black-and-white on a hand-cranked 16mm Bolex cam­era, Bait doesn’t hide its imper­fec­tions but rather cel­e­brates them. Those imper­fec­tions – spots and scratch­es result­ing from the film stock being process by hand – are part of the pack­age. Harsh close-ups accen­tu­ate the phys­i­cal per­for­mances of the most­ly non-pro­fes­sion­al cast of actors. Vio­lent cuts are used to draw a con­trast between the wealthy tourists and the hard­ened locals. The film is so sin­gu­lar­ly immer­sive that the moment a char­ac­ter takes out an iPhone induces whiplash. It’s pure anger and frus­tra­tion con­densed into raw celluloid.

Three men in casual attire, comprising a bald Caucasian man, a middle-aged Caucasian man, and a tall Black man in a red polo shirt.

More explic­it­ly polit­i­cal, the auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Farm­ing from first-time direc­tor Ade­wale Akin­n­uoye-Agba­je is almost excru­ci­at­ing to watch. The title refers to the prac­tice that was com­mon dur­ing the 1950s and 60s in which par­ents of West African or Caribbean ori­gin would pay British fam­i­lies to fos­ter their chil­dren. Eni­tan (Dam­son Idris) is one such child, sent away by his Niger­ian fam­i­ly to a fos­ter home in Tilbury, Essex for his aggres­sive tem­pera­ment in the classroom.

Berat­ed by racism through­out his child­hood, Eni is taught to hate the colour of his skin. In one of many dev­as­tat­ing scenes, he coats him­self in tal­cum pow­der. At 16, Eni is lured into a skin­head gang, cling­ing onto the false promise that if he joins his bul­lies, he can’t be beat­en by them.

Farm­ing is a painful exor­cism of demons. Mem­o­ries are recalled with har­row­ing clar­i­ty, as if recent­ly closed wounds have been split open once more. Inter­nalised racism is a very real and seri­ous issue among black peo­ple, but the film’s mes­sage is cloud­ed by a clunky screen­play that is more focused on putting Eni through severe emo­tion­al and phys­i­cal tur­moil than con­vey­ing insight into the sys­temic racism that allows such abuse to occur in the first place.

Two young women with serious expressions, one wearing a beige blouse and the other a cream-coloured dress, in a dimly lit setting.

Else­where at the fes­ti­val, a pair of brood­ing peri­od dra­mas explored the dan­ger­ous grip of patri­archy on young women. William McGregor’s Gwen sees a teenage girl’s peace­ful life in the Welsh moun­tains come crash­ing down as her fam­i­ly is threat­ened by a coal mine look­ing to expand. Anoth­er com­ing-of-age sto­ry, Emi­ly Har­ris’ Carmil­la is a study of repressed desire through the per­spec­tive of a young woman who becomes enchant­ed by the unex­pect­ed arrival of a mys­te­ri­ous girl.

Both films are sim­i­lar­ly grim and dour, but they use ele­ments of hor­ror to vary­ing effect. Dread per­me­ates Gwen, with ten­sion build­ing in minute incre­ments: its sin­gle jump scare is impact­ful for how spar­ing­ly it leans on the gim­mick. Mean­while, Carmil­la pairs body hor­ror with the grue­some cycle of nature. The film’s potent sound design accen­tu­ates the sounds of the sur­round­ing for­est to an almost deaf­en­ing lev­el: worms squirm­ing in wet soil; ants scut­tling across a decay­ing tree.

Sad­ly, Carmil­la is a deriv­a­tive peri­od dra­ma, although both films are bol­stered by impres­sive per­for­mances from their young leads. In par­tic­u­lar, Gwen’s Eleanor Wor­thing­ton-Cox is ter­rif­ic as an inno­cent ado­les­cent who is forcibly thrust into matu­ri­ty. She flits between des­per­a­tion and despair effort­less­ly even as she goes toe-to-toe with Max­ine Peake as her surly mother.

Young person wearing headphones in dark, dimly lit room with various notices and posters on the walls.

Not every­thing in the Best of British’ strand was inher­ent­ly polit­i­cal though. David McLean’s Schemers, which recalls the director’s own com­ing-of-age, sees Davie (Conor Berry) and his mates band togeth­er to become music pro­mot­ers, book­ing groups for local venues. Of course, it starts as a ploy to impress a girl, a trainee nurse Dave meets in the hos­pi­tal while high on morphine.

In this sense, Schemers plays like Dundee’s answer to Sing Street. But where the Irish musi­cal dips into fan­ta­sy, Schemers is more attuned to the peaks and troughs of real­i­ty: the teens have a run-in with some organ­ised crim­i­nals. At the film’s spir­it­ed cli­max, the boys scrounge togeth­er every­thing they can to meet their con­trac­tu­al oblig­a­tions with the up-and-com­ing” met­al band they’ve booked: Iron Maid­en. In the end, they’re just kids with no idea what they’ve got­ten them­selves into.

Remark­ably, Schemers is the first full-length fea­ture to be made in Dundee, and it is a won­der­ful­ly evoca­tive love let­ter to the Scot­tish city. From nights out at the stu­dent union to the diver­si­ty of the city’s music venues, the film cel­e­brates the small things that make the city what it is. In the film’s most touch­ing scene, Davie tears up at the sight of Dundee’s twa” (two) bridges. Same as Edin­burgh,” he says, his voice quiv­er­ing with pride.

The films at this year’s EIF prove that British cin­e­ma isn’t short on diverse and fresh per­spec­tives from film­mak­ers of all walks of life. Excit­ing new sto­ries con­tin­ue to invig­o­rate and pro­long this island’s rich film his­to­ry. Even if Britain’s polit­i­cal future is becom­ing increas­ing­ly uncer­tain, its cin­e­mat­ic future is look­ing bright.

For more on this year’s Edin­burgh Inter­na­tion­al Film Fes­ti­val vis­it edfilm​fest​.org​.uk

You might like