October 10, 2011
Paddy Considine, who both directed and wrote Tyrannosaur, is perhaps best known as Shane Meadows’ main collaborator and a character actor with a flair for the comic. But he’s clearly more than this. Tyrannosaur is a powerful, at times brutal, piece of cinema. It’s reminiscent of some of Ken Loach’s darker work, not least through Peter Mullens’ (My Name is Joe) brooding malevolence. Olivia Colman (Sophie from Peep Show) also demonstrates an alacrity for tragedy in a deeply affecting performance.
Mullens plays Joseph, a loner, now widowed and burdened with a temper he can’t control. The character is based loosely on Considine’s own father, and the film is dedicated to his mother, Pauline. Joseph is serially self-destructive, drunk and aggressively violent, and although he’s the only real character in the first section of the film, his self-loathing is the easiest aspect to relate to. But then he meets Hannah (Colman), who runs a charity shop. She is a Christian, someone who prays, who smiles and says good morning - anathema to Joseph and his nihilistic bitterness. But beneath that familiar smile, Hannah is enduring her own horrors - namely, a violently abusive relationship with her husband, played by Eddie Marsan (the very troubled driving instructor from Mike Leigh’s Happy Go Lucky). We quickly realise that she will not be the redemptive figure in Joseph’s life – this is a film almost devoid of romance. Even when Hannah later tells him he makes her feel safe, it rings hollow.
In fact, Joseph and Hannah are never really friends, though their relationship is the dramatic crucible of the film, and the narrative is developed through an interesting later twist. It’s a film in which you are shown, unflinchingly, the scars of some very damaged characters, the events that lead to their current state mentioned in passing, almost casually. But though the performances are committed, and the story enduringly sad, the bleakness leaves you feeling almost too hopeless. There are long silences within the dialogue, as if to emphasize the distance between the characters, and apart from a boy on Joseph’s estate, the minor characters are also either troubled or similarly violent.
Considine creates an overcast world of tatty pubs and cramped front rooms, of casual violence and fractured souls. It’s an interesting and heart wrenching film, but its darkness is overwhelming. Autobiography requires loyalty to a truth, but can lack the objectivity needed for a story to really breathe. One wonders whether Considine’s next film will offer greater balance between light and dark.
Mullens plays Joseph, a loner, now widowed and burdened with a temper he can’t control. The character is based loosely on Considine’s own father, and the film is dedicated to his mother, Pauline. Joseph is serially self-destructive, drunk and aggressively violent, and although he’s the only real character in the first section of the film, his self-loathing is the easiest aspect to relate to. But then he meets Hannah (Colman), who runs a charity shop. She is a Christian, someone who prays, who smiles and says good morning - anathema to Joseph and his nihilistic bitterness. But beneath that familiar smile, Hannah is enduring her own horrors - namely, a violently abusive relationship with her husband, played by Eddie Marsan (the very troubled driving instructor from Mike Leigh’s Happy Go Lucky). We quickly realise that she will not be the redemptive figure in Joseph’s life – this is a film almost devoid of romance. Even when Hannah later tells him he makes her feel safe, it rings hollow.
In fact, Joseph and Hannah are never really friends, though their relationship is the dramatic crucible of the film, and the narrative is developed through an interesting later twist. It’s a film in which you are shown, unflinchingly, the scars of some very damaged characters, the events that lead to their current state mentioned in passing, almost casually. But though the performances are committed, and the story enduringly sad, the bleakness leaves you feeling almost too hopeless. There are long silences within the dialogue, as if to emphasize the distance between the characters, and apart from a boy on Joseph’s estate, the minor characters are also either troubled or similarly violent.
Considine creates an overcast world of tatty pubs and cramped front rooms, of casual violence and fractured souls. It’s an interesting and heart wrenching film, but its darkness is overwhelming. Autobiography requires loyalty to a truth, but can lack the objectivity needed for a story to really breathe. One wonders whether Considine’s next film will offer greater balance between light and dark.