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It\u2019s easy to feel invisible in a city of 8.8 million people \u2013 even more so if you\u2019re one of London\u2019s estimated 12,000 rough sleepers. Mike (Frank Dillane) seems to take it mostly in his stride; he\u2019s figured out the best spot to hide his meagre possessions (behind two commercial bins) and only seems mildly irritated when he\u2019s woken from his spot on the pavement by an over-zealous street preacher with a PA system. But to the legions of fast-moving commuters in East London, he might as well be a ghost. Even when Mike does receive a small gesture of kindness from a stranger, desperate and distrusting as he is, his instinct is to do something deeply cruel in response. So sets in motion the plot of Harris Dickinson\u2019s Urchin<\/em>, a contemporary tragedy that draws on the likes of Mike Leigh\u2019s Naked <\/em>and Agn\u00e9s Varda\u2019s Vagabond <\/em>in its piercing observation of modern life on the fringes.<\/p>\n Dillane (also brilliantly nasty later this year in Athina Rachel Tsangari\u2019s Harvest)is a remarkable discovery, totally at the heart of Dickinson\u2019s script and lens. His puppy dog eyes and shaggy haircut project a certain softness; he\u2019s boyish and charming in fits and bursts, clearly street smart and charismatic, but knocked down enough times that getting back up is that little bit harder each time. Mike\u2019s obvious vulnerability in juxtaposition with his occasional violent outbursts evokes De Niro\u2019s Travis Bickle with a dash of Kes<\/em>, while Dickinson\u2019s decision to give us only a few details about the circumstances that have led to Mike\u2019s perilous existence encourages empathy without exception. There\u2019s no real need to know how or why<\/em> Mike got here; the details are largely immaterial to his situation. Yet Mike\u2019s reluctance to confront his past (and his personal shortcomings) hardly help; time and time again, it\u2019s Mike who trips himself up just as the ground ahead seems sure. His tendency to glaze over his own sadness or frustration with a placid grin is only effective for so long.<\/p>\n If a story about an unhoused young man trying to pick his way through the hellscape of the modern capital doesn\u2019t sound very sunny, it\u2019s true that there\u2019s something deeply melancholy about the existence Mike is barely eking out, and his isolation is palpable and raw. But Dickinson \u2013 a talented comedic force on-screen in his own right \u2013 finds lightness there too, and a combination of sharp dialogue and excellent delivery from Dillane et al (including Dickinson himself as Mike\u2019s sometime mate Nathan) keep the audience on their toes. Urchin <\/em>is never relentlessly grim, even if it finds enough bleak moments that Leigh comparisons are well-earned. Nor is this a posturing \u2018issue\u2019 movie, peering down at London\u2019s rough sleepers with a patronising pat on the shoulder. There\u2019s a clear understanding of the forces that lead people to addiction and homelessness, and how without proper infrastructure and support, willpower can\u2019t sustain recovery alone. Dickinson affords more tenderness to his protagonist than London is willing to, but it\u2019s also clear Mike\u2019s no angel (nor should he have to be to earn our empathy). Instead he\u2019s familiar in his specificity, emblematic of thousands slipping through the cracks as those in power show more and more contempt for the most vulnerable.<\/p>\n As for Harris Dickinson, it\u2019s only mildly galling to see how bloody good he is at everything he turns his mind to, here on writing, directing, producing (through his production company Devisio with Archie Pearch) and supporting actor duties, yet deftly refuting any vanity project allegations by virtue of creating a phenomenally impressive debut feature.<\/p>\n To keep celebrating the craft of film, we have to rely on the support of our members. Join Club LWLies today and receive access to a host of benefits.<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\nGet more Little White Lies<\/h3>\n<\/p><\/div>\n