by Jamie Henry
Worth: $16.50
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
David Jonsson, Tom Blyth
Intro:
… a bruising, restless British prison drama that wastes little time getting under the skin.
Thirteen years is a long time to spend learning how to survive somewhere you were never supposed to stay. Longer still when the outside world has continued moving without you. In Wasteman, freedom is tantalisingly close for Taylor, but getting out of prison might prove considerably easier than escaping the person he’s become inside it.
Directed by Cal McMau in his feature debut, this is a bruising, restless British prison drama that wastes little time getting under the skin. Its raw energy, cramped surroundings and sudden eruptions of violence create an atmosphere in which even the quieter moments feel loaded with danger. There’s little glamour here, just a constant struggle for position, respect and survival.
David Jonsson (cast in the title role in Black Panther 3) plays Taylor, a prisoner approaching release after 13 years behind bars. A recovering drug user with a teenage son waiting on the outside, he’s learned to keep his head down and avoid trouble. His new cellmate, however, has rather different ideas.
Tom Blyth’s Dee is charismatic, unpredictable and quietly terrifying. Blyth gives him an unsettling charm, making it easy to understand Taylor’s attraction to him even as their relationship takes increasingly troubling turns. He’s the sort of character who can make a threat sound like a favour. His confidence fills every room, but there’s always the sense that something much uglier is lurking beneath the surface.
Jonsson is equally impressive. His Taylor is withdrawn, anxious and seemingly uncomfortable taking up space. Much of the performance comes through small gestures and fleeting expressions, capturing a man who has spent years anticipating the next thing to go wrong. There’s a weariness to him that feels entirely earned. The contrast between the two actors is central to the film’s success: Dee commands attention, while Taylor has become accustomed to disappearing.
Their relationship becomes an uncomfortable examination of dependency and control, with the distinction between friendship and manipulation gradually disappearing. What initially resembles companionship starts to look more like another prison sentence.
McMau gives the film a suitably abrasive visual style. Handheld camerawork, frantic editing and vertical mobile-phone footage create an unsettling sense of immediacy. Violence becomes something to record, circulate and weaponise, extending the prison’s hierarchy beyond its walls. It’s an effective contemporary touch, particularly in a world where reputation can be as important as physical strength. Forest Swords’ electronic score adds another layer of tension, giving the film an almost relentless pulse.
Beneath the aggression is an interesting examination of masculinity. Prison life is built around performance: being feared, commanding respect and never appearing vulnerable. Weakness is an invitation, and even the smallest interaction can become a contest. Taylor’s ambition is considerably less complicated. He wants to get out, reconnect with his son and have some chance of starting again. Unfortunately, survival has taught him habits that might make all three difficult.
The prison thriller is familiar territory, and some of the more frantic action sequences sacrifice clarity for intensity. But the strength of the performances and McMau’s instinct for tension give Wasteman an identity of its own. There’s a refreshing lack of sentimentality, too. The film doesn’t offer easy answers about rehabilitation, redemption or the possibility of leaving the past behind.
Jonsson and Blyth make a compelling pairing, bringing very different forms of menace and vulnerability to a film that understands the complicated nature of human dependence.
For a story about getting out, the walls aren’t always the biggest obstacle.
