A bruising portrait of a man living on the margins of society, Harris Dickinson’s directorial debut, Urchin, is reminiscent of his own acting debut in Eliza Hittman’s similarly gritty film, Beach Rats. His film is rooted in experiences of knowing people with addictions, as well as his activism against homelessness. 

Thirty-something Mike (Frank Dillane, in a compelling performance), a drug addict, lives on the streets of East London. His behavior is erratic and desperate. He sometimes gets into squabbles with another addict, Nathan, played by Dickinson. After a Good Samaritan (Okezie Morro) tries to help Mike with a meal, Mike assaults him and steals his watch. This lands Mike a prison sentence and, later, probation. 

Sadly, it takes a crime for Mike to be placed in the care of a system—getting him sober, securing him a place to live in a hostel, and finding him a job as a chef in a low-end hotel. (Dickinson has mentioned in interviews that he previously worked at this very hotel). In his hostel room, he listens to a motivational meditation CD from a charity shop—a small, tangible attempt at self-improvement. A night out with co-workers, effusively belting out Atomic Kitten’s 2001 hit “Whole Again” at karaoke, opens up the possibility of new friendships. These are among his few moments of uninhibited joy, but these glimmers of hope are fleeting.

Because of past drug issues affecting his mental and emotional state, Mike is not a good fit for the high pressure of a kitchen environment, and the social welfare system can offer only temporary support. Mike’s journey takes another possibly hopeful turn, including a potential relationship with an idealistic coworker, Andrea (Megan Northam), who lives in a camper by the sea. However, he soon falls through the cracks again after taking drugs at a bonfire party. 

The film’s humor is often dry, offering brief moments of levity with Mike’s coworkers, especially on their night out. Otherwise, Mike’s predicament is cyclical and solemn. The story has a Dickensian flow to it, though it avoids romanticizing addiction and homelessness, nor does it offer any easy resolutions. 

Dickinson’s portrait of Mike is clear-eyed and spare, never veering into judgment. In the film’s best scenes, we witness how people around Mike respond to him. As he begs for money, he is dismissed and ignored. The social worker, Rachel (Oriana White), seems warm, but she is also removed and indifferent, clearly hardened by her job and its constraints. The cinematography by Josée Deshaies (The Beast, Passages) is not flashy, often using still, long shots to create a sense of observational realism. Occasionally, Dickinson introduces visual flourishes. Instead of depicting Mike’s prison years, the camera goes down the drain of a prison shower (a literal circling) with fantastical, trippy imagery. These moments, backed by an overbearing electronic score, feel a bit distracting and overwrought, detracting from what is otherwise a captivatingly grounded film.

The tone is in the vein of realist social dramas by Mike Leigh, Andrea Arnold, and Ken Loach, though it never quite reaches the complicated balance of tragedy and dark comedy found in Leigh’s works. Still, Dickinson’s sensitive eye, cinematic vision, and direction of a strong ensemble cast show great promise in this confident debut.