URCHIN REVIEW: HARRIS DICKINSON’S DIRECTORIAL DEBUT IS A POWERFUL DRAMA ABOUT THE PERIPHERIES OF SOCIETY
words by SONNY NGO
Coming blazing hot off of Babygirl, the 29-year old actor has turned his gaze behind the camera to document the life of a homeless Londoner, played by rising star Frank Dillane, in a surrealist interpretation of Britain’s disparate class realities. Dickinson is amongst a generation of upcoming British filmmakers that experienced the growing socioeconomic differences in the country and it is here that he channels his frustrations into a formidable debut, layered with comedy, mystery, and visual allure. While some actor-turned-directors struggle to capture the essence of their acting charms, in Urchin we get to see the newfound writer-director at his finest: subtle, magnetic, and complex.
Dillane’s Mike is in turmoil: he sleeps on the street, begs for change, survives on charity food trucks, and lacks control over his emotions. We know little else of him, besides the fact that the relationship with his parents is far from stable, and that he has had previous prison stints. In the opening sequence of the film, we follow him as he is awoken by the thuds of a preacher. He irritably picks up his belongings and looks for a place to charge his phone. These first few minutes have a documentary-like style to them; Dickinson’s directing primarily focuses on close shots and simple camera zoom in-and-outs. It is no doubt that his personal and up-close experiences with the homeless in Britain have formed his eye for showcasing the human qualities of his protagonist here.
Although the film starts slow, it picks up as soon as Mike’s only other semi-friend-semi-foe Nathan, portrayed by Dickinson in cameo, steals his wallet and splurges its content. The two get into a fight, and a passerby seeing it happen breaks the two apart. He offers to buy Mike lunch as a consolidation, but his kindness quickly backfires as he is assaulted and robbed of his watch. In our current age of surveillance, however, Mike is swiftly arrested and sentenced yet again. But Dickinson doesn’t seem interested in the experience of prison (there are only a scene or two about Mike’s intake), rather he concentrates on the outside rehabilitation process. We follow Mike in the conversations with his social worker and his job hunt. At some point, it does seem that he is on a positive turning point in his life – he stays at a local hostel, he works in a kitchen, he affirms his soothing meditation tapes, and he even brings a small gift to his counsellor. However, when he is confronted with the good samaritan he assaulted during a restorative meeting, a moment meant to heal the both of them, he is unable to speak, and a slow camera pan reveals his growingly discomfortable face.
It is after this encounter that Mike spirals into self-destruction again, increasingly becoming agitated at work and breaking his sobriety during a campfire session with friends. Was it this confrontation with his past self that triggered this chain reaction, or was it bound to go south anyway with his addiction never really having left the picture? It’s not an easy question and Dickinson doesn’t attempt to answer it either. Instead, he shifts his focus towards empathy, confronting the audience with images so surreal and stuttering that they coalesce into a whiplash exposé of our collective lack of compassion. While Urchin started off as a social realist feature, as the film progresses and as Mike strays into old habits again, Dickinson increases his use of offbeat shots – including imagery of forestry caves, eternal voids, and a vague figure of a woman. It appears that the film’s visual compositions reflect the state of Mike’s wellbeing: absolute colours fluctuate from one emotion to the other, eventually spiraling and spiraling into a dark abyss.
Despite the windswept state of Mike and his cyclical actions, Urchin never ventures into didacticism or melodrama; it remains firm in the bleak reality of homelessness and drug addiction. While respecting the downwards helix of poverty and its struggles, Dickinson attempts to move away from the frame that homelessness is a singular issue. It is also the fault of the government’s disregardful attitude, as it is of the people pushing past Mike on the street and ignoring his pleas for help. Both Dillane and Dickinson previously expressed how the movie is as much about homelessness as it is about empathy – we could all show each other, especially to the ones on the margin of society, a little more compassion.
In one hopeful, ecstatic scene, Mike lets go of his inhibitions and sparklingly dances with two co-workers atop a London roof. With a glistening Canary Wharf in the background, and under Atomic Kitten’s rhythmic singing, it appears that Mike is “Whole Again.” Perhaps it is the energetic karaoke session prior to this moment that makes him feel human and normal once more, though more likely, it is the kindness and grace his co-workers show him that make him whole again – for a fleeting moment it seems that it does.
Urchin premiered at Cannes’ Un Certain Regard 2025 and will screen at Dutch theatres starting December 25th.