Against the backdrop of a declining high street and brutalist high rise flats comes Paul Andrew Williams' Dragonfly, a touching portrait of care and companionship.
Elsie, tenderly portrayed by Brenda Blethyn, is an aging and recently-injured pensioner. She is one of more than 2 million over-75s in England living alone. Her only son John (Jason Watkins) lives miles away and foots the bill for daily carers, a gesture to assuage his guilt over keeping his mother at arm's length.
Before long we are introduced to Colleen, a troubled young woman living behind Elsie. Accompanied by her menacing dog Sabre, she offers to go to the shops for her elderly neighbour. The guarded Elsie, unaccustomed to genuine, selfless offers of help, begins to find purpose in her regular visits from Colleen, played with breath-taking vulnerability by Andrea Riseborough.
Williams' pacing is documentary-like, with long and lingering scenes that capture modern Britain with raw realism. It is an understated piece that is not without drama. This hard-hitting commentary on loneliness, social care, and the vicious cycle of debt and poverty even verges into thriller territory.
For most of the film, Colleen's intentions are unclear and the endless possible consequences of this new friendship run through the audience's mind. The pair are wonderfully underscored by British composer Raffertie, who uses an unnerving composition reinforce our (unfair) preconceptions of the damaged Colleen.
In heart-warming contrast, Elsie's growth in confidence is denoted with an uplifting arrangement as she finally feels seen, heard, and cared for. As the overworked and underpaid carers make their daily house calls, the camera often focuses on Elsie's vulnerabilities – her arthritic hands; her legs laced with varicose veins. Blethyn quietly and heartbreakingly portrays a decline in dignity. But with Colleen's support, Elsie becomes a layered character who is more capable than given credit for. She can be defined by her capabilities rather than the parts of her body that increasingly betray her sharp mind.
The vast majority of Dragonfly takes place in the terraced bungalow block that house our two leads—an inspired choice by Williams. The two neighbours may share a terrace, but their lives couldn't be more different. Elsie's home—thoughtfully decorated in nostalgic magnolia and terracotta—is warm and welcoming with pots of tea and nicely-plated biscuits. Next door, in her cold and stark dwelling, Colleen scoffs custard creams, straight from the packet, lounging in bed. The cramped setting of Elsie's bungalow forces the camera into either intimate close-ups or distant wide shots. Williams takes these spatial limitations and delivers a stark, stylistic reminder of Elsie's lonely, isolated reality.
Williams maximises the space and uses it to portray character development. The small terraced bungalow is where Elsie grows in confidence and ventures beyond the familiar confines of her armchair. It is also where Colleen finds purpose in helping her elderly neighbour and questions why her son is but a casual visitor. Not afraid to speak truth to power, Riseborough extends her frame, legs spread with unapologetic confidence. With a presence larger than her slight build, she asserts a quiet dominance over the meek and dubious John.
Silence is a character in its own right in the scenes between Colleen and uptight, upwardly mobile son John. The two fight an internal, unspoken battle of wanting to know each other's intentions versus having no interest in maintaining a conversation with this stranger invading on their relationship with Elsie. Riseborough and Watkins are formidable forces that convey a range of emotions—turmoil, awkwardness, bubbling anger—all without saying a word. First introduced through long-distance phone calls, Watkins is superb as Elsie's cowardly only child who selfishly shirks his caring responsibilities.
John's jealousy at Elsie's close friendship with Colleen clouds his judgement, and he makes questionable choices that have far-reaching implications. Stark and bleak, but laced with humour, Williams' latest film takes a magnifying glass to community and responsibility in broken Britain. Like the finest examples of British social realism, Dragonfly leaves an impression that lingers long after the credits roll.
Dragonfly is available to watch now in cinemas nationwide
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