This likable, well-intentioned neorealist drama has shades of Ken Loach’s I, Daniel Blake in its story of a white working-class man in his 60s recently laid off and clinging to his self-respect, just about. Boxer-turned-actor Martin Herdman gives a warm, unflashy performance as Micky, who’s putting a cheerful face after a series of spirit-crushing, zero-hours jobs. The film is set in fast-gentrifying Deptford, south-east London, though here it’s more caffs than cafes, with not a sourdough pizza base in sight.
Micky is the kind of man who women take under their wing – a big bloke with a kind, gentle face. He has a lot on his plate: looking for a nonexistent job; caring for his dad, who has dementia; keeping an eye on his son, a recovering drug addict (played by Herdman’s real-life son, Joshua, in the film’s best, most emotionally truthful scenes). Writer-director Mark Gillis effectively sketches out the screwed-if-you-do, screwed-if-you-don’t decisions Micky has to make: the day of a big job interview he gets a call with the offer of a day’s work, 60 quid cash in hand.
Then he runs into an old mate from school, Paul, a thriving drug boss (played by director Gillis). Paul is almost convincing when he says that he’s just another businessman, up to date with his taxes and paying staff a living wage. This isn’t Miami Vice, he insists: “I outsource the nasty stuff.”
The characters feel a little underwritten, but there’s a lot to enjoy here, not least some nicely timed lines, such as this reaction to a character being shot in the arm: “I’ve got some TCP somewhere.”
