21/10/2022 - Young director Fridtjof Ryder crafts an atmospheric feature debut that is both unsettling and surprisingly warm

Departing from the UK’s social-realist tradition, Fridtjof Ryder’s Inland [+see also:
interview: Fridtjof Ryder
film profile] – which premiered at the BFI London Film Festival – is one of the latest examples of young British filmmakers daring to play with form and the traditional rules of storytelling.

Our through line in this atmospheric debut is an unnamed young man (Rory Alexander) whose subjective perspective we are given to share in. It is, however, soon revealed to be strange even to him, warped by memories, longings and traumas as mysterious as they are frightening. We first see him as he is released from a psychiatric hospital, one of just a few markers of the real, solid world in the film; as he then settles into a routine, working in a garage with father figure Dunleavy (Mark Rylance), that concrete reality soon becomes obscured by the workings of his own imagination.

The impression throughout Inland is one of floating, with your feet never fully planted on the ground; of being carried away by fears and sorrows that feel much more intimate and true than actual reality. The film’s overall look is not a million miles away from social-realist dramas, and neither are the performances by the small cast, but the reality depicted feels largely unpleasant, even disappointing: people are bored, have entire conversations about crisps, make silly jokes and drink beer just to pass the time. The young man’s flights of fancy are comparably more inspiring, passionate and rewarding, even if they lead him to states of utter desperation – we learn that he was committed after nearly beating his best friend to death.

We progressively come to understand that the source of his trauma is his mother, who went missing years ago but was strange long before then. Images of the forest in local Gloucestershire, the bright green emerging from total obscurity, are accompanied by a gravelly female voice, telling barely coherent tales of woodland creatures and talking cryptically but severely about what she and her son must do. These words still haunt the quiet man, who soon begins to see echoes and reflections of his mother around him. At the local brothel, he sees not women, but alabaster statues floating in a black void reminiscent of nothing less than David Lynch’s Twin Peaks. One of them appears to speak to him as his mother, and he grows frustrated in his attempts to get answers from her.

The film’s expressive but never over-determined compositions, the well-paced and impressionistic editing from Joe Walton and Lincoln Witter, and Ravi Doubleday’s absorbing cinematography expertly evoke the inner turmoil of the lead protagonist, its currents sucking him deeper into a state of complete detachment from reality. But what sets Inland apart is the presence within its world of that most unexpected element: hope. Mark Rylance’s warm and expressive performance as Dunleavy is similar to his work in other recent titles, but takes on a completely new meaning here. Within the monotonous context of daily life, where it is tempting to let even the most sombre obsessions take hold of you, Dunleavy presents an unexpected, moving alternative. Rather than act as if everything is fine around the young man, Dunleavy accepts that he is struggling. Rather than get angry, he tells him that he, too, knows the pain he is suffering. And rather than offer false reassurances, he shows him there is a way to live with it all. Out in the open, this pain that once felt so personal and intimate suddenly appears a lot less intimidating. Finding connections not with memories, but with people, now seems possible. In an instant, reality and the present moment begin to look like they’re worth staying in.

Inland was produced by the UK’s Black Twist Films. Its international sales are handled by Wide Management.