Ladies and Gentlemen of Britain, welcome to the revolution. Dead Man’s Shoes
has accomplished in 90 minutes what Hollywood these days can all too rarely
achieve: a maverick piece of filmmaking that genuinely provokes, horrifies
and dazzles. Finally, a British film that breathes life into that tired and
risible genre of “psychological” thrillers. What’s more important though, is
that along with 28 Days Later and Layer Cake, this is one of the most
crucial British films in years, and a sign of great things to come. Written and directed by Shane Meadows, and co-written by the film’s star
Paddy Considine, Dead Man’s Shoes tells the murky tale of Richard
(Considine), a self-appointed angel of death who returns to his Derbyshire
home town after a spell in the army to wreak bloody vengeance on the local
thugs who tortured his younger handicapped brother. There is no getting around it, Dead Man’s Shoes is an ugly film. From the
aching panoramic shots of rural England to the portrait of the petty group
of gangster wannabes, there is little aesthetic beauty to be found here. But
this film was never going to be about being pretty. Meadows aims for gritty,
disturbing realism and achieves it with every haunting shot. The villains are not glamorous or witty. They sit about their studio flat in
tracksuits, discussing pornography and sniffing lines of parmesan cheese for
jokes. And they are all as unattractive as their sins. Even the film’s
protagonist Richard plods about menacingly in a dirty trench coat and a few
weeks worth of unkempt facial hair. This is a far cry and a welcome change
from the pinstriped players that have furnished gangster movies for too
long. It is Paddy Considine, though, who makes this film the triumph that it is;
his performance is phenomenal. Reminiscent of De Niro in Taxi Driver and
Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York, it’s the kind of performance that
makes you nervous whenever he is on screen. You just don’t know what Richard
will do next. As the film cleverly reveals more about the past piece by
shocking piece, the story’s moral compass seems to spin madly out of
control, and every step of the way Considine’s Richard makes for uneasy but
relentlessly powerful viewing. This is no elegy or beautifully composed lament. This is a film about
monsters and brutality; a film where every character has a share of blood on
his hands, and every frame captures this painful essence. Often hard to
swallow, but nevertheless filmmaking at its finest. I urge you all to step
into Dead Man’s Shoes… 5/5
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