Derelict is a curious combination of gritty social realism and arthouse stylistics, the former coming from the locations, characters and narrative. Set, and largely filmed, in the English Midlands (but including Hereford, Manchester and London), we’re introduced (via the title card), to Abigail (Suzanne Fulton), who lives in a small flat, and is smoking and sipping coffee while the random man from the night before sees himself out. The smock she wears suggests a retail or service position, and Abigail’s walk through her district takes her through an underpass and alley where delinquents taunt and harass her. Clearly haunted by something, she visits an abandoned building while ignoring phone calls from her sister. The building itself is emblematic of the film as a whole, as parts of it are collapsed, and what it was originally is both unclear and unimportant.
The second chapter, titled Two Brothers, continues the social realism as we meet Matt (Michael Coombes), a young man with with a sick mother and little in the way of prospects, who comes home to find his brother Ewan (Pete Bird), has returned from prison. The spectres of poverty and unemployment are apparent, but not overplayed, and the connection between Matt and Abigail are, at first, suggested rather than clarified, as Ewan brings Matt to hang out with a group similar to those who harass Abigail.
These characters and the slightly rundown urban setting place the film in a context of social realism, but director Jonathan Zaurin presents this through some startling style. Titles cards appear for the subsequent chapters that follow these introductions, some presented in colour and others in monochrome. The narrative is also told out of order, with aspects of the past that inform the present shown as sudden inserts, and the instigating event of the overall story appearing halfway through the film. Zaurin also uses a mixture of formats, including phone videos and older forms of home media, and frequent use of slow motion, but these stylistic elements sometimes distract from the social realism setting and concerns, especially the shifts in colour (Oh look, the vibrant chapters of possibility are in colour! Oh look, the melancholy scenes are black and white!). This heavy-handed style is often unconvincing, and at times can make Derelict feel like a student film – though it’s far from the director’s first feature. The soundtrack is even more distracting, with Michael Sanchez’s score being at times overbearing, and at other points shunted aside in favour of rather blaring songs.
There are several tense set pieces with the threat of violence, but interestingly, when it does occur it’s largely offscreen – especially during the film’s most distressing scene, which becomes a sensitive presentation as it removes the spectacle of suffering and highlights the pointlessness of revenge.
While these features don’t always work together, they still contribute to an effective portrait of grief, trauma and escalation, and with a budget of only £30,000, the filmmaking craft is impressive – if overdone. There are moments, such as the fading in and out of colour, that do work very well, and the locations evoke a sense of place. While issues such as drugs, crime, harassment of women, and sexual abuse may seem cliched, they’re handled engagingly. Zaurin and his co-writers Kat Ellinger, Michael Mackenzie, Todd Rodgers and Sarah Zaurin interweave these themes with individual stories of grief, guilt, trauma, and the conflicting desires of vengeance and forgiveness.
Michael Coombs stands out in the role of Matt, his muted tones and shuffling body language communicating someone who’s downtrodden and has little voice of his own. Fulton projects Abigail’s quiet grief as icy fury, her disregard for most only exceeded by her resolute scheming, while Pete Bird’s Ewan offers an effective combination of roughness and care for his younger brother – although one development for him feels unmotivated. There are several tense set pieces with the threat of violence, but interestingly, when it does occur it’s largely offscreen – especially during the film’s most distressing scene, which becomes a sensitive presentation as it removes the spectacle of suffering and highlights the pointlessness of revenge. There’s also one sequence of cathartic violence, which potentially contradicts the earlier sensitivity by satisfying the bloodlust of both character and audience, but the visceral brutality still carries an unsettling impact.
The presence of violence, both potential and actual, lingers prominently in the mind of the viewer, but it’s also reflected in the fragmented storyline, as the trauma of both Abigail and Matt distorts their ability to feel time, leaving them trapped in particular moments. The inserts and flashbacks highlight this, demonstrating that past events linger within the present, and making the message of the film a familiar one that has indeed been dealt with more effectively elsewhere. The echoes of Memento, for example, are very clear, but Derelict does nonetheless succeed as an affecting tale of grief and trauma, and although Jonathan Zaurin may not be Christopher Nolan, he’s certainly a talent to watch.
Derelict had its World Premiere at Frightfest 2024
Vincent’s Archive – Derelict (2024)
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