The Selfish Giant is a British social-realism film in the tradition of all such films from Kes onwards, so it never feels particularly fresh, but it does feel real and true, is superbly performed, and it does pack quite an emotional punch. I had to gather myself afterwards, and I’m still gathering myself, and may be gathering myself for some time to come. So it’s good at what it does, even though what it does has been done before. At least I think that’s what I’m trying to say. I’m never really that sure.
This is the second feature from Clio Barnard, whose first, The Arbor, was a portrait of the Bradford playwright Andrea Dunbar, inventively told by fusing lip-synching with first-hand testimonies. It’s extraordinary and brilliant and if you’ve seen it you’ll know you’ve seen it, and will always know you’ve seen it and, if you haven’t, what do you want me to do? Drop the DVD round? The Arbor was set on the Butterworth Estate in Bradford, as is this, but this is narrative fiction and a loose riff on Oscar Wilde’s children’s story; the one where the giant excludes children from his garden, which then falls into perpetual winter; the one which says: ‘Don’t shut out people from the good stuff;’ the one which, if you told it to capitalism, would have capitalism putting its fingers in its ears while going ‘LA LA LA LA’ very, very loudly. (I once tried to read this story to capitalism, and it did just that.)
It follows two boys, Arbor (obviously named as a nod to Barnard’s earlier work, and played by Conner Chapman) and Swifty (Shaun Thomas), who are both around 13. Arbor is small, quick, hyper, always has his eye on the main chance, and is given to lashing out.
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