Rating: 7 out of 10.

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Shortly after becoming a father, Taylor (David Jonsson) found himself behind bars. He can’t even remember why he did what he did beyond the faint notion of wanting to support the family he ultimately never got to have. The years passed, hope waned, and addiction ruled. He sought to keep his head down by cutting hair as trade for pills while sticking to the background whenever possible. And just when things looked to be at their worst—his dealers (Alex Hassell with Corin Silva as his muscle) seeking violent retribution for the theft of their product—a light appears at the end of the tunnel.

Hunter Andrews and Eoin Doran’s script for Wasteman provides a chance at redemption due to overcrowding. If Taylor can get through the next few weeks without incident, he’ll be free. While things should be quiet since that hunt resulted in his cellmate getting a TV to the face, fate has other plans. His attempts to give the good news to his estranged ex and teenage son Adam (Cole Martin) fail and the volatile Dee (Tom Blyth) arrives at his door. Uninterested in keeping a low profile, he transforms their cell into a commissary with the intent to monopolize the entire prison wing’s illicit operations.

Director Cal McMau exposes the British penal system’s nightmarish atmosphere by sprinkling savage cellphone videos amongst the close-quarters interactions between Taylor and his fellow inmates. Each movie is akin to a clout-building business card with evidence of how brutal the sender will become to get what he wants. They simultaneously make kings and destroy reputations by immortalizing those who initiated the beatdowns, those who fought back, and those who stood by and watched. Taylor hopes to avoid these cameras completely because he can’t risk jeopardizing his release. Unfortunately, turf wars are never silent.

What Taylor doesn’t anticipate is Dee instilling a bit of fun and compassion to these final days. Sure, he’s a psychopath quick to turn threatening at the drop of a word he deems aggressive, but his connections prove very useful insofar as tracking down Adam and preparing a reunion. Dee has a cellphone to contact the teen and accomplices outside with the means of finding him to deliver gifts, no strings attached. Except, of course, that loyalty’s string is ever-present in prison. Dee’s kindness comes at the price of discretion. And if Taylor compromises that unspoken pact, well, you can guess what comes next.

Wasteman isn’t therefore looking to surprise its audience. Its strength lies in the tension born from its unavoidable progressions. Because Russell and Silva are going to eventually make a move to reclaim the block and Taylor will inevitably do whatever he must to save himself. What will Dee require for penance and how far is Taylor willing to go to satisfy him? And if he comes through with accomplishing the first task, what’s stopping Dee from moving the goalposts and forcing him to fulfill an even more perilous request? There’s no escape from exploitation when you’re the only one with everything to lose.

Blyth is very good at proving why charisma always creates a more dangerous enemy than sheer brute force. Because it’s one thing to fear what guys like Russell and Silva will do. It’s another to let your guard down and give your executioner everything he needs to destroy you voluntarily. His Dee wields a soft touch to groom Taylor into becoming his accomplice and setting him up to be indebted to him for the rest of his life. That’s how men like him gain control and influence. He doesn’t find your weakness. He lets you confide it, lends a friendly shoulder, and keeps it in his pocket for a rainy day.

Our main focal point is Jonsson as a result. Always quick to shuffle out the door before chaos ensues or back himself against the wall to feign invisibility if he’s not fast enough, we must fear the worst for Taylor because his vulnerability when it comes to Adam requires that he relinquish all control. He can’t do what Dee demands, but he can’t refuse either. So, he becomes a sweaty ball of fear coerced into sealing his own demise during an expertly executed climactic countdown. This sequence is so well put together that we don’t even have time to consider what we might have missed.


David Jonsson and Tom Blyth in WASTEMAN; photo by James A. Demetriou, courtesy of TIFF

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