Dragonfly

Paul Andrew Williams’ Dragonfly largely succeeds because it never quite telegraphs where it’s going until its third act.

For a study of human connection at its most honest and affecting, with two remarkable lead performances, Dragonfly is a powerfully striking experience.

Two actors, among the very best of their respective generations, come together for Dragonfly, a bleak but captivating study of loneliness and social care set in contemporary Britain.

This lean, intimate drama is a Paul Andrew Williams film, and anyone who saw his brutal revenge picture, Bull, will have an inkling of how dark his movies can get. Even so, the blunt force of Dragonfly’s tonal swerve is enough to knock the air out of you.

This initially subdued, superbly acted story of an unlikely connection takes a savage and unsettling tonal swerve in the final act. The latest from Paul Andrew Williams will not be for everyone, but it is a chokingly tense commentary on the precarious nature of community.

Throughout, Dragonfly plays with perspective, fascinated by the potential of others and what people are capable of. However, the film’s final note is deeply cynical, as if it is embarrassed by the sincerity of its genuine and vital message.

Dragonfly could have been a gem to watch with a cup of tea on a rainy day. It has brilliantly nuanced performances and a heartwarming tone, but it doesn’t seem to trust the quiet power of its story. Instead, it’s ultimately undone by a clumsy, horrific final act. It’s a film that needed more faith in its own heart.