Ill Manors

Musicians making movies has often proved to be a recipe for disaster: very few have made the transition with any degree of success. The latest to try his hand at breaking into film is Ben Drew – more commonly known as Plan B. His debut feature, Ill Manors, has been developed from a Plan B single of the same name. Only it hasn’t been developed all that effectively...

A multi-stranded melange of intertwined storylines encompasses drug-dealing, gang culture, Russian gangsters, prostitution and any other facet of crime you’d care to imagine, whilst half-heartedly making clumsy social comment on children abandoned by their parents. It’s clunkily constructed and unsophisticated but, at least initially, seems promising.

For around thirty minutes, Drew displays skill and originality. He quickly establishes the criminal underclass in which his film is based through a high-speed burst of imagery and a rapped back-story for each of the characters he focuses upon. It’s kinetic, exciting and absorbing. Sadly, it doesn’t last. The rap-commentary largely disappears, surfacing only occasionally as the narrative progresses and the interesting visuals give way to a more prosaic and uninvolving style.

The plot, too, fails to sustain itself. Drew reaches too far and tries to tell too many tales. As a result, characters are often unbelievable caricatures with inexplicable motivations. One youngster, Jake, seems to become a gun-wielding gang member within mere minutes of being a timid teenager- it’s utterly unbelievable and makes it very difficult to sympathise with him.

Indeed, sympathy is in short supply for anyone here. Although the characters inhabit an immoral world, there are numerous opportunities for them to display some humanity. They seldom do. And when there’s nobody to sympathise with, it’s impossible to attach any emotional weight to what’s going on.

There’s a moment where it looks like the narrative threads have been neatly wrapped up only for new characters to be introduced and a whole new element added to the story. It’s overkill – the film just goes on and on. Eventually it becomes quite gruelling – not least in a sequence of enforced and repeated prostitution.

Thankfully, John Cooper Clarke appears in the final act to add his unique brand of acerbic wit to proceedings. His acidic narrative poem serves as a reminder that sometimes less is more: a lesson Drew desperately needs to learn before making another movie.