In his feature-length directorial debut, Harris Dickinson delivers Urchin, a London-set drama about a homeless young man named Mike (Frank Dillane) trying to piece his life back together after prison and addiction. Dickinson had proved himself as a rising young talent on the acting front, having starred in films like Triangle of Sadness, The Iron Claw, See How They Run, and Babygirl. With Urchin, he becomes the latest actor to take a crack at being in the director’s chair. The ambition is clear and the intentions honest: we’re meant to see a character “fallen between the cracks” and the systemic and personal forces that keep him circling the same ragged orbit.

The film is admirable for trying not to glamourize or oversimplify homelessness and addiction. Mike isn’t “saved” with a dramatic conversion or big catharsis. Instead, the film shows him in the middle of the grind—jobs, hostel rooms, the temptation of old habits. The movie wants the audience to win in the end, but it can be tough cheering for a protagonist who falls back into their old ways. It even stumbles into an ending that Dickinson’s script calls for ambiguity, but feels unearned. The decidedly middle-space of the plot, however, is brave, even if it lacks the tidy narrative arc many audiences expect.

Frank Dillane gives a committed, gritty performance as Mike. There’s a rawness to his physicality—ragged clothes, a nervous energy, eyes on edge—that grounds the film in a lived-in realism. The performance has been described as “hangdog” and “unflinchingly authentic.” The camera often holds steady on Mike in static frames, allowing us to linger on his discomfort and alienation rather than rush through exposition. The film also occasionally uses surreal or dreamlike beats (such as a draining pipe segue into darkness) that hint at the character’s inner turmoil rather than spelling it out in heavy voice-over or flashbacks. It poses as a metaphor for Mike’s descent as his life is “going down the drain.”

Despite those strengths, Urchin often feels uneven and unfinished in its execution. Some of the storyline beats feel familiar: the young addict, the jail time, the halfway house/job scheme, the woman who tries to help. These tropes are well-trodden in social-realist cinema, and while Dickinson tries to veer away from formula, the film still falls back into recognizable patterns. The surreal moments promise an interesting twist, but they also feel under-explored—at times, they seem like intriguing interruptions rather than integral pieces of the storytelling. For example, the dream-like sequence with the drainpipe is visually striking but not fully integrated into Mike’s emotional journey in a satisfying way. That kind of choice is bold, but when it doesn't fully pay off, it can leave the viewer dangling.

Another issue is pacing: much of the film is slow, with extended periods of Mike drifting through life rather than moving toward a clear goal (beyond “stay sober, find work”). While that reflects his aimlessness, it also means the film sometimes lacks momentum. Audiences used to narrative drive might find themselves waiting for something to “happen.” Although Dillane’s performance is strong, some of the supporting characters feel underwritten. The woman who helps Mike, the probation or hostel officials, even the friend-foe figures—these roles sometimes function more as thematic markers than fully fleshed-out people. That weakens the impact of the film’s attempt at nuanced social commentary, because if the relationships feel thin, the stakes feel lighter.

Urchin is a film of worthy intentions and commendable moments. It feels earnest rather than slick, and Dickinson should be applauded for going for something personal and socially minded in his first outing. If you’re drawn to raw, character-driven studies of the margins and don’t mind a film that resists tidy resolution, viewers will find much to admire. But for all its ambition, the film doesn’t quite cohere into the powerful, fully-realized piece it aims to be. The structural momentum wavers, some supporting work is uneven, and the surreal flourishes hint at more than they deliver. Thus, while Urchin is better than average, it doesn’t quite soar. A solid debut with rough edges: politics and performance align, but narrative and structure stutter along the way.

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