Cal McMau’s thriller Wasteman depicts the unsteady relationship between inmates Taylor (David Jonsson) and Dee (Tom Blyth), whose lives are forced to intertwine in an oppressive, stressful and explosive prison environment.
★★★★☆
Wasteman’s tension is not only induced by the setting, but by the fact that the two leading characters possess starkly different natures, priorities and experiences of prison—their similarities begin and end with their shared cell. Arguably their biggest contrast is their relationship to freedom. Taylor, who has already served for thirteen years, is given the news that he may be approved for an early release, a circumstance that signals hope or renewal. This directly opposes Dee’s position as a newly transferred prisoner, and as someone who engages with the criminal lifestyle unabashedly.
The dynamic of these two prisoners in a confined space, one who sees no other way of life and the other who does not only have a motive to leave it all behind, but an opportunity to do so, offers a brilliant story. With their meeting, Taylor’s once likely promise of release becomes a strain, something no longer guaranteed but instead demanding of sacrifice—particularly when Dee’s affairs directly threaten his chance at freedom.
The characters are unfiltered and complex. You find yourself questioning your judgments of them, never entirely sure of their morality and thus whether they deserve support. Taylor’s soft nature and morality outshine his guilty past and bad habits. He encourages sympathy more than disdain.
Dee, in contrast, has an unnerving confidence and scary, unpredictable nature that creates immediate tension between the pair, and the threat he poses to Taylor spurs the course of the film. MaCau successfully creates two deeply interesting leads with completely contrasting natures, the characters elevated further by the incredible, believable performances of Jonsson and Blyth.
While the inclusion of other prisoner’s lives is not always pretty to watch, it is certainly effective in establishing the prison society and its different system of rules—loyalty and reputation become notions worth dying for, and even minor decisions or behaviours can have a monumental effect on the safety of life. Yet this harshness is occasionally broken by moments of comedy, light-hearted banter and transactional favours between inmates offering the audience fleeting relief. While the terms friendship or kindness are too strong to describe such instances, they are still potent enough to humanise the characters in an environment that encourages oppression and animosity.
Wasteman’s cinematography and handheld camera sequences further ground the film, intimate composition and busy frames immersing the audience in its world. These choices particularly have an effect in the action scenes as the audience are not shielded in any way; it creates a claustrophobic feeling, reflecting the confinement of prison and amping up the tension. Combined with messy, rapid scenes of violence, it makes for a raw viewing experience.
Alternative to this cinematography style is phone camera footage, with distinct vertical framing. These offered videos inside and out of the prison, but always with the content of violence and criminality. They diluted the claustrophobic atmosphere, instead widening the world of the film by standing as the audiences’ and inmates only access to the outside world. They were not the most artistic of shots, distracting from the intimate framing and specific colour palette that runs through the majority of the visuals, but not irrelevant either. Their success was in spurring the chaotic atmosphere and presenting the reality of phone use in UK prisons.
The Verdict
Wasteman is impressive in many ways, but perhaps most in its palpable atmosphere. MaCau carefully builds the world of the prison and its internal society, sketching out the violent lifestyle through intense and unpredictable events, all the while keeping the audience close through intricate characters and raw visuals.
Words by India Gwyn-Williams