Tyrannosaur is not a happy film.
In fact, it’s fucking devastating.
It’s full of horrible things happening to beautiful people.
Its emotional onslaught leaves you battered and bruised . . . curled up crying in the corner.
Yet with that comes an undeniable power.
The extraordinary performances remove any sense of fiction. We are no longer sitting in front of screen; we are watching these people live their lives. We are dragged down through all the shit they are, but we also catch those glimpses of the light.
Paddy Considine handles the direction with a lightness of touch, and avoids the traps that could leave the film bogged down by its subject matter. The camera goes no way to manipulate; instead it portrays these characters with an almost documentary-style frankness.
Like life, Tyrannosaur has no over-arching storyline. There’s you, there’s me and there’s every other miserable sod on this planet.
So often in stories, amazing circumstances cause great things to happen to your supposed average Joe. But in Tyrannosaur, Joe is far from average and the only thing that happens to him is life.