Alastair McKay Charismatic McClure is in control as a coercive relationship unravels
I Am Nicola Channel 4, 10pm
IN DRAMAS, writer-director Dominic Savage keeps things loose. Sometimes his approach is called “guerrilla style”, which seems an oddly combative way of describing a collaborative, improvisational technique in which the actors — often women — get to work out what’s going on with their characters. “Guerrilla” suggests asymmetric warfare, jungle conflict. But Savage works closely with his cast, and if the dramas often inhabit moments of friction, the journey towards them seems harmonious. As a dramatist, his aim is realism, a perilous state which occurs in nature without effort, but needs coercion in a fictional context.
In this three-part series, Savage has w o r ke d w i t h S a m a n t h a Mo r t o n , Gemma Chan and — tonight’s offering — Vicky McClure. McClure is an interesting performer in that she is best known for playing Kate Fleming in Line of Duty, a drama that likes to mix the procedural hum of the precinct drama with periodic explosions, but she brings an easy charisma to her parts (as in This Is England).
In LoD, McClure is all about rules, office politics and trusting no one. The lack of trust bit comes in handy here, as does her chemistry with co-star Perry Fitzpatrick, who played Flip in This Is England (they have known each other since the age of 11, when they acted in the Nottingham Television Workshop).
What happens? Nothing, nothing, and the unravelling of nothing. McClure is a hairdresser on fire. She is in an unsteady steady relationship with Adam (Fitzpatrick) and tormented by the fact that her life includes nothing worthy of mentioning to her clients. She wants to do things, she says, “because I have nothing to talk about.” Adam, though, is the coercive, controlling type. “We shouldn’t be jealous of other people,” he says.
The space between these two positions is narrow but Nicola and Adam scratch away at it. Their relationship is a struggle, captured in close-up. They are wildlife, squabbling over the contents of the fridge. Are they out of milk? “Can’t see much in the fridge, bab,” says Adam. “Did you do some shopping?” Let’s be honest, eavesdropping on this dysfunction is an uncomfortable experience. Adam isn’t likeable, but the way h e e mpl oys h i s v u l n e ra b i l i t y a s a weapon feels true, and there is a note of empowerment in the way Nicola starts to analyse his controlling instincts. “Going silent again?” she chides. “Playing the victim.”
There’s a barbecue scene which is awkward to the point of unwatchability: the sound of two men small-talking about barbecuing techniques sounds like the death knell of masculinity hammered out with sausage tongs.
But in a drama in which none of the characters are overburdened with charm, and romance is defined as a kiss to the sound of James Blunt, the lasting impression is bleak. That’s when you realise this is guerrilla filmmaking, and not just because of the hand-held cameras and the flatness of the language. It’s a war on the audience in which Savage aims, at least, to bruise.