Florid

While watching Florid, a British-Swedish co-production first screened in San Sebastián’s New Directors strand, this writer did think of the production history of a very different film, Ron Howard’s A Beautiful Mind, where John Nash’s schizophrenia was altered for dramatic purposes as it was believed seeing things that weren’t there would be more cinematically compelling than just hearing voices (Nash’s affliction in real life). Billy Lumby’s feature debut makes a strong argument for the opposite, and sets the stage for its director to become a new, vital voice in the realm of socially conscious UK cinema.

The end credits specify the film was made “in collaboration with London’s mental health community”, and there is a clear sense of wishing to adhere to reality and its everyday struggles as closely as possible, while within the boundaries of a fiction that still needs to be dramatically interesting. To that end, Lumby has come up with the story of Jamal (Jonathan Jules, an up-and-coming local talent previously seen in Steve McQueen’s miniseries Small Axe), whose living conditions are complicated due to his inner turmoil.

Living in a supported housing situation, he spends his days taking medication, smoking weed (though he’s supposed to cut down) and meeting with his health advisors, while trying to maintain a semblance of a normal life, such as when he strikes up a friendship with a new resident, Kyla (Saskia Chana). But as his pharmacologically dictated routine starts taking a toll via side effects that alter his manual skills, he decides ditching the meds might be the better solution. And that’s when the voices come back with a vengeance, forcing him to face a reality he’s been too keen to avoid.

Lumby’s approach is a subtle one, illustrating Jamal’s everyday life in a seemingly banal way in the opening minutes of the picture: as he enters his room, we hear faint voices in the vicinity. Having read the synopsis, the foregone conclusion is those are inside the protagonist’s head, but in that initial instance it might as well be neighbors or passersby. That ambiguity, expertly set up by sound designers Tom Harburt and Dario Swade, paints a vivid picture of what it means to live like Jamal does, each pained close-up of Jules’ face capturing the contradictions of an existence dominated by an affliction he is simultaneously aware of and deeply in denial about.

As his coping mechanisms break down and the picture heads in an increasingly bleaker direction, what keeps it from reaching a tonal point of no return is Lumby’s empathetic relationship with the subject matter: it’s hard to sympathize with Jamal at times, but everyone around him, on screen and off, wants him to do better, and that sense of solidarity gives Florid a grounded quality whereby everything is emotionally sincere without slipping into facile narrative shortcuts. Even the more predictable moments tied to the protagonist’s traumas have a thematic and visual vibrancy that adds to the resonance of a film aiming to get to the heart of the matter without getting too sentimental or too bleak. And in doing so, while the prospects for Jamal are yet to be determined, those for his creator show intriguing artistic promise.

Director, Screenwriter: Billy Lumby
Cast: Jonathan Jules, Saskia Chana, Unknown T
Producer: Rupert Lloyd, Joy Gharoro-Akpojotor, Sean Wheelan
Cinematography: Adric Watson
Production design: Beck Rainford
Costume design: Camille Adomakoh
Music: CJ Mirra
Sound: Tom Harburt, Dario Swade
Production companies: Atar Studios, Joi Productions, Filmgate Films
Venue: San Sebastián International Film Festival (New Directors)
In English
84 minutes