Urchin: A Character Study of Addiction and Fragile Masculinity

We frequently read about films that mimic Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader’s 1976 masterpiece, Taxi Driver. Most of these films share an attempt to recreate characters like Travis Bickle, played by Robert De Niro in an unforgettable performance. Bickle was a loner, burdened by memories of the Vietnam War, and possessed an immense need to engage in violence to feel his worth as a man in a corrupted society.

In British actor Harris Dickinson’s directorial debut, we see a character study of another man, “Mike.” But Mike, in contrast to Travis, embodies what has changed in masculinity since the 1970s: no war, no desire to change society, even if we condemn it. Violence remains, this time primarily against oneself.

The film won the FIPRESCI Prize for Best Film in the Un Certain Regard section at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, and Frank Dillane won the Un Certain Regard Jury Award for Best Actor for his starring role.

The World of Homelessness

The film begins with an outdoor scene in which we see Mike waking up from his sleep on the street. He’s a homeless young man, similar to many of those we see daily on the streets and under bridges in major cities. Mike then goes to a square where he meets his friend, who appears to have stolen his wallet. They argue and beat each other. Mike does find his wallet, but it’s missing some money.

A dark-skinned British man takes pity on Mike, brings him something to drink, and then offers to buy him some food. The two men walk toward the restaurant where Mike wants to eat, and then the film’s first surprise occurs.

The world of homelessness becomes a space to get to know Mike, a young man who appears to be out of his mind, hungry, uncaring, and willing to commit violent acts to get what he wants. The most obvious reason behind all of this seems to be addiction.  

Addiction as Self-Harm

Cinematic representations of addiction are often fraught with stereotypes about the big-screen addict: exaggerated performances and inexplicable actions. Here, by contrast, Frank Dillane, under the direction of Harris Dickinson, delivers a more simplistic and profound performance. Mike is a fragile, young man who makes you sympathize with him despite all the wrong choices he makes, because he appears truly tormented after each one.

The essence of addiction here is the loss of self-control, the inability to stop using even though you know it will destroy you. In the film, using drugs appears to be of two types: one for celebration, as we see when Mike meets a French girl who becomes his gateway to the hippie world, where LSD use is part of a meditative ritual and celebrations of nature and art. The other type is using drugs alone, angry and sad, in closed rooms, which here is a complete ritual of self-harm. 

A Visual Language Between Two Worlds

Dickinson builds his visual language in the film on the frequent use of close-ups of Mike’s face, then uses cuts to make his viewer fill in the blanks. When Mike meets one of the people he attacked, the man confronts him about how he spent the following days unable to see his daughter, who had just celebrated her birthday, because he didn’t want to scare her with his facial wounds. Mike appears to be on the verge of a panic attack, but Dickinson cuts abruptly to make us imagine what happened.

In its visual language, the film resembles a low-budget European film, simple and unpretentious. Dickinson then transitions from time to time into a fantasy visual world. Drugs seem to be a gateway to this world, and even the relaxation audio recordings, that Mike listens to, as a form of self-improvement Are working as a gateway to this world too. Mike searches for his imagined safe place, but ultimately drowns in it.  

Violence and Fragile Masculinity

Urchin ultimately becomes a portrait, with its rough edges and raw touches. These edges seem authentic and expressive of a director making his debut, a film that empathizes with its hero. He doesn’t talk about him, as many films do, but speaks in his own voice: a sensitive and fragile man, unable to break the vicious cycle of self-harm. His tragedy becomes a mirror of his time, of our world today.

Mike finds love, acceptance, and support from most of those who approach him throughout the film, most of whom are immigrants or of immigrant descent. This detail becomes part of a layer that Dickinson compassionately, and perhaps even unconsciously, places within the film’s world.

Cinephiles remember the iconic scene of a half-naked Travis Bickle addressing himself in the mirror, “Are you talking to me?!” Then, suddenly and quickly, he pulls out his Pistol. Travis expresses a toxic rage that doesn’t allow the man to show his weakness. Thus, gun violence becomes a space for venting his trauma.  Cinephiles will also remember Mike, the fragile, half-naked man standing in front of his mirror in a dark room, hearing an audio recording telling him he’s special, and repeating it.

Hosam Fahmy
©FIPRESCI