Bullet Boy

It’s telling that folk from the rap and hip-hop industry fare much better as thespians than the average errant pop star with screen aspirations. Regardless of Sam Jackson’s claims to the contrary, it’s hard to think of a single self-styled gangster that’s actually ‘unproven’ as an actor.
It comes as little surprise then, that Brit-hop luminary Asher D makes a notable screen debut in Saul Dibb’s Bullet Boy. Much like Brit-hop itself, there’s a fascinating cultural collision at play (most utterances begin with ‘yo’ and end with ‘innit?’) as we follow Mr. Walters on his journey out of jail and right back into grubby urbania. In keeping with the time-honoured traditions of the going-straight genre, our young gansta finds aggro within nanoseconds of his custodial release. No bling so fierce as it were.
Factor in a backdrop of burnt out cars and highrise horrors, a gun, a hero-worshipping twelve year old kid brother and the shooting of some young testosterone fuelled yob’s beloved pit-bull (“The dawg wuz my brevvren”), and one quickly realises that this tale is not going to end with a yacht sailing off into the sunset.
Though less ghetto fabulous than kitchen sink, Bullet Boy’s keen Loachian instincts provide a critique of imported gang machismo and moments of slyly humorous juxtaposition. There’s just something a bit Ali G about watching lads head off to do a hit on a double decker bus, and Saul Dibb admirably deconstructs the swagger of the scene without blowing the film’s cool. Respect.

Running Time 89mins. Cert 16. Opens April 15th.