Ill Manors

Ben Drew, more commonly known by his rapping moniker Plan B, wrote and directed this partly autobiographical, partly anecdotal account of life in Forest Gate in East London. Incorporating vignettes, interweaving timelines, Crash-style character connections and elements of an urban musical, his deftly woven and unrelentingly bleak film shows how the locals’ lives revolve around drugs, violence and sex. Some use them for power; others merely survival.
The multi-stranded plot introduces and connects many characters; there’s Ed, an almost amoral Neanderthal who thinks nothing of selling a baby or pimping out a prostitute dozens of times a night for punishingly low prices. Kirby, an ageing ex-con, lures underage girls back to his flat to give them crack. Jake, a sweet teen, is so desperate to be accepted that he obediently beats up his best friend – merely a stepping-stone on his harrowing journey into gang violence. And Aaron (the ever-wonderful Riz Ahmed, Four Lions) is a good-hearted dealer who – despite his profession and surroundings – remains determined to do the right thing.
The largely unknown, unprofessional cast are wonderful, bringing an authenticity to the vicious, constantly aggressive and often blackly comic dialogue. Heightening both the atmosphere and the character development is Drew’s brilliant use of flashbacks and musical/rapping narration, which act as mini music videos explaining the characters’ abused and abusive origins. An appearance by punk poet John Cooper Clarke is merely one intelligent and elegant flourish that emphasises the director’s love of honest artistic expression.
Despite a slightly overlong run-time and a somewhat sentimental ending, Drew’s film is constantly brilliant, though the chest-tighteningly tense aggression and violence is never easy to watch. Offering no easy answers, his film is like his music, delivering a smart, strong and unapologetic snapshot of the seedy side of “civilised” society.