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There’s no doubt that Nevern captures the constant sense of danger, mixed with moments of anarchic exhilaration, that make up the world of people like Terry – the editing is frenetic and the soundtrack suitably pumped-up. He also subtly brings out the homoerotic element of the lads’ macho bravado and, less subtly, satirises the ludicrousness of London white boys trying to talk, dress and act like gangsta rappers, personified by the aptly-named Billy Black (Daniel Burten-Shaw).
And the format even allows for a bit of post-modern breaching of the fourth wall, where Terry’s questioning of Charlie’s motives for the project could be seen as a comment on the vicarious thrill that middle-class cinemagoers obtain from a controlled peek into the jungleland.
A scene in which Terry and Spencer encourage Charlie to join them in punishing an even-lower-life who’s tried to pinch his camera is one of the film’s most disturbing.
The trouble is that we have been here before. Is anyone unaware that a large section of Britain’s young urban male population have been dealt a pretty dreadful hand? Or that a life of drug-dealing, burglary and being constantly off your face on something, for all its occasional highs, is bound to be nasty, brutish and short? There’s no attempt to suggest any answers beyond “straightening out” and getting a job. And Terry’s attitude to the ethnic minorities in his neighbourhood struck me as being a little more tolerant than it might be in real life.
But I could be wrong. Nevern undoubtedly knows the world that his characters inhabit very well and he’s very clear-eyed on the desperate lack of anything positive or meaningful that it offers. Like Sam Holland’s Zebra Crossings, this film offers an ultimately poignant portrait of a young man trapped in a destructive cycle but with no clear idea of how to get out.
It’s unlikely that anyone will emerge from this film thinking that the life of a d.o.d.g.y geezer is a glamorous lifestyle choice. For that at least, much thanks. And the undoubted flair and technical skill on display ensure that spending a bit of time in Terry’s company is one of the better evenings at the cinema you could have at the moment.
I’m sick of all the “Napoleon Dynamite” copycats, and I actually liked “Napoleon Dynamite.” I can only imagine how the people who hated it must feel about its imitators. It must be like rubbing salt in the wound.
Those wounds will feel especially salty after “Terri,” a vulgar version of “Napoleon Dynamite” in which the title character is an obese, buffoonish teenager who goes to school in his pajamas and catches mice to leave out in the woods for a local hawk. (I assume that yes, the hawk has sharp talons.) Terri lives with his elderly, bewildered Uncle James (Creed Bratton) and befriends a fellow oddball named Chad (Bridger Zadina), who’s as bizarrely skinny as Terri is fat.
Terri is played by Jacob Wysocki, a very floppy and apparently unself-conscious young man who makes Jonah Hill look like Seth Rogen. I don’t mention his corpulence merely out of cruelty; the film, directed by Azazel Jacobs, is highly interested in it, too. The first time we see Terri, he’s soaking in a bathtub, the camera mercilessly observing all his folds and flaps. His shape figures prominently in everything he does throughout the film.