At a brisk 90-minute runtime, Cal McMau’s Wasteman, screening at the BFI London Film Festival, packs a mighty punch, not only through the electric and riveting performances of Jonsson and Blyth but also through its cutting commentary on a failing system that keeps people trapped in cycles of violence even when the prison gate is within view.
There have been two standout prison dramas this year, and both have come from early-career directors. Back in June at Tribeca, I reviewed Charles Williams’ stunning feature-length debut, Inside, starring Vincent Miller, Cosmo Jarvis, and Guy Pearce. Now, the BFI London Film Festival offers us Cal McMau’s powerful and gritty first feature, Wasteman. Like Inside, Wasteman is brutal in its emotional power and devastating in its discussions on the cycle of offending, the impact of violence, and the deadly flaws of a prison system that has spiralled out of control since the Cameron and Osbourne financial cuts of 2011.
Taylor, played by the brilliant David Jonsson, is biding his time, doing favours and cutting hair, waiting for his parole. All he wants is to get out and attempt to rebuild a damaged relationship with his estranged son. But when a system of apparent rehabilitation is as chaotic and ungovernable as this, he also knows that the walk toward the exit may not be as simple.
Taylor’s worst fears are confirmed when a new cellmate, Dee, played by the fantastic Tom Blyth, arrives. Dee, unlike Taylor, is nowhere near seeing freedom, and he brings with him a need to be top dog in his new prison, born from his behaviours at his previous establishment. Dee wants control, and he is willing to upset the established prison system to get it. Suddenly, Taylor is caught in the middle of a fight for supremacy, a fight that threatens to consume him and his need to walk free. His choice may sound simple: to support Dee and hide beneath his shadow until he is free, or to maintain the status quo and risk the ferocity of his new cellmate. But in a prison where rules mean nothing, survival sits on a knife-edge, and the hope of freedom can easily turn into a longer sentence, there are no clear-cut choices.
Director Cal McMau establishes the unrelenting violence, fear, oppression and uncertainty of a prison system creaking under the strain of under-investment and fatally flawed restructures. Here, drone drug deliveries and ever-increasing violence against prisoners and officers sit at the heart of the opening scenes, with McMau and his cinematographer Lorenzo Levrini opting for intimate close-up camera work and phone-filmed scenes of violence that only further highlight the collapse of security in the ‘system’.
As Taylor navigates each day, the intense need to stay safe and navigate between factions, gangs, and prison politics is etched on his face; his eyes dart around each room, scanning for possible exits, potential trouble, and known risks at every turn. Jonsson exquisitely captures the burning regrets that sit beneath the man longing to see the exit, his life now a daily maze of survival that he navigates with care, always looking around each corner before making his move.
Blyth’s Dee, on the other hand, believes the maze of prison life isn’t to be navigated with care, but owned and controlled to ensure survival. He lives in a perpetual state of primordial behaviours, likely forged upon his entry into the ‘system’ as a child or teenager. For Dee, the options are simple: be feared, be respected or be a victim.
It would be easy for Dee’s character to fall into the trap of becoming nothing more than a foil to Jonsson’s Taylor; however, in Blyth’s hands, Dee’s gobbyness, aggression, and volatility hide a hurt, damaged and insecure boy who doesn’t know what else to do, his anger misplaced, and his sense of identity twisted by notions of superiority based on violence and fear. Dee sees Taylor as a weak man he can manipulate. He is neither able nor intuitive enough to see beneath the quiet, calm persona Taylor displays to his cellmates or his most profound need to leave the hell of the prison, no matter the price.
At a brisk 90-minute runtime, Cal McMau’s Wasteman, written by Hunter Andrews and Eoin Doran, packs a mighty punch, not only through the electric and riveting performances of Jonsson and Blyth but also through its cutting commentary on a failing system that keeps people trapped in cycles of violence even when the prison gate is within view. Bold and breathless in its intensity, Wasteman is a fearless feature debut.
Wasteman screened at the BFI London Film Festival and will arrive in cinemas nationwide on February 20 2026.
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