'Wasteman' Review: A Brutally Authentic, Harrowing and Gripping Portrayal of the British Prison System
- 1 day ago
- 4 min read
By Dan Bremner - February 20, 2026
There’s been a noticeable gap in recent years when it comes to truly great British prison films. For all the social realism the UK industry prides itself on, the genre has felt oddly neglected, with Starred Up still looming large as the last undeniable modern classic. Wasteman arrives with that exact kind of expectation hanging over it, especially with pedigree connections to Boiling Point and Adolescence, and trailers that promised something raw, volatile, and deeply uncomfortable. Thankfully, this isn’t just hype-fuelled marketing. Wasteman is a grim, propulsive, often suffocating experience that feels frighteningly authentic, driven by two phenomenal lead performances and a filmmaking approach that understands that prison horror doesn’t come from spectacle, but from proximity, pressure, and inevitability.
From its opening moments, Wasteman wastes absolutely no time situating you inside its world. This is not a film interested in easing audiences in or offering comforting narrative signposts. The prison environment is presented as immediately hostile, noisy, and relentlessly invasive, where privacy is non-existent and danger is ambient rather than exceptional. Director Cal McMau’s debut shows remarkable confidence here, framing the prison less as a backdrop and more as a living system designed to grind people down. Corridors feel too narrow, cells feel airless, and even moments of supposed quiet feel uneasy. It’s a film that understands how tension accumulates not through constant violence, but through the certainty that violence is always looming just out of frame.
At the centre of it all is David Jonsson’s (Alien: Romulus) Taylor, and it’s difficult to overstate just how extraordinary this performance is. Jonsson plays Taylor as a man desperate to disappear, someone trying to make himself smaller, quieter, and less visible in order to survive both prison and the bureaucratic labyrinth of parole. There’s a constant emotional arithmetic happening behind his eyes, weighing every word and movement against the possibility of losing his freedom again. Jonsson brings an aching vulnerability to the role, allowing moments of hope and kindness to surface without ever letting them feel naïve. It’s a deeply interior performance, heavy with regret and restraint.
Opposite him, Tom Blyth’s (The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes) Dee is pure volatility. Where Taylor internalises, Dee externalises. Loud, impulsive, dangerous, and unpredictable in ways that make him both magnetic and terrifying. Blyth leans fully into the character’s instability, carrying a permanently hollow, dead-behind-the-eyes stare that suggests someone who has already accepted their own destruction. What makes the performance so compelling, though, is that Blyth never allows Dee to become a caricature. There are flashes of warped loyalty, genuine warmth, and something almost protective beneath the violence. The chemistry between Blyth and Jonsson is electric, built on mistrust, necessity, and a fragile sense of mutual survival that feels entirely earned.
The relationship between Taylor and Dee is where Wasteman truly finds its thematic weight. Rather than framing prison friendships as redemptive or sentimental, the film understands them as transactional, dangerous, and emotionally complicated. Dee’s decision to “take Taylor under his wing” is never presented as purely altruistic, and Taylor’s acceptance of that protection comes at a constant moral and practical cost. The film excels at exploring how institutional systems force people into impossible choices, where doing the “right” thing can be as destructive as doing the wrong one. Loyalty becomes a liability, morality becomes flexible, and survival demands compromises that linger long after the immediate threat has passed.
It's is a lean, muscular piece of filmmaking. Clocking in at a tight 90 minutes, it moves with purpose and precision, rarely indulging in excess or repetition. McMau’s direction is assured, especially in the way he stages confrontation and violence. When brutality erupts, it’s sudden, ugly, and deeply unsettling, shot close, often handheld, and stripped of any cinematic glamour. The use of phone footage and surveillance-style framing adds another layer of realism, reinforcing the sense that these characters are constantly watched, recorded, and judged, even as the system consistently fails them, or completely ignores clear rule-breaking.
While the film’s simplicity is often a strength, there are moments where its narrative trajectory feels a little too familiar, particularly for viewers well-versed in prison dramas. Certain beats unfold exactly as expected, and while the performances elevate them, they don’t always surprise. They don't dull the film’s forward momentum. These moments feel intentional, but you feel you may have seen them before.
The ending, too, is likely to divide audiences. After such relentless tension and moral ambiguity, the resolution feels surprisingly clean and restrained. It’s not unearned, but it does wrap things up with a degree of neatness that slightly undercuts the film’s otherwise uncompromising worldview. Given the harrowing events that precede it, the final notes lack some of the lingering devastation one might expect. It’s less a misstep than a missed opportunity to leave the knife twisted just a little deeper.
Still, these criticisms do little to diminish the film’s overall impact. Wasteman is a gripping, bruising, and deeply human prison drama that feels urgently relevant within the context of the UK justice system. It avoids easy moralising, refuses to romanticise violence, and places its faith squarely in character and performance rather than gimmicks. Jonsson and Blyth deliver career-best work, Cal McMau announces himself as a director to watch, and the film as a whole stands as one of the most compelling British releases of the year.
Wasteman is a brutally grounded, intense and often uncomfortable British prison drama that lands with constant unease. The two leads in David Johnsson and Tom Blyth are incredible to watch unfold with their contrasting characters in career best (so far) performances. The ending is a little too neat and easy, but the ride to get there is an unforgettable one.
'Wasteman' is out now in cinemas.
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