Peter Ferdinando plays Michael, a bent cop trying to partially unbend himself. He's just made a deal with some very naughty Albanian gangsters, only to find they're being investigated by his division and he's being stitched up for a murder he didn't commit. He's up against it: His colleagues are a bunch of racist drunks; his arch-nemesis David (Stephen Graham) has just returned as his senior officer; and a clean-cut cop named Taylor (Richard Dormer) is on a mission to clean up the Met. Meanwhile, Michael takes it upon himself to rescue a trafficked woman named Ariana (Elisa Lasowski), while trying to keep his own girl Lisa (MyAnna Buring) from been chopped into little pieces. Laugh-a-minute stuff, then.
The film starts boldly with a heavily stylised raid, followed by a scene in which Michael's crew drink and snort and mouth off about "Pakis". The script is as visceral as the violence; unpretty but pretty authentic. The best of the dialogue – and the most engaging character dynamic – occurs between Michael and David, and the film could have done with more of their tense, skilfully acted showdowns, and slightly fewer scenes of people receiving terrible news by telephone. But that's not to deny the film's grip. There's a genuine sense of danger throughout, and the central theme of cops "crossing a line" is consistently observed throughout – even if Michael's shambolic descent is telegraphed from the start.
"This isn't the 80s," one character remarks, although the sophomore feature of writer-director Gerard Johnson owes more than a little to the crime movie giants of that decade. Its yawning cityscapes and blue hues are like Michael Mann on tour in London, while the street level stuff – all shadowed alleys and vice-filled backrooms – are straight from Abel Ferrara. Indeed, Bad Lieutenant comparisons are particularly noticeable. Its more recent influences include Gaspar Noe's stalking camera-work and Nicolas Winding Refn's doom-scored spasms of ultraviolence. If all that appeals then great, but don't go in expecting to see anything new or particularly refined.
Hyena is a decent gritty Brit-crime thriller, sophisticated in aesthetic if not in content. It's beautifully shot and lit, and the performances are strong – particularly Ferdinando in the lead, the underused Graham, and Kill List's Neil Maskell. Its preoccupations tap into (and exploit) modern fears of police corruption and immigration effectively. Yet all the way up to its ambiguous (read: mildly unsatisfying) ending it feels more like a set of long-established clichés updated to the twenty-teens than a bold new voice in home-grown gangster film.
The film starts boldly with a heavily stylised raid, followed by a scene in which Michael's crew drink and snort and mouth off about "Pakis". The script is as visceral as the violence; unpretty but pretty authentic. The best of the dialogue – and the most engaging character dynamic – occurs between Michael and David, and the film could have done with more of their tense, skilfully acted showdowns, and slightly fewer scenes of people receiving terrible news by telephone. But that's not to deny the film's grip. There's a genuine sense of danger throughout, and the central theme of cops "crossing a line" is consistently observed throughout – even if Michael's shambolic descent is telegraphed from the start.
"This isn't the 80s," one character remarks, although the sophomore feature of writer-director Gerard Johnson owes more than a little to the crime movie giants of that decade. Its yawning cityscapes and blue hues are like Michael Mann on tour in London, while the street level stuff – all shadowed alleys and vice-filled backrooms – are straight from Abel Ferrara. Indeed, Bad Lieutenant comparisons are particularly noticeable. Its more recent influences include Gaspar Noe's stalking camera-work and Nicolas Winding Refn's doom-scored spasms of ultraviolence. If all that appeals then great, but don't go in expecting to see anything new or particularly refined.
Hyena is a decent gritty Brit-crime thriller, sophisticated in aesthetic if not in content. It's beautifully shot and lit, and the performances are strong – particularly Ferdinando in the lead, the underused Graham, and Kill List's Neil Maskell. Its preoccupations tap into (and exploit) modern fears of police corruption and immigration effectively. Yet all the way up to its ambiguous (read: mildly unsatisfying) ending it feels more like a set of long-established clichés updated to the twenty-teens than a bold new voice in home-grown gangster film.