Ryan Andrew Hopper’s debut feature delivers an intriguing but ultimately frustrating mash-up of a string of admirable if confusing contemporary cinematic influences. A dash of non-linear Tarantino storytelling here, eccentric Coen brothers supporting characters there, a Scandi-noir location (albeit relocated to the wilds of West Wales, such as they are), and a very Spaghetti Western aesthetic (emphasised by Rael Jones’ evocative and sparse score). The end result, perhaps inevitably, is a film that doesn’t quite know what it is or what it wants to be, pulling in several different directions and trying just a little bit too hard to make a mark as it battles to stand out in a crowded low budget filmmaking marketplace.
A surly and unnamed loner (the always-watchable Michael Smiley) mans a toll both on a barely-used and partially-overgrown road in West Wales. He’s a man with secrets and a past he’s keen to distance himself from. A chaotic and fruitless armed robbery and an encounter with a figure from his past (Gary Beadle) leads to an investigation by determined local Police officer Catrin (Anne Elwy) that threatens to disturb the toll operator’s own shady activities and his associations with would-be local hardman Dom (Iwan Rheon) and the witless Cliff (Paul Kaye). Throw in three hapless criminal triplets (all cleverly played by Gwyneth Keyworth), a female Elvis Presley impersonator and her mute sidekick, and a delicious cameo from veteran Julian Glover as a crime lord with a grudge, and the end result is a busy, if slightly haphazard and schizophrenic film that sometimes gives the impression that it’s throwing as much mud at the wall as it can in the hope that some of it sticks. And in fairness, some of it does hit the target with some nicely realised observations on rural life in darkest Wales – a signpost identifies Pembrokeshire as “where the English go to die” and we meet Catrin wielding a speed gun next to a sign proclaiming “one death in one year on this road.” Elsewhere there’s also a magnificent visual gag involving iPads. The Toll balances the parochial nature of life out in the sticks with the extremes of its characters and its often-confusing narrative thanks to performances both lively and low-key with the wild, bleak locations adding to the film’s sense of wilful dislocation.
The Toll packs a lot into its eighty-minute running time and the film’s ambition and sense of scale is impressive even if there’s a sense that Cooper and writer Matt Redd are aiming slightly beyond their reach at this point in their careers. The unorthodox narrative structure will confound and even annoy many but patience is always a virtue and the pieces fall more or less into place by the time reaches its Tarantino-esque climax. An uneven debut, The Toll has enough going for it to make it worth your cash and it’s likely to be the gateway to better and more confident future efforts from both Cooper and Redd as they hopefully manage to forge their own identifies rather than paying homage to their forebears and inspirations.
THE TOLL is out now to buy digitally, and to rent from Sep 6th
