Content warning: suicide, self-harm.
By no means a light watch but an important and timely one, Mission sees a young man struggling to feel connected to society, contemplating dying by suicide but giving himself one week to convince himself to stay alive.
Written and directedy with disorientating flair by Scottish director Paul Wright (Arcadia), this BBC-produced film explores the personal and social reasons behind suicidal behaviour through the experience of Dylan (a phenomenal George MacKay). It's not a sensational, generalised depiction of mental health, but instead a splintered, chaotic endeavor to visually render one person's complex perspective.
MacKay, who starred in Wright's For Those in Peril back in 2013, gives a mercurial performance as a man vehemently trying to find meaning in a world he feels alienated from. Dylan yearns for the reality of his younger self, free of inhibition and full of wonder, and he scorns conformity. But where is the line between uninhibited whims and total anarchy? Dylan will test both his own and societal boundaries in a week-long crusade, which sees whimsy and transgression at either end of a slippery slope.
Mission is as much a film about death as it is about life.
Rosy McEwen as Claire in "Mission."
Credit: BBC
Dylan's "mission" is to live, in every sense of the word, through experiences he's never allowed himself to have. Feeling stuck in his waiter job and overwhelmingly lonely and rudderless, he struggles to find a sense of purpose. Here, MacKay imbues Dylan's physicality with monotonous, mechanical movements and blank stares, flicking lights on and off, and internalising his rage over incessant phone vibrations and drilling outside his apartment.
Through voiceover, we gain insight into Dylan's inner turmoil as if we're reading his diary: "I don't know how to live in this world the way it is," he says, longing for a way to connect. He's buoyed by two people, his friend and co-worker Becky (Bridgerton's Emma Naomi), whom he clearly has feelings for, and his sister Claire (Scarpetta's Rosy McEwen), whose connection with Dylan has deep roots. Through sweet home video flashbacks (and adorable performances from youngsters Oliver Boyd and Matilda Thomson), Wright weaves Dylan and Claire's relationship as one of childhood magic, silliness, and creative expression. Their bond, though changed in adulthood, becomes the true heart of the film.
Dylan's turning point occurs during a routine check-in interview with his boss, James (Emun Elliott), that sees Dylan move from parroting corporate speak to admitting his hatred for the job as "soul-destroying." From here, he quits, slowly obsessing over James, an initially amiable but eventually contemptible representation of everything Dylan hates.
Retreating to an abandoned shack on the edge of a lake, Dylan ideates ending his life. However, he gives himself one week to find a "reason to go on." He begins a quest of total ecstasy, commanding himself to "do something," whatever euphoric act comes to mind. "Embrace the random. No longer be afraid. Connect to the forgotten parts of yourself," he declares in voiceover, setting out the rules of his manifesto. But there's a difference between singing karaoke in front of strangers and more harmful acts, as Dylan's increasingly extreme choices simmer with anarchy.
George MacKay is fearless in Mission.
George MacKay in "Mission."
Credit: BBC
Fresh off miraculous performances in Rose of Nevada and The End, MacKay truly leans into physicality with Mission. The actor builds a character so erratic, interior, and determined that it's hard to know whether we're barracking for Dylan or, frankly, fearful of him. Every turn sees him plunging into bacchanalian excess and self-harm, making unbridled decisions that could cause others or himself harm. So, while we're along for this life-affirming ride, we're almost becoming complicit in something malevolent, with no ability to change anything.
Seeking solace in childhood unpredictability, Dylan yearns for a time when "everything was possible," seeing random acts as a form of resistance. He sees his alienation from society as a license to disturb, to provoke. Going from the embodiment of mechanistic drudgery to a man of sheer glee, convulsing and writhing with animalistic expression and chaotic energy, MacKay pushes himself to the absolute limit.
McEwen is superb as Dylan's sister Claire, whose practicality sees her struggling to understand her brother's pain and acting as his anchor in the mayhem. "Everyone's just trying to live their life," she says, unable to see how a simple sentence could be so complicated for Dylan. However, one particular scene between the two proves one of the most quietly powerful conversations I've seen on screen, with MacKay and McEwen showing pure talent.
Mission relishes in punk cinematography, editing, and sound.
In order to explore Dylan's frame of mind, Wright leans into the disorientated style of his documentary Arcadia, a celebrated work of juxtaposition and montage. With meticulous, energetic editing from Jennifer Mackie and Michael Aaglund, Mission splices Limbo and Bring Them Down cinematographer Nick Cooke's stunning shots with frenetically edited footage of current events, abstract visuals, home footage, and MacKay's voice-over.
Roly Porter's hypnotic score is a constant companion to Dylan, with The Unheard composer finding poignancy and care in the protagonist's darkest moments. And as a sum of its parts, Mission becomes an intense, sobering experience, one that aims to get us inside Dylan's deepest thoughts.
Ultimately, Mission pulls us under with Dylan, rattled and contorted into his high-stakes "experiment" without the ability to connect with him ourselves. Through MacKay's fearless performance, Wright's discombobulating style, and a timely theme, the film wrestles with existence and connection, balancing darkness and light, despair and hope. It's a haunting watch, but one with an all-important glimmer of hope.
Mission was reviewed out of its premiere at Edinburgh International Film Festival. International release dates TBC.
If you're feeling suicidal or experiencing a mental health crisis, please talk to somebody. You can call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988, or chat at 988lifeline.org. You can reach the Trans Lifeline by calling 877-565-8860 or the Trevor Project at 866-488-7386. Text "START" to Crisis Text Line at 741-741. Contact the NAMI HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI, Monday through Friday from 10:00 a.m. – 10:00 p.m. ET, or email info@nami.org. If you don't like the phone, consider using the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline Chat. Here is a list of international resources.
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