Broken (MA). Director: Rufus Norris. Starring: Cillian Murphy, Tim Roth, Zana Marjanovic, Eloise Laurence, Robert Emms, Rory Kinnear, Rosalie Kosky, Bill Milner, George Sargeant. 87 minutes
Along with the Danish film The Hunt, the British film Broken was the second, outstanding film I watched in as many days that is centrally concerned with wrongful allegations of child sex abuse.
Whereas The Hunt portrayed a small town gripped by paranoia after a sensitive and imaginative child's confused comments are taken out of context, in Broken the accusations are more sinister, used by a young girl to deflect consequences from herself, in full knowledge of the damage that her claims will cause to the accused.
She is not merely malicious however. Broken is a film where characters' dysfunctional moral compasses are tested by an environment where social and emotional hardship is a daily, oppressive reality.
It is based on a novel by Daniel Clay, which itself is in part a modern-day retelling of To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee's seminal novel about justice waylaid by prejudice. At its heart is charismatic pre-teen Skunk (read Scout), played by newcomer Laurence. She lives in a lower-middle-class culdesac with her brother Jed (Millner) and their divorced lawyer father Archie (Roth), who like Atticus Finch before him is the story's wise moral centre.
Skunk's coming of age is the soul of the film, as she witnesses and becomes embroiled in the tragic events that unfold in the troubled lives of two neighbouring familes. Her adoration for Mike (Murphy), the boyfriend of their housemaid Kasia (Marjanovic) (who herself is a sort-of love interest for Archie), and her budding pre-pubescent romance with new boy in town Dillon (Sargeant), stoke her emotional and psychological awakening.
The abuse allegation that sets the tragedy in motion is made by Susan (Kosky), one of three daughters of surly widower Bob (Kinnear). The sisters are cruel but not villainous; having been controlled by Bob's aggression, they use aggression to control others. Susan makes her accusation to deflect her father's rage. This might be almost forgiveable, but the effectiveness of the ploy teaches her a dangerous lesson that will return with a vengeance.
The person she accuses is Rick (Emms), a young man, ostracised because of an intellectual disability (he is a composite, perhaps, of Boo Radley and Tom Robinson), who has for some time suffered the sisters' abusive