Bryn Higgins’ new film, Electricity, while not exactly electrifying, has moments of intensity that jolt the viewer to attention, leaving them with a lasting tingling feeling. Grounded in the social realist genre with departures into the surreal world of its epileptic protagonist, Lily (Agyness Deyn), it offers highly charged drama with flights into the metaphysical and philosophical.
Adapted from Ray Robinson’s novel of the same name, Electricity both condenses and somewhat beefs-up the narrative to create a densely packed film. Running at just a meagre 94 minutes, a surprisingly large amount happens. Beginning in the North-eastern town, Saltburn-by-the-Sea, we are introduced to Lily O’Connor, amusement arcade worker and long-time sufferer of temporal lobe epilepsy. The singularity of Lily’s condition means she leads a life of relative solitude until, with the death of her mother, she is reintroduced to the figures of her past and incited on a one-woman mission in search of her missing brother, Mikey (Christian Cooke). Domestic abuse, violence, adultery, drugs, gambling – the film incorporates many ‘gritty’ plot devices to create its chaotic, working class setting, propelling the viewer through the narrative. The only problem is that, more often than not, devices are exactly what they feel like: tropes and clichés that give the narrative a soap-opera-style brashness at odds with the sensitivity of its more contemplative moments.
However, the film’s treatment of Lily’s epilepsy shows a subtlety and cinematic finesse that elevates it from pastiche. Temporal lobe epilepsy induces uncontrollable and violent seizures in an individual, which result in multi-sensory hallucinations. Higgins’ use of abstract colour sequences, voice-over, dreamscape visuals and audio give fresh insight into this otherwise impenetrable condition. We are witness to one of these fits from a voyeuristic perspective only once, near the film’s end – an important distinction from the book, in which we remain solely inside Lily’s head – with Higgins making full use of his medium’s visual impact: the sight of Lily, grotesquely distorted, is shocking. Agyness Deyn’s commitment to role and total transformation (shocking in itself) is a credit to her.
In this way, it is a film about abnormality, what it means to appear monstrous – to society and to oneself – what it means to shock and be shocked. Lily has been a ‘freak’ all her life, yet she seems the only dignified character in the film, her supposed deformity reflected in the exaggerated and morally corrupt figures that emerge along her journey, looming from the dark like those in a freak-show corridor. Despite this, the outlook is hopeful, pioneering human kindness and empathy. A little hyperbolic and rough around the edges, Electricity remains a thought-provoking film, awakening the senses in a synesthetic attack.