A psychotic killer in a 1960s society that may be worse than he is..

"Silent Scream both pays homage to - and intensely questions - a period of monumental social change in British history"

Late October will see BFI’s release of David Hayman’s Silent Scream (1990) punctuate a market no doubt saturated by fantastical Halloween frights. The true-life horrors of convicted murderer Larry Winters (Iain Glen) will shock disturb and ultimately enthral viewers across the country.

Based on the life and writings of Winters - an early member of the Barlinnie Special Unit in Scotland - Silent Scream captures the violent, tumultuous demise of an incarcerated, drug-dependent young man. Yet the movie's success doesn’t lie merely in a harrowing portrayal of self-destruction. It is the film's ability to intimately examine 1960’s society through the damaged psyche of a disillusioned male which hallmarks Silent Scream as a remarkable contribution to British film.

The evocative delusions of a convicted murderer form as much a damning indictment of 1960’s institutions as they do a psychological examination of a deranged killer. A film composed of flashbacks, hallucinogenic trips and crude, jarring edits, Silent Scream both pays homage to - and intensely questions - a period of monumental social change in British history.

Silent Scream reeks of British New Wave. Pushed to its very extremities, Larry Winters is undeniably the disenfranchised, dysfunctional working class male perfected thirty years earlier by Tony Richardson, Karl Reisz and the like. The fact that Silent Scream's upsetting scenes of drug abuse, murder and violence, are based upon Winters true account makes the film's constant examination of 1960’s and 1970’s Scotland all the more poignant. Hayman deftly takes institutions readily accepted as cornerstones of social control and manages to question them through the obviously psychotic mind of a killer.

Winters' nostalgic reveries seemingly focus upon a childhood and youth marred by hospital stays and a dysfunctional Army job. Throughout the film the estranged, incarcerated man hazily recalls savage beatings from fellow soldiers and toying with a shotgun with his brother during youthful holidays in Carbisdale.

Whilst being more renowned for his acting than directing (Rob Roy [1995] The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas [2008]) Hayman makes a respectable effort in his directional debut. Despite some scenes appearing clumsy and hastily put together – notably Winters ‘home-visit’ celebrations – his delicate questioning of such volatile themes should be applauded. His dexterity is most pervasively expressed in the film's opening sequence. An establishing shot of Winters solemnly and dutifully sweeping his prison floor is moments later shattered by images of the prison guards brutally beating inmates during a silent protest – all accompanied by powerful electric guitar riffs.

"Reality has rarely been more disturbing"

Indeed, Silent Scream’s musical score is not only a huge success but also, more pertinently, fundamental to our understanding of the film. Dominated by that scorching guitar, a fleeting glimpse of Jimi Hendrix more than foreshadows Winters' plight. The ability to fuse psychedelic delusions with music that is so entrenched in both feelings of freedom and futility creates a truly stunning spectacle.

Silent Scream won the Michael Powell Award for Best British Film in 1990 and a year later the Scottish BAFTA Award for Best Film. Yet it is Glen’s (Kingdom of Heaven, 2005, Harry Brown, 2009) phenomenal performance as the psychotic Winters that is the film's greatest asset. Glen’s performance deservedly won him the Evening Standard Award for Best Actor in 1990 and the same accolade at the Silver Bear Berlin Film Festival 1990. Glen’s job is made considerably easier given that the relatively unheralded Bill Beech wrote a truly effecting film. As Glen descends further into the abyss, Beech uses some of Winters real poetry – some of which gives the film its name – to narrate the shocking, twisted visions. The searing beauty of the poetry forms a stark contrast to the disturbing hallucinations and dismal reality Winters led. The subtlety with which the film tackles both the harsh realities of urban poverty and horrific drug abuse should certainly be noted and is a testament to Beech’s work.

Yet Silent Scream is certainly not without faults. An unspectacular support cast, led most notably by a very young Robert Carlyle (Trainspotting 1996,The Full Monty 1997), often fails to make an impression in a film that is over-reliant on Glen’s performance. Strange animations on the television set and ‘sci-fi’ hallucinations also date the film terribly - despite capturing the gravity of Winters ‘trips’ through an apt medium that highlights the consumer boom of the 1960’s. Easily most disappointing of all is Silent Screams failure to end a tale of self-destruction with any definitive stance on its cause. Rather true to Winters' real life plight, this biopic merely explores one mans imprisonment forced upon him by an oppressive, addictive world – his reliance upon drug fuelled delusions his only escape.

Inspired by a British New Wave that explored a period seemingly so famed for its free love and permissive nature, Silent Scream is undoubtedly a worthy contribution to British cinema. The resemblance to Andrea Arnold’s Red Road (2006) a tale of a troubled CCTV operator in Glasgow, is startling, and proves that Silent Scream left an indefinable, if unspectacular imprint on Scottish film. If ghosts and aliens fail to scare you over this Halloween, Hayman’s film is well worth a view. Reality has rarely been more disturbing.

Silent Scream is released on the 25th of October in the UK

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