You may well think you’ve had your fill of grimy tower block girls, but fear not; this one is far more interesting. Meet Mia. She may be prolifically profane, sullen and en route to a residential unit, but a few moments in her presence suggests that despite her rough edges (an early spat with another girl is swiftly concluded with a nifty head butt) there lurks lost soul floundering furiously beneath. What might be mistaken for moodiness is more a frustration borne of circumstance; the mouthiness a mechanism borne from abrasive surroundings (and besides, her mother and younger sister are equally antagonistic). Although deemed a troubled teen by those around her, there’s no decisive reason for Mia’s isolation, as when gifted with an opportunity to engage with someone on a more humane level she is clearly (if tentatively) willing to connect on more agreeable terms.

Mia seeks release through dance, which she practises in an empty flat she’s gained sneaky access to. She’s not especially good, but that’s besides the point; it’s a positive, passionate element in what is otherwise a fairly frustrating existence. Her mother seems to have given up on her daughters, even though they’re hardly lost causes. Instead, Mia’s maternal figure concentrates on her own pleasure, which chiefly comes in the form of drinking and men. Communication with the offspring tends to focus on instructing them to either cease talking or leave the house. Later on Mia will be treated to the news that she was almost aborted; an appointment was made, and this unwanted child has been trouble ever since.

Trouble manifests on a more dangerous level when Mother’s new man (Michael Fassbender) arrives on the scene. He first presents himself, taught and topless, to Mia in the kitchen; the camera swooning over his wiry frame. Mia’s own appraisal is chiefly one of curiosity, but the sort best disguised as hostility. Fassbender dances with remarkable grace around a very fine and precarious line between loosely paternal amicability towards Mia and something altogether more adult. Without having to speak, Katie Jarvis conveys pitch perfect responses to the attentions and charms of this older man; when resting her head against his shoulder whilst he carries her to the car after cutting her foot, you can imagine the private bliss she must be feeling. At other times, it’s as simple as the way her eyes follow his movements.

These moments of the artfully unspoken are reminiscent of Samantha Morton’s mesmerising portrayal of the taciturn Morvern Callar. It’s the way that you’re left almost knowing what’s running through her mind, but often left wondering just that little bit — which is perhaps why it’s so easy to become totally absorbed in the life of a girl you’d normally cross the street to avoid; a feat all the more impressive for Javis’ lack of previous acting prowess. This may in part be due to Arnold’s cunning method of shooting chronologically and not revealing the whole script to the actors, leaving them to react as events unfold. This is clearest during the opening two thirds of the film, where the characters really do appear to just exist on the screen, reacting quite naturally to whatever befalls them. It is only during the closing chapters that we feel like we’re watching something with a preconceived plot, which is a shame, but doesn’t damage the earlier material beyond redemption.

My problem with Red Road (2006) was that very little happened for a long time, and then too much plot was crammed in at the end. Although Fish Tank doesn’t unfold in quite the same way, there remains that one turn too far. That aside, the remainder is largely quite naturalistic, as if Arnold has simply placed the characters before us and allowed events to unfold without too much plot to push them around. Along the way there are only one or two very minor snags (yes, those horse interludes) that look a bit contrived, but overall the tone is perfectly unforced in a way that draws you in and holds your attention effortlessly.

Despite the likes of certain critics (such as he from my local newspaper, who cites Mia’s life as ‘unremittingly grim’) Fish Tank is not especially grim at all. Yes, people are overly fond of jagged confrontation, tracksuits and alcohol inspired glee, but these things do not a grim life make. In a Sight and Sound interview, Arnold expresses her disappointment at such glib commentary, explaining how she sees estates as being quite interesting places: ‘They’re full of people, they’re full of life […] People are Cannes kept asking me about the grim estates and I thought, ugh, I don’t mean that. I tried not to mean that.’* And to this end, the cinematography does reflect a somewhat less dreary perspective; the use of light lends an airy feel to Mia’s landscape that plays against the more confining aspects of her life. There’s also the fantastic view to be appreciated from a tower block’s heady heights, the quiet countryside and subdued scrubland; it may not be a tourist board’s dream, but there is a gentle beauty that is hard to overlook.

It is the pleasing photography which distances Arnold from all those Loachian allusions; she is not the next Loach, nor should she aspire to be. Her technique does lend itself to Realism in the immediacy that she translates to the screen; we are drawn right into Mia’s life as events unfold before us. Both Jarvis and Fassbender are supremely convincing in their portrayal, which is what makes the tension between them so palpable and their encounters so uncomfortable to endure. Arnold is a master of unease, and is committed to following her characters right into their transgressive moments; I defy anyone to watch this film without wanting to look away. Squirming would appear to be part of the Arnold experience, but the grit is somewhat pivotal and without such scenes the film would perhaps feel lacking and a bit feeble.

If you’re looking for something that skirts closer to the bleak notion of tower block living, recall, if you can, Lukas Moodysson’s Lilya 4-ever (2002): his female protagonist inhabits a much gloomier crowd of tower blocks, is abandoned by her mother and shunted off to a dirty bedsit without electricity, food, or money. Too impoverished for the luxury of lager, Lilya’s highs are gleaned from glue fumes, although she is fortunate enough to find a companion amongst the rubble. Prostitution, rape and trafficking follow. (Incidentally, Moodysson claims the film is meant to be about the endurance of human spirit, but the fact that our heroine’s otherwise impressive attempts to escape her unfortunate fate dissipate at the moment of escape undermines this sentiment). Mia, though without the same level of hardship as poor Lilya, has a similar resilient energy, making her an exhilarating force to follow. Even if you don’t feel moved to like her, you’d be hard pressed not to concede some respect for her gusto; she keeps moving, even if not always in the best direction. Push this girl, and she will push, fight and head butt you back.

*Snipped from page 17 of the October 09 issue of Sight & Sound