Do you know your neighbour? Do you know them by name? Have you held a conversation beyond “hi, do you have my parcel?” For many of us, the person next door is a figure we only see occasionally. We hear their dog barking or baby crying through the walls, but interaction can be slim. According to a 2023⁄24 survey, 69% of adults reported chatting with their neighbours at least once a month. It was the lowest level since data collection began in 2013.
Enter writer/director Paul Andrew Williams’ Dragonfly, a dual portrait of two lonely neighbours who find a renewed purpose in an unlikely friendship. Unable to live completely independently after a fall that injured her wrist and knocked her confidence, pensioner Elsie (Brenda Blethyn) lives alone in a semi-detached bungalow. In lieu of her son, John (Jason Watkins), caring for her, carers from “the agency” come and go like ghosts, tidying up and showering her with uninterested small talk. On the other side of the bungalow wall (“it’s just like mine, but the other way around”) is Colleen (Andrea Riseborough), a woman on benefits depicted with a hauntingly memorable performance from Riseborough who harbours unresolved pain with layered nuance.
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Their connection begins with Colleen nipping down to the shops for some milk for Elise, after she realises the carers are shortchanging her on time. Then it’s her buying and planting new flowers after her dog, an American bull terrier crossed with “god knows what” named Sabre (a brilliant performance from the hound), chewed up Elise’s garden. Bit by bit, Elise welcomes Colleen into her life until the younger woman is caring for her for free. But there’s a lingering question about her friendliness, having lived next door for years, why now? When the pair decide it’d be easier for Colleen to have Elise’s debit card for shopping, eyebrows raise even further. But we should hold out hope for the goodness of people… right?
The pair continue to grow closer, communicating with walkie-talkies, much to the disdain of John, whose voice becomes increasingly frustrated down the landline phone. With the superb Blethyn and Riseborough’s anchoring, it’s easy to be lured into this latest addition to the new wave of British social realist dramas. Dragonfly was written during the pandemic, and it shows, tapping into the visceral, haunting sense of loneliness with striking cinematography.
Williams’ portrayal of pervasive isolation is initially gripping, but a last-minute pivot into horror-thriller feels out of kilter. It is utterly frustrating that something so brilliantly built up comes tumbling down in a clumsy, unbalanced final act. A sense of simmering horror was already present with the Mike Leigh-esque social realist thematics (vulnerable human connection and the care system’s failures), and this final push shoots for shock over a meaningful conclusion. Throughout, Dragonfly plays with perspective, fascinated by the potential of others and what people are capable of. However, the film’s final note is deeply cynical, as if it is embarrassed by the sincerity of its genuine and vital message.