In a no-mans land between town and country, a gang of wide-boys run drugs. It’s not especially lucrative, they drive around in a clapped out Citroën, nor are these 30-somethings especially bright. They pass their days taking the drugs they mean to sell, and read porn ads. But what they lack in future prospects they make up for in cruelty. So starts Meadows' disturbing and subversive take on a tale of violence and revenge. It begins when Richard (Conisidine) returns from the army intent on making these lads accountable for bullying his younger brother. "God will forgive them. I can’t live with that,” he says.

This is something of a departure for Meadows, better known for savvy comedy, although it confirms Considine’s reputation as one of the best scary geezers on screen. His formidable presence bubbles with venom as he sets about his wrathful business. Dead Mans Shoes is not all about performance; Meadows' sense of place and image is astonishingly good as he captures an ungoverned wasteland of suburban country marked by rusting gates and depression. In grim detail, the hand-held, docudrama style is unnerving and unsettling.

While there may not be anything particularly new about the tale, there is a convincing freshness to the production. Cut with grainy, saturated glimpses of the past, the present hurtles toward an inevitable showdown. Poised on a knife edge of tension, it subverts the notion of avenging angel then hammers it home with a knock-out ending that is as distressing as it is frightful. Dead Mans Shoes is a tour de force for all concerned, most notably Meadows and Britain’s big scary geezer.

// COLIN FRASER