The BAFTAs are too conventional – and Urchin's snub is the perfect illustration

What separates the BAFTAs and the Academy Awards? Apart from the time in which they take place and the somewhat bumbling delivery of the former, they are frustratingly difficult to differentiate from one another.

Indeed, each of the five 2026 nominations for the BAFTA best film award can be found in the Oscars’ best picture race – and this has been the case for the last 10 years (excluding I, Daniel Blake in 2017 and The Mauritanian in 2020).

Sure, there are exclusive British categories – such as outstanding British film and British short film – but these often feel sidelined for the glamorous headline-grabbing awards that are littered with Hollywood icons (with a peppering of surprising British nods if you’re lucky).

Instead, what BAFTA seemingly prefers is to squirrel away its bold artistic acknowledgements to one table signposted ‘outstanding debut by a British writer, director or producer’. But, even then, the finest artistic endeavours of the previous year shouldn’t expect a seat. Case in point — Harris Dickinson’s staggering directorial debut feature, Urchin.

Snatching the tools from the playbook of BAFTA darling Ken Loach and infused with a smattering of Andrea Arnold’s poetic introspection, Urchin is an urgent and compassionate examination of a lost soul, let down by ever-deteriorating state support.

Mike (Frank Dillane) is the dynamo at the centre of Dickinson’s modern fable, a young homeless man who finds himself in prison early on in the story before spending the rest of the film constantly trying to atone for his wrongdoings.

A sensitive and intelligent individual, Mike’s chances of triumph seem hopeful at first, finding a job at a shabby but popular hotel, with the support of rehabilitation services who help to put him up in accommodation.

Yet, underfunded state assistance is only so generous, making any chance of true prosperity for Mike a near-impossibility. Clearly traumatised by a troubled upbringing, he struggles to make something of himself without falling into familiar pitfalls.

On the precipice of self-actualisation, Mike merely needs the support to facilitate flight, but rigid governmental structures and his own self-destructive capriciousness lead him to tragedy.

It’s a stark and deeply authentic depiction of a man on society's fringes, pleading to be let back in, with Dillane’s mesmerising lead performance conjuring much of the film’s tender, frantic energy. A deeply contemplative soul with a child-like skittish vigour, Mike magnetises sympathy, no matter how many self-sabotaging moves he makes.

Dillane’s physical performance is certainly a reason for this, with every skeletal shift and mini solo boogie in his apartment releasing an ache of repressed emotion. But, he’s also a fantastically well-realised character, brought to life by Dickinson’s meticulously layered screenplay that doesn’t reduce the character down to bored tropes.

Wishing not to define Mike by his homeless situation, Dickinson wanted to humanise his protagonist who merely wants to find some morsel of inner peace and security.

Having worked at the volunteer-led charity Under One Sky before making the film, the director told Radio Times last year that the project came from his "own sort of proximity to people that were dealing with cyclical behaviour – rather than just addiction and homelessness".

"It was a lot about trauma for me and how we navigate things when we've been through something quite extreme."

Aiming to explore "someone [who is a] similar age to me, kind of battling against themselves and testing the audience's level of tolerance for someone who's making difficult decisions and isn't always likeable", Dickinson purposefully asserted that "homelessness is the backdrop, rather than the main point for me".

His intentions are certainly well realised too, with Urchin examining the very real issue of homelessness with a human focus first and foremost. Armed with the compassion that modern politics palpably lacks, Dickinson’s debut examines the nuances of a troubled individual who cannot escape a broken system with an objective stance that doesn’t cast judgement.

In conjunction with his authentic tale, Dickinson imprints originality too, with dreamlike sequences taking us down the hallways of Mike’s volatile psyche, which, more often than not, is a tranquil idyll he cannot seem to permanently inhabit.

Marvellously inventive cinematography and an electronic, near experimental score from Alan Myson help to imbue this tense instability, twanging the chords of one’s nerve endings in one scene while transporting you to some sort of kinetic nirvana the next.

Simply put, the film is a vivid artistic expression that carves the debutant out as more than just ‘the guy who’s soon to play John Lennon’, and instead a singular voice in British cinema.

Such a result makes his omission from the BAFTA lineup all the more bizarre, with Urchin being unable to squeeze into even one category. Despite it being one of the most electrifying introductions of any British filmmaker in recent years, it couldn’t find a home in outstanding debut by a British writer, director or producer. Nor could Dillane jostle into leading actor, despite him winning un certain regard – best actor at the Cannes Film Festival.

Indeed, Urchin went so far as to win the FIPRESCI at Cannes, an award to honour original and daring cinematic feats – yet BAFTA prefers to conservatively cling to conformity.

Importantly, this isn’t to suggest that the other nominees, particularly in respective ‘British’ categories are in any way unworthy of their nominations. The Ceremony is a micro-budget phenomenon and A Want in Her is a brave, fierce piece of filmmaking, to name just two incredible debuts. But, in an effort to properly champion British cinema, as the BAFTAs certainly stand for, why aren’t such films front and centre?

Surely, one of the best picture nominees that BAFTA borrowed from the Academy could be replaced by a British triumph in the best film category? Or, better still, how about BAFTA expand the category like their American counterpart to include 10 instead of five nominees, so that Hollywood powerhouses could rightfully sit side-by-side with modern British classics.

To survive in a modern cinematic landscape where awards shows are being pushed ever further to the periphery, the BAFTAs need to be braver and bolder, upholding home grown cinema that breaks down creative barriers. Until then, it’s clearly just copying the Academy’s homework.

Urchin is currently available to stream on BFI Player.

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