“I don’t remember you being so gangster,” says Nick Moran’s cockney wide boy, Hyde, in withering admiration of Scott Adkins‘ Cain Burgess, a naive gym rat who descends into a cold-blooded maniac after a stint inside Belmarsh prison, serving at Her Majesty’s pleasure. He lands in the nick after a relatively innocuous theft goes wrong, dutifully performed as a favour to his brother (Craig Fairbrass, on top form). Instead of being rehabilitated, Cain is further corrupted by the British penal system; his baby-faced charm and affability replaced by a skinhead, teeth grills and facial scars following years of abuse. His backstory unravels in teasing flashbacks, with the main focus of the film centring on the fall-out between Cain and his brother, all of which plays out in a good old-fashioned British boozer, with Cain knocking back pints as well as knocking heads. The single-set location gives the film a theatre-like set-up and provides ample room to not only showcase Stu Small and Jesse V. Johnson‘s searing, acerbic dialogue, but also Scott Adkins’ acting range. This is by far the most intense performance of his career so far. He brings a mixture of pathetic desperation and deranged nihilism to the central character, belying a level of trust he has developed with his long-time collaborator, Jesse V. Johnson (this is the sixth film the two have made together), and their ongoing quest to find unique and nuanced antiheroes. Like Savage Dog, Accident Man and The Debt Collector before, the duo seem committed to creating B-movies with concepts that push the boundaries of your standard low-budget action film. It’s so refreshing to see, not to mention brave.