‘Faith’ review: Erin Doherty and James McAvoy drive delicate, genre-fluid exploration of grief and the unknown

Dir/scr. Paul Andrew Williams. UK. 2026. 109 mins.

It’s an unexceptional existence. Single mum Gina (Emmy-winning Adolescence star Erin Doherty, superb) works shifts at a sweet factory and juggles a modest social life with the care of Jamie (Smylie Bradwell), the nine-year-old son she wraps in fierce, no-nonsense love. Then one night she meets a stranger. Michael (James McAvoy) is softly-spoken, attentive and gentle. Gina feels a spark of romantic possibility. Yet, there’s something a little off about him. He seems to know a lot about her, but keeps her at arm’s length. When a shocking tragedy tears Gina’s life apart, the unexpected truth about this enigmatic man is gradually revealed. Paul Andrew Williams’ wrenching, genre-fluid drama demonstrates once again that he’s one of the best in the business when it comes to balancing the banal and mundane against the unsettling and uncanny.

A forcefully performance-driven picture which showcases top-tier work from its cast

Faith shares social-realist roots with Dragonfly, Williams’ 2025 return to feature filmmaking following a long stint directing television. It also shares a West Yorkshire shooting location, although the geographical backdrop to the story is never specified and Doherty’s accent would seem to pin the action to the South of England. But perhaps the universality is the point. The awful, unimaginable anguish that the central character experiences could happen to anyone, anywhere. The reserves of courage and resilience needed to endure such an event are found within (if they are found at all), not in any specific place.

There’s another parallel with Dragonfly, which starred Andrea Riseborough and Brenda Blethyn as vulnerable neighbours who form a friendship and which earned the pair a joint acting prize at Tribeca. Once again, this is a forcefully performance-driven picture which showcases top-tier work from its cast. Following its world premiere at Toronto, Faith should pack a considerable emotional punch at further festivals where it will likely resonate particularly strongly with female audiences. True Brit Entertainment will distribute the film in the UK and Ireland.

Doherty brings an immediate warmth to the character of Gina. The job, shovelling empty calories into polythene packaging, is unglamorous. But Gina has a smile and a kind word for everyone she works with. In the evening, Gina and her work colleagues lose, cheerfully, at the local pub quiz. It’s here that she meets Michael, a quiet man whose earnest admiration lands in her ears like an alien language – Gina’s expression combines incredulity, pleasure and, deeper down, mistrust, in a single wide-eyed glance.

Michael is like nobody she has ever met. Gradually, unshowily, he becomes part of her life and that of her son. He’s kind, certainly. But he also has a way of stripping away her defences and asking the kind of questions that cut like a scalpel. McAvoy’s far-seeing, clear-blue gaze suggests a kind of purity and wisdom; his essential decency is hard to doubt. And if there’s a criticism of the picture, it’s that the story might have benefited from a little more ambiguity about whether or not Michael is a threat to Gina and her child.

The drama of the widescreen cinematography is muted by drizzle and mist; the blue-grey colour palette tempers some of the hope that we feel for Gina and what might just be a promising new relationship. Williams punctuates the picture with hypnotic shots of the sweet-factory production line: endless extruded spiralling worms of mallow; the arms of a mechanised toffee-folding machine looping its sugary gloop. At times, it looks like the kind of abstract footage which might be captured for an observational documentary. Accompanied by the electronic score by Raffertie & NYX, the images are pleasingly mesmeric. It’s only later that we realise that there’s a darker significance to these moments of contemplation and respite from the story.

The cynical might question the quasi-supernatural aspects of a film that otherwise feels solidly grounded in reality. But Williams strikes a delicate balance: the heart-shredding authenticity of Doherty’s emotionally raw performance leaves us little choice, ultimately, but to leap into the unknown. This is, after all, a film about faith.