‘I See Buildings Fall Like Lightning’ review: Clio Barnard’s Birmingham friendship drama builds on its superb performances

Dir: Clio Barnard. UK. 2026. 109mins

Life in modern Birmingham is, like modern life everywhere, firmly dictated by economic status. In UK drama I See Buildings Fall Like Lightning, those fault lines run straight through the middle of a group of friends, mates since school and now on the cusp of turning 30, threatening to fracture their bonds even as they do all they can to stick together. Clio Barnard’s adaptation of the novel by Keiran Goddard is, like her previous works, an expertly-observed study of human relationships, how they are shaped by environment and buffeted by opportunity – or lack of it. Featuring a superb ensemble cast, it’s grounded by a gritty, relatable authenticity that pushes it past its more didactic moments.

Grounded by a gritty, relatable authenticity 

Barnard’s fourth fiction feature and the first not to come from her own original story, I See Buildings Fall Like Lightning, premieres in Cannes Directors’ Fortnight; as did previous films Ali & Ava (2021) and The Selfish Giant (2013). Both of these went on to be Bafta-nominated (as was her debut 2010 documentary The Arbor), and this latest work should enjoy a similar path of theatrical play and possible home-ground awards recognition.

We are introduced to the group of Midlands pals via an extended, raucous sequence in a local pub, where they have congregated with their families to celebrate the 30th birthday of cheeky Oli (Joe Lycurgo). The easy interactions between them – inside jokes, good-natured teasing – prove an immediate shorthand for the strength and length of their bond, cinematographer Simon Tindall’s mobile-rig-mounted camera moving fluidly between them. They shout-sing along to The Streets’ thematically-appropriate ‘Don’t Mug Yourself’; the first drop in a well-chosen urban soundtrack which takes in the contemporary (Bicep) and the nostalgic (The Proclaimers). Also woven throughout is an energetic, bass-heavy score from Harry Escott.

When three of the boys move onto a club – lone woman Shiv (Lola Petticrew) happily goes home with her kids – their dynamic reveals itself further. Conor (Daryl McCormack) is impulsive and prone to anger, Shiv’s husband Patrick (Anthony Boyle) is the laid-back peacemaker. Rian (Joe Cole) is initially more difficult to read; a local lad, he’s made his fortune in finance in London, where he now lives. His high-rise apartment there is cold and impersonal – a complete contrast to the cluttered, comfortable, warm homes of his youth, and in which his friends remain.

The mates work hard not to let this financial divide change their dynamic – but it’s not easy when childhood sweethearts Shiv and Patrick are relying on low-paid temp jobs and Conor is desperately trying to make a go of his late father’s construction business as he anxiously awaits the birth of his first baby. Yet the nuanced screenplay from Enda Walsh (Die My Love, Small Things Like These) is careful to show the lives of those who stayed in the Midlands are rich in other, valuable ways. Pettigrew’s Shiv is a particular delight, finding satisfaction and joy in everything from her friends to her happy family, while Oli’s adoption of a stray dog gives him a focus away from the low-level drug dealing he has half-heartedly fallen into.

Indeed, it’s Rian who seems to be struggling the most. He has more money than he could evey have dreamed of but, uprooted from his community, is a man adrift. His increasing outsider status is made more obvious when he brings new London girlfriend Emma (Millie Brady) back to meet his friends; she seems bemused by their antics, by the unreserved love they have for each other. And his generous attempts to help Conor by investing in the construction of a new high-rise tower only seem to widen the divide – as Conor feels increasingly under pressure to deliver, the cracks really begin to show.

The film (and book’s) title refers to the group’s childhood memories of watching the destruction of huge council estate towers, ostensibly to make way for private homes which no local could afford. The irony that Rian and Conor are now contributing to this gentrification is a dramatic undercurrent, and there are moments when the screenplay veers towards the soapbox. A couple of passionate speeches – particularly from a frustrated Patrick – rail against the scourge of landlords, the inhumanity of capitalism, the stagnation of the working class. “Our generation are fucked,” he laments. But he’s certainly not wrong and, crucially, there is the sense that these sentiments come from a place of genuine, brown-beaten human experience, rather than a filmmaker trying to make a political point.

That’s largely thanks to the performances, excellent across the board, and the fact the film is driven not by polemic but by vividly-sketched adult relationships. Significantly, the platonic affection and respect between the men feels lived-in; you can see the love they have for each other, and how their dynamic has evolved and weathered since their more carefree teenage years. Petticrew and Boyle are particularly affecting as a genuinely in-love couple who have stood the test of time.

The late-stage revelation of a secret that shakes Patrick and Shiv’s foundations could have felt like a contrived melodramatic ploy, but we are so invested in these characters that it plays as a believable turn of events. Similarly, when a devastating tragedy befalls the group, the emotional impact feels natural and earned.