Late night after school. Top of the Pops on TV. Savage Garden on the radio. Loaded magazine. Take That posters on the wall. Gel pens ‘n homework. This is Wolverhampton at dinnertime in the early 2000s.

Mother’s at tipping point, cooking dinner for her two kids, trying to hold it together. Meanwhile her teenage son is going through it: exploring his body, caught watching porn, and hiding his food. As dinner time comes around, his behaviour and mother’s stress may just reach boiling point…

This is a coming of age story that wears its heart, guts and cock on its snotty sleeve.

SKINNY BOY is a bodily film. It’s a film with a heart and textures – food, blood, lips, wallpaper, the very house it’s set in. It all takes place in one location: a cozy British, suburban house on one night in Wolverhampton.

Think Mike Leigh by way of Yorgos Lanthimos. Think The Royle Family as if it was shot by the Safdie Brothers. Think Laura Ashley fabrics, posters of Take That and Chris O’Donnell on the walls, Spice Girls cassette tapes.

It’s a story that’s always moving, anxious, nervy, and shows the humour, love and violence of family relationships — warts and all.