‘Masc’ Review: A Neurodivergent Gay Man Navigates the World in a Striking and Distinctive Debut Feature

A young neurodivergent, queer, biracial British man tries different adaptive strategies in an assortment of social situations in Masc, a heady, sometimes quizzical but very affecting meditation on the performative nature of everyday existence.

This impressive feature debut for Britain-based Swedish director Bertil Nilsson draws a lot of strength from Joshua Griffin’s mesmerizing lead performance, playing another presumably autistic, gay character like the one he inhabited for Nilsson’s acclaimed short Repair. Deliberately choppy and abrupt in its transitions from sequences that almost play like standalone shorts, Masc may be too rarefied to venture beyond fests and niche settings. Still, the distinctiveness of Nilsson’s vision and Griffin’s skill will leave many viewers looking forward to seeing what they do next.

Masc

The Bottom Line A strong breakout for both star and director.

Venue: Toronto International Film Festival (Platform)
Cast: Joshua Griffin, Tega Alexander, Reece King, Ed White, Lincoln Conway, Robbie Bellekom, Hi Ching, Barney-Joe Jones, Rocky Gharu, Jamie Quinn, David Boyle
Director: Bertil Nilsson
Screenwriter: Bertil Nilsson, based on a story by Bertil Nilsson and Joshua Griffin
1 hour 23 minutes

The title, of course, operates on multiple levels, referring both to gender presentation and punning on masking, what neurodivergent people call the stressful process of trying to appear “normal” so as to not frighten the neurotypical horses around them. This is not easy for Robin (Griffin), who, judging by his nervously twitching legs and tendency to info-dump on interlocutors, finds ordinary interactions very stressful.

In the film’s first scene, for example, he appears to be having a job interview with Seth (Ed White, who co-starred in Repair), answering the usual open-ended questions about what his strengths and weaknesses are, going off on a tangent on why he thinks a particular room should be painted black. However, as the camera and quick edits dart attention around the room, barely offering a clear view of what Robin looks like, suddenly a quick pan to the left reveals that there are three other people present who comment on Robin and Seth’s interaction as if it were a performance, suggesting for instance that he might be better off channeling his energy into his words rather than gesturing so much. One observer, herself Afro-Caribbean, also suggests that his hair, a lush Afro, is maybe a bit too “Mufasa,” whatever that means.

Later on, the scene will be rehearsed again, but with Seth and Robin playing opposite roles, suggesting that all of what we’ve just seen may be rehearsals, or little plays about masking that Robin is acting out in his head. That ambiguity over what is real, performance or fantasy is never resolved, and gives the film an experimental vibe that makes it feel closer to the sort of work one might see on stage or in workshops in London’s physical theater scene. Griffin has in fact worked with the highly esteemed company Complicité, formally Théâtre de Complicité, a major player in the physical theater space, and dance plays an important role in the film here, as if sometimes movement without words is the only way the characters can express themselves.

All of the above might make Masc sound severe and forbiddingly highbrow, but for the most part it’s quite funny as well as awkward, a work about British social embarrassment as much as any Richard Curtis comedy but without the expensive soundtrack choices or hideous sentimentality. In another scene, Robin goes to the gym with Benji (Tega Alexander), a new friend from the construction work gig he’s taken on recently, and he stands by watching quite bemused as Benji and a third guy compete over who can bench press more weights — masculine performance in the most literal sense.

In another sequence, he goes camping with Darius (Lincoln Conway), an older man who appears to be Robin’s father, and the two ineptly struggle to construct a tent on a hillside, a process as complex as trying to find a way to talk to each other as adult men who accept one another’s differences.

Some of these bitty little skits work better than others, just as the supporting characters feel varyingly filled out. A sequence where Robin works in a laboratory with a very chatty non-binary colleague Cam (Robbie Bellekom) who won’t shut up about LARPing is less clear about what point Nilsson is trying to make, although Bellekom has a charming nervous energy.

But the star of the show is undoubtedly Griffin, with his machine-gun line delivery, hulking physicality and hooded, sad eyes. He’s the sort of actor who, like the black holes Robin waxes lyrically about in the opening scene, pulls all the attention to him in whatever scene he’s in. Nilsson, acting as the film’s DP as well as its writer-director-producer, frames Griffin lovingly throughout and that rapport makes it easy to overlook the film’s slightly disjointed, more perplexing qualities.