The Fragile Dance of Friendship and Mortality: Why ‘The State of Us’ Might Just Redefine How We Talk About Loss
There’s something profoundly human about the way we grapple with mortality, especially when it’s intertwined with the bonds of friendship. Personally, I think this is where The State of Us—an upcoming indie film premiering at the Edinburgh International Film Festival—hits its stride. The premise is deceptively simple: Frankie (Samuel Bottomley) breaks his terminally ill best friend Taylor (Callum Scott Howells) out of hospice for one last night of recklessness. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how the film seems to sidestep the typical tropes of cancer narratives. It’s not about the illness itself; it’s about the messy, unfiltered ways we try to outrun the inevitable.
Why This Isn’t Just Another Cancer Story
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s refusal to romanticize grief. From the exclusive clip, we see Frankie cajoling Taylor into letting loose at a house party—a scene that feels both joyous and painfully fleeting. What many people don’t realize is how rare it is for films to portray male friendship with this kind of vulnerability. Co-director Ollie Gardner mentions wanting to plant a ‘small seed’ in the discourse on masculinity, and I think this is where the film’s true ambition lies. If you take a step back and think about it, we’re so accustomed to seeing men navigate loss through stoicism or anger. The State of Us dares to ask: What if the answer is chaos? What if the answer is love?
The Humor That Hurts—And Heals
Jake Harvey, the film’s other co-director, notes that they intentionally leaned into dark humor to make the story more accessible. In my opinion, this is a masterstroke. There’s a version of this film that could have been overly somber, a ‘contemporary British arthouse’ piece that alienates as much as it moves. But by injecting humor, the filmmakers create a space where audiences can laugh—even as they’re confronted with the weight of Taylor’s impending death. This raises a deeper question: Can laughter be a form of resistance against grief? I’d argue yes, especially when it’s rooted in the kind of unspoken understanding that only lifelong friends share.
The Personal Roots That Ground the Story
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s origins. The characters are loosely based on Harvey’s childhood friendship group, particularly a friend who died of cancer at 18. This isn’t just a story; it’s a memorial. What this really suggests is that The State of Us isn’t trying to be universal—it’s trying to be honest. And in that honesty, there’s a universality that emerges. We’ve all had that friend, that moment, that night where everything felt both insignificant and monumental. The film captures that paradox beautifully.
Masculinity, Redefined—Or At Least Questioned
Gardner’s hope that young men will see themselves in the film is both ambitious and necessary. From my perspective, masculinity in cinema is often a monolith: strong, silent, unyielding. The State of Us cracks that monolith open. Frankie’s impulsiveness, Taylor’s vulnerability—these aren’t flaws; they’re human traits. What this really suggests is that masculinity doesn’t have to be a shield; it can be a doorway to connection. But here’s the kicker: The film doesn’t preach. It doesn’t need to. The message is in the moments—the dance floor, the jokes, the silence between words.
Why Edinburgh is the Perfect Stage
The Edinburgh International Film Festival has always been a breeding ground for stories that challenge and provoke. Festival director Paul Ridd’s claim that this year’s competition slate surpasses expectations feels particularly apt for The State of Us. This isn’t a film that wants to blend in; it wants to stand out, to spark conversations. And what better place to do that than in a city known for its boldness? Personally, I think the film’s accessibility—its blend of humor and heart—will make it a standout, not just in Edinburgh, but beyond.
Final Thoughts: A Film That Stays With You
As someone who’s seen far too many films about loss, I can say this: The State of Us feels different. It’s not about closure; it’s about the messiness of living while knowing someone you love is dying. It’s about the friendships that define us, even as they’re slipping away. If you’re looking for a film that will make you laugh, cry, and think—all at once—this is it. But more than that, it’s a reminder that sometimes, the most profound stories are the ones that feel the most personal. And in that, there’s a kind of immortality.
