by Jaime Gill Lolita Ruckert …you’d munch popcorn and settle in your seat while the opening titles play over the boy’s bus journey home through sullen Northern England, ominous overhead drone shots intercutting with images of the hero’s pale and anxious face (but this is not a horror film and the boy sits alone — earbuds in, eyes closed, forehead leaning against the clammy school bus window — listening to Lana Del Rey and imagining himself sprawled in a white convertible some