SOME VOICES

“Popped your cork. Flipped your lid. Definitely off the stick. As they say.” These are the colloquialisms for mental illness, as memorized by Ray, who indeed should know a thing or two about going crazy. After a prolonged stay in an institution, Ray is discharged to the care of his divorced brother Pete, who almost single-handedly runs a small London restaurant that has been their alcohol-scarred family's livelihood and burden for two generations. But Ray's short attention span, jangled by a lifetime of exposure to British TV imagery, wanders away from the kitchen and toward more interesting distractions – like Laura, a pregnant young Scot harassed by her estranged boyfriend. Even with his daily dosage of pills, Ray still hears the disembodied whispers in his head, sees the crop-circle evidence of alien presence, and acts impulsively, recklessly, in ways that only make sense to him. He runs into trouble even washing dishes for Pete; what chance does the man have for functioning in a romance? Simon Cellan Jones's bluesy drama offers no quick-fix sollutions are artificial answers as it explores the limits of unconditional love and being one's brother's keeper. SOME VOICES will speak to you long after the house lights come on.