Wales gets the fairy-tale treatment here, though there's nothing misty-past about it — this is very much now. Effi o Blaenau unfolds around Blaenau Ffestiniog, all grey slate and quarry scars, and that landscape ends up doing loads of the atmosphere's heavy lifting.
I went in expecting an adrenaline-fuelled dose of sex, drugs and drinking. What I got was proper social realism, and a film far more political than I'd bargained for. The NHS thread lands hard. It's worth remembering the whole thing was dreamed up by a Welshman in the first place — that history gives the neglect on screen an extra sting. It's a sharp dig at Westminster rather than a lecture, and underneath it all sits something quieter: a real sense of how tough and stubbornly resilient the people of this area have had to be, generation after generation.
Leisa Gwenllian is the real draw, though — she's barely off screen, and carries every minute of it. Given the film started life as a one-woman play, that makes sense, and honestly, she earns the space. Full marks too for committing to Welsh rather than treating it as set dressing; more films should have that nerve.
The trouble is ambition outstrips storytelling a bit, like two films arguing over the remote. Still, between Gwenllian and that quarry-scarred landscape, there's plenty here worth your evening.