Slick, polemical and beautifully rendered, FLYING BLIND is reminiscent of the best of BBC crime drama, but with a painterly mise-en-scène that is the very definition of cinematic. The treatment of colour and light are delicate yet strong, the camera angles high and powerful. The camera follows Helen McCrory’s aeronautical engineer Frankie with an unnervingly voyeuristic tendency which not only reflects our own as viewers, but also the complex structures of surveillance omniscient in Britain. An atmosphere of suspicion and fear is aroused, with an uncomfortable familiarity indicative of the prevalent culture of distrust.

FLYING BLIND tells the story of Frankie and Arab engineering student Khalid as they embark upon a passionate affair charged with erotic violence, which threatens to jeopardise not only her job but also the highly sensitive research on military drones which it entails. Their voices boom, deep as the implications of her decisions. The frequent use of Arabic without subtitles in Khalid’s speech serves to widen the gulf between Frankie and himself, and we feel her frustration as she fails to understand his publicly-held private conversations, which become more and more threatening as suggestions of terrorism and violence spring up, whether from presumptions made through mere fear of difference or through real evidence to condemn him as guilty. The affair begins to break down before it has really begun: as producer Alison Sterling observes, ‘the political environment creeps into the cracks and pores of our relationships’.

The angry eroticism of the protagonists verges on the ludicrous and the script lacks […] depth…

The subject matter of FLYING BLIND, then, is extremely topical, and promises much, while the stunning cinematography of director Katarzyna Klimkiewicz is precociously professional for a first feature-length film. But despite the ‘meticulous planning’ of each and every scene, something is lost. All accidents have been eliminated, along with the cinematic magic, and the chemistry is scientific rather than raw and real. The angry eroticism of the protagonists verges on the ludicrous and the script lacks the depth which would save it from cliché. The passion of their relations, while violent and visceral, is awkward and not utterly convincing, and the wooden acting leaves us cold despite the fire that Khalid symbolises to Frankie’s elemental air. As for the well-intentioned scenes of McCrory panting on a treadmill or buffeted in a wind tunnel, metaphor falls flat into mere incongruity, and simply appears contrived. As much as I wanted to enjoy this film, it left me disappointed and frustrated at the loss of the authentic thriller it could have been.