Release Date: March 6, 2026 — Limited theatrical and VOD release
Runtime: 110 minutes (1h 50m)
Rated: Not Rated / UK 15 (varies by region)
Production Companies: Recorded Picture Company, Skopia Film
Producers: Jeremy Thomas, Ewa Piaskowska, Jerzy Skolimowski
Cinematography: Michał Dymek
Editing: Agnieszka Glińska
Music/Composer: Abel Korzeniowski
Heel (2025)
Director: Jan Komasa
Writer: Bartek Bartosik & Naqqash Khalid
Cast: Stephen Graham, Andrea Riseborough, Anson Boon, Kit Rakusen, Monika Frajczyk
How outlandish and reckless has this younger generation become? More specifically when it comes to chasing a following and the ever-elusive concept of “clout” online. Formerly titled Good Boy, and later modified to avoid confusion with another film of the same name, Heel sees director Jan Komasa tackling these questions head-on. Through notions of forced rehabilitation, control, and the generational clash of values, Komasa examines what happens when those values are perceived to be violated—and how far someone might go to correct them.
Anson Boon portrays Tommy, a 19-year-old whose life consists of endless nights of reckless clubbing, sexual exhibitionism in public spaces, drug and alcohol abuse, and harassment for the sake of amusement. And that’s merely scratching the surface of the behavior he proudly broadcasts to the world.
Enter Chris, played by Stephen Graham. One night, after Tommy passes out from partying just a little too hard, he wakes up the following morning shackled by the neck in a basement. Whose basement? None other than Chris’, a polite-presenting yet rigid patriarch whose calm demeanor masks something far more unsettling beneath the surface.
What follows is a psychological game of control between Tommy and the household he suddenly finds himself imprisoned within: Chris, his wife Kathryn (Andrea Riseborough), their young son Jonathan (Kit Rakusen), and their newly hired housekeeper Rina (Monika Frajczyk).
As Tommy’s life within this secluded household begins to unfold, fragments slowly emerge explaining why he has been brought there in the first place. His immediate reaction is exactly what one would expect given his introduction—aggressive, violent, and combative. What proves far less predictable, however, is Chris’ response. Determined to establish dominance over Tommy’s “rehabilitation,” Chris retaliates swiftly, setting a clear precedent for how things will operate under his roof.
Komasa wastes little time in presenting the generational clash between Tommy’s brand of chaotic, performative rebellion and the older worldview embodied by Chris and Kathryn, who view such behavior with disgust. Yet what Komasa gradually reveals over the course of Tommy’s captivity is deliberately murky. Breadcrumbs are scattered throughout the film, inviting the audience to follow them—but never fully revealing where they may ultimately lead.
From this generational conflict stems one of the film’s most striking images: Tommy quite literally wearing a collar. The symbolism is unmistakable. By chaining him by the neck, Chris and Kathryn reduce him to something less than human—an animal needing to be controlled and trained. The act is not simply punishment; it is a deliberate attempt to domesticate someone they perceive as wild, unruly, and broken.
Their motivations, however, remain ambiguous. Is Tommy merely a challenge for them? A project? At several points it appears as if he is completely uncontrollable, but that very resistance also seems to fuel their determination to reshape him.
Chris initially resorts to outright violence, physically beating obedience into Tommy whenever he acts out. Over time, more of Tommy’s past behavior is revealed through the online videos he has proudly posted: reckless stunts like crashing his car, humiliating others for entertainment, and documenting his cruelty for the sake of digital attention. Chris forces Tommy to confront these recordings of himself, effectively holding up a mirror to his behavior. The question then becomes whether this confrontation sparks genuine reflection—or merely survival instincts.
Yet even as Chris and Kathryn position themselves as moral authorities attempting to “fix” a troubled youth, the ethical implications of their actions become impossible to ignore. Their methods are deeply questionable, if not outright immoral. The film continuously asks whether what they are doing can ever be justified. More importantly, it raises the question of who gave them the authority to take a stranger off the street and attempt to rehabilitate him according to their own standards.
Moral self-righteousness begins to creep into the equation, gradually blurring the lines between justice, punishment, and personal obsession.
Within this complicated web of control and forced rehabilitation lies another psychological thread: the possibility of Stockholm syndrome. Komasa toys with this idea throughout the narrative. Tommy begins the film appearing almost mindless in his cruelty and impulsiveness, yet as the family gradually begins treating him with more patience and—at times—unexpected kindness, he begins to evolve. Whether this transformation is genuine or purely strategic becomes one of the film’s most compelling uncertainties.
Is Tommy truly changing?
Or is he simply adapting long enough to survive—and perhaps eventually escape?
As the story progresses, the dynamic between Tommy and the family grows even more complicated. If Tommy begins behaving better, is it because he feels a genuine connection forming, however twisted the circumstances may be? Or is the family’s improved treatment of him merely another stage of manipulation, disguised as compassion?
The film leaves these questions deliberately unresolved.
All of the performers commit fully to the unsettling dynamic at play. Stephen Graham walks a fine line as Chris, presenting himself as a man devoted to rehabilitating troubled youth while allowing flashes of something far more disturbing to seep through the cracks. His ability to shift between warmth and intimidation is deeply unnerving.
Anson Boon, meanwhile, embraces Tommy’s abrasive nature in the opening act, making him almost irredeemable at first glance. Yet as the narrative progresses, Boon gradually reveals layers beneath the arrogance and cruelty, guiding the character toward a surprisingly empathetic and even charming evolution—though one that never feels entirely trustworthy.
Andrea Riseborough’s Kathryn initially appears cold and emotionally distant, but her performance gradually reveals a woman whose demeanor fluctuates between detached severity and fragile tenderness. There is always the lingering sense that something unresolved sits beneath her behavior, quietly influencing the family dynamic.
The film’s isolated setting further amplifies its psychological tension. The house itself becomes a kind of pressure cooker, trapping its characters in a confined space where power constantly shifts between captor and captive. The more time Tommy spends there, the more the boundaries of control begin to blur.
Komasa paces the film carefully, slowly unveiling details that suggest this disturbing scenario may not be the family’s first attempt at such an “experiment.” The domestication of a rebellious youth begins with the literal chain around Tommy’s neck, but it evolves into something far more layered. The clash between Tommy’s worldview and Chris’ rigid moral framework becomes a larger reflection of generational friction, placing two radically different ideas of right and wrong directly in conflict.
And while the film stops short of fully explaining the family’s past, hints gradually surface that Kathryn may be carrying unresolved grief—something that has profoundly shaped the household. That grief trickles downward, affecting their son Jonathan as well, who subtly drops clues to Tommy and the audience about the family’s history.
In the end, Heel becomes less about whether Tommy deserves redemption and more about the dangerous territory people enter when they attempt to enforce morality through domination. Komasa leaves us sitting with an uncomfortable thought: when someone claims they are trying to “fix” another person, are they truly helping them… or simply imposing control under the guise of righteousness?
By the time the film reaches its final moments, the answers remain deliberately elusive. What’s clear, however, is that the line between rehabilitation and cruelty can become alarmingly thin—especially when those enforcing it believe they are unquestionably in the right.