Peter Mullan’s angry, uncontained new film, his first for eight years, is set in a 1970s Glasgow as alien and menacing as the futureworld of Kubrick’s droogs in A Clockwork Orange. I first reported on it at the London film festival last year; just as before, it looks like an intensely personal project infused with passion and semi-resolved hurt. It’s arguably too long and there’s a touch of self-mythologising but with compelling flashes of rage and nauseous black comedy, and some brilliant and bizarre images – a gruesome encounter with the crucified Christ and an hallucinatory walk with wildlife.