The Toll

Would you like a cinema visit to Wales? To Pembrokeshire, to be precise? Lots of open fields, wonderful vistas of the sea, cliffs and sand… But, the graffiti on the sign of Welcome to Pembrokeshire says “the English come here to die”. In fact, some English characters do come and they do die. But, in a spirit of equality, so do many of the Welsh characters.

Isn’t English a strange and ambiguous language! For whom the bell tolls. The toll from the disaster… Paying your toll… The toll of the title is a small remote cabin on the road down to the port where we can get a ferry to Ireland. It costs 40p for the toll-keeper to press his button and let you through. Actually, when a group of masked triplets from the town hold him up, he has only £1.20 to give them.

You may be perceiving the vein of this comic thriller with the previous observations. But, to really appreciate the vein, one has to draw on that frequently used phrase, a kind of cover-all for this kind of caper, Tarantino-esque. Well, as far as you can have Tarantino-esque in Pembrokeshire. And, to reinforce an impression, the music behind the final credits is Morricone-esque. (Somebody has already commented, of course, Rarebit-Western!).

Michael Smiley has been in a lot of dramas (the cowardly doctor in Gunpowder Milkshake). He wasn’t cast in the role as the toll-keeper because of his surname. He looks perfectly ordinary, reserved, taciturn, living for 29 years in his tollbooth, reading his books, definitely never smiling. (An enjoyable smaller spoiler, he does smile in the last 30 seconds of the film!).

The other main character is Catrin (A Elwy), running this part of the county’s police force almost single-handed, driving around in a van and answering calls for a terrorist raid on a local business (actually, it is only those masked triplets again), holding up her radar on an almost deserted road, she is the person of integrity in the film (but, there’s that final minute).

The writer, Matt Redd, is from Pembrokeshire so knows his people and locations. But he has a creative tongue-in-cheek way of introducing characters, a suave gentleman who turns out to be a gangster, two rather idiotic criminals (she bulky and black with a seeming American accent and he, scrawny, unable to speak, simply squeaking and mumbling out his ideas), the locals (especially the father of the triplets), a young smarmy conscienceless gangster on call to do any odd jobs, murder not excepted, and a grisly old truck driver involved in smuggling. (And there is a joke about the smuggling when those taking delivery discover they have a truckload of eye-pads instead of iPads!)

At one stage the toll keeper says the chronology is hard to remember as he recounts the events of the day to the young policewoman. And, there are various twists, betrayals, some gruesome vendettas, a spaghetti-Western (sorry, Rarebit-Western) final shootout. The title, The Toll, could have referred in fact to the final body count!

If you’re in the mood for this kind of generally quiet satiric look at crime and criminals in Pembrokeshire, it becomes less quiet – but an enjoyable pastime.