” traces how its young British-Asian protagonist’s sense of identity is progressively diminished by the cynicism and tokenism of the industry he’s trying to crack — though as it turns out, when you lose yourself entirely, all is not lost.
It opens on a gaudily lit crime scene, as hardened detectives mutter familiar clichés over a dead body — barely maintaining the illusion of reality ahead of the reveal that we’re actually on the set of a middling police procedural series. Between takes, the disgruntled lead fumes over the phone to his agent, desperate to exit the show; the murder victim, T-shirt streaked with fake blood, offers him a fannish compliment, getting a brusque “Yeah, sure” in response.
It’s a device borrowed from Yorgos Lanthimos’s “Alps,” which is some clue as to the prickly, perverse narrative games Khalid is playing here.