Contains spoilers

Read Sameer Rahim’s review of Zadie Smith’s “Swing Time,” from our November issue

NW, the BBC’s feature-length adaptation of Zadie Smith’s 2012 novel, arrives at a poignant moment in British history. Following the Brexit vote in June, the Prime Minister Theresa May claimed in her conference speech that “if you’re a citizen of the world, you’re a citizen of nowhere.” Speaking of the vote, she said, “when people demand change, it is the politician’s responsibility to respond.” The message is clear. Whether we like it or not, we are moving away from a liberal period that embraced multiculturalism and diversity, towards protectionism and segregation.

Set in Kilburn in north-west London, NW features exactly the kind of multicultural society under siege in sections of the right-wing press. The film follows the lives of four characters—Leah, Natalie, Nathan and Felix—loosely connected by the fact they grew up on the same council estate in Kilburn. There is little concrete plot here. Instead, the narrative focuses on the characters: how they have attempted to escape from their backgrounds, and—if successful—how they deal with their new environments. Played by Nikki Amuka-Bird, Natalie (formerly “Keisha”) has effectively rebranded herself and now lives as a wealthy black barrister, with a posh husband and two kids. Her white best friend, Leah (Phoebe Fox) still struggles with ambition and wealth, but has also pulled herself out of the council estate into the lower-middle-class.

What is particularly interesting is that although the women seem to be in better positions than their male counterparts (Nathan is a failed footballer now living on the streets; Felix is a recovering alcoholic) they are privately far less happy. Leah is unable to tell her broody husband that she doesn’t want to have children, and resorts to having secret abortions. Natalie wrestles with guilt, convinced that her wealth and bourgeois lifestyle have made her a “fraud, a forgery,” and punishes herself by having degrading sex with strangers.

Fans of the book will find the BBC’s adaptation satisfyingly close to its source material. Directed by Saul Dibb (Suite Francaise, The Duchess), with a screenplay by Rachel Bennette (Ripper Street), the film has the same impressionistic quality as the novel, but with a tighter focus. A striking move by Bennette has been to place Natalie at the centre of the film. While Natalie doesn’t appear as a major character for over 80 pages in the book, as soon as the film opens we are informed that this is her narrative. It starts with a flash-forward to the conclusion: Natalie’s feet shuffling against the edge of a building, her heavy breathing, preparing to jump. We hear the cool tones of Amuka-Bird in voiceover:

“There is an image system at work in the world. To behave in accordance with these images bores us; to deviate from them fills us with anxiety. So we wait for an experience large or brutal enough to break it open completely. I had to break it.”

Using this line to frame the narrative is a smart move. As the film rolls on, sprawling across a patchwork of different characters, it is the return to this moment—Natalie’s moment—that the audience looks forward to. As such, the film has a suspense element that the book seriously lacks. The reference to image systems is also a neat nod to the medium: just as in the book the characters are obsessed with verbal definitions, in the BBC film they are obsessed with images.

From the outset, it is surprising that Zadie Smith’s novels are not adapted for television more often. Smith’s blend of commercial appeal and intellectual prowess—as well as her strong younger following—would seem to make her the perfect screen-time candidate. Yet the last (and only other) time one of her works was translated for screen was Channel 4’s four-part serial White Teeth in 2002. Watching that adaptation makes it clear why: something about Smith’s style doesn’t quite translate to television. The bursting vitality of White Teeth was flattened into a smooth cartoonish parody: her characters became caricatures, and her dialogue, which sparkled on the page, fell flat coming out of the mouths of actors.

There are moments where this also happens in NW. Lines like: “let me arks you some ting: why you still be chasing after the females like they save your life? You nah learn”— brilliant to read—somehow don’t ring true when spoken aloud. Yet generally speaking, the tone of NW is so different from the comic hysteria of White Teeth that the dangers are more easily avoided. Instead it is bleak and brutal: an unflinching look at urban violence and the difficulties of social mobility. It makes for gripping—if uncomfortable—watching.

Cast in the grey light of the BBC’s London, the film’s depiction of casual violence is particularly effective. Felix’s death scene—he is stabbed by two strangers for asking them to move for a pregnant woman on a bus—is almost unbearable to watch. The camera hangs over his face as he lies bleeding in the pavement: we see it register disbelief, panic, and then resignation. Other performances also lift the film where it might otherwise be slow. Richie Campbell’s Nathan is strangely, but convincingly, upbeat for someone in such dire straits. Sharp, passive-aggressive smiles between Leah and Natalie perfectly convey the dynamic of two friends who have known each other too long to have anything in common anymore.

In the wake of recent political news, NW gives an important and powerful perspective on multiculturalism in Britain. It may not provide light relief, or a positive solution, but it gives a sensitive, nuanced insight into a difficult issue, and makes for compelling television in its own right.