“Miss,” one of Maria Spencer’s primary-school pupils says, “my mum says you’re incompetent.” Panicked by the next day’s inspectors’ visit, Miss Spencer kidnaps the naughtiest little boy in her class and locks him in her basement. The inspection over, she mutters a few drafts of a text to the boy’s father: “I have your son in my basement”; “Will you come get your son from my basement.” But nothing works. If her action can’t be explained away, why not just keep him there? “Bad Apples” (Paramount Pictures), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, made me feel better about studios, screenwriters, and filmmakers. I rushed home to take on my thousand-word review; I hadn’t felt this exhilarated in a long time.
The audience’s first encounter with Danny is on a school trip to a Somerset cider-making factory. Amidst the blackened, sub-quality apples is one of his white trainers. “What have you done?” Miss Spencer, played by Saoirse Ronan, says, after the production line has been stopped. In practice, she is in the greater trouble of the two. “This is your last chance,” the headteacher, played by Rakie Ayola, says. But Miss Spencer can’t even control her classroom lights. She becomes fretful and mumbles to herself. Next morning, Danny, who is uninterested in school and seldom able to sit through a lesson, scampers into the classroom late and then hurls classmate Pauline (“I can’t help if I’m [Miss Spencer’s] favourite”) down a flight of stairs. The parents whisper a collage of crazy, derogatory comments in the playground—“where was his teacher, that’s what I want to know”; “[Pauline]’s not going to be fine, is she”; “bloody useless”; “should have been suspending her.” Some consider Miss Spencer a disgrace to the school.
Much rides upon the ability of star Eddie Waller to exaggerate Danny’s contradictory moods from one scene to the next. During the night-time kidnapping, the background music is similar to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” played at supercharged speed and delivered by the Playhouse’s Dolby Atmos system at florid volume. I found that I had been holding my breath. “You attacked me, Miss, you’re mental,” Danny says. He has the roughest tongue in the class. “Open the f****** door. I’ll break every f****** bone in your body. Miss! You f****** hag.” (He pronounces the first syllable to rhyme with “duke.”) She searches “how to control a large pet” and orders an “adjustable chest harness” with a click. “Do you wanna walk towards me,” she says, after its fitting. “Great. I know this isn’t normal—but this way I don’t have to worry about you.” Sleeping in a car to avoid Danny’s bellowing of “Glory, glory, Man United … as the reds go marching on, on, on,” her unmanageable life seems well managed.
“This will cheer you up,” Miss Spencer says. She has moved downstairs a large television set upon which Danny can play games. “I’ve got ‘Call of Duty,’ a farming simulator, and this football one.” She also points towards a bucket for his “ones and twos.” Danny is in fine spirits when he next appears.
“Bad Apples” warps morals and justifications; it pushes us to focus and to examine our own motives. The police aren’t interested in proving anything except the guilt of Danny’s dad. “Josh,” the female cop says, “hmmm; he waited almost twenty-four hours before reporting Danny missing.” The school hall is purposed for parents’ evenings, assemblies, school plays, and gym lessons. At one end is a stage with theatrical curtains; at the other a basketball hoop. Some pupils bumble in, dressed for gym class. “Are you going to arrest Miss Spencer?” one shouts. Maria senses the danger. She needs the police to not dig around. “Yeah,” she says, turning back to the officers, “Josh was usually quite late picking up Danny from school.” (The rest of Danny’s class couldn’t care less: “He’s probably just in the woods eating rats or something.”)
Josh works for Street Express Couriers and wears a corporate baseball cap and sweatshirt and has the persecuted look of the delivery driver on the clock. The film is going to dig into social class too. “I’ve really got to get back to work,” he says. “I’ve got a notification. I have to sign in again.” His son’s dialog is truthful to his northern background: “this is such a lame song”; “ey ’up”; “absolute rubbish, that”; “honestly.”
Like “I Swear,” which I reviewed in October 2025, darkness doesn’t overwhelm the picture. It is balanced by well-placed comedy. Take deputy-head Sam, played by Jacob Anderson, of whom we should see much more: he is transparent and scheming and spews public relations. “I heard,” Danny says to Miss Spencer, “that you used to shag Mr Washington.” “Don’t use the word shagging, Danny, it’s inappropriate. He left me for someone else.” “What a wet wipe,” Danny says. “Honestly. You’ll be alright Miss.” “Thanks Danny.” The about-turn in this exchange made me gasp with admiration.
I won’t reveal any of the film’s many thrilling twists. But ricocheting power relations and emotional energy are brought out in closeups of Miss Spencer, Pauline, and Danny. During one long shot, Ms Ronan only blinks once. At times the filmmakers subordinate the dialog to the music, or engineer an added sound—like that of winter wind in Montrose—to unnerve.
The filmmakers show complete mastery of the form. We shouldn’t be enjoying the film as much as we are. The story should outrage us; and, at times, we do feel ashamed. But we are mesmerised by it. Like “Pressure,” which I reviewed last week, there is no fat.
The school inspectors’ report lands. “Good With Outstanding Features,” the head says, addressing Miss Spencer. “And you were singled out for praise. So sorry, Maria, I was wrong about you. Biscuits for everybody!” Deputy-head Sam pounces. “I like this new Miss Spencer,” he says. “You just seem to be coming out of your shell. And you look … wow … good. Good with outstanding features!”
Adam Poole
19th September 2026
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