A young boy drifts listlessly between the steady blur of his day-to-day life and the intrusive allure of nocturnal dreams as an ideal. Amidst the insistence of ordinary life in school custom there seems something both more reasonable and modest behind the next corner, turning the simple process of waking up in the morning into a search for something to hold on to. Thinking to himself will the school dance ever come, will next week sort itself out, won't it just pass by . . . his hopes and well wishes emanate the growing promise of coming despair.
Rendering youth as a languid fever dream, I Grew Up In Amaltherey Hill is a bleak examination of the fury bred of neglect and the misguided idolization created of hopelessness.