Much has been made of The Arbor, the debut feature by Clio Barnard which, with a verbatim technique requiring audience acclimatisation, sees oral accounts of life on a Bradford estate “spoken” by lip-synching actors.

The premise proves initially distracting, but ultimately adds to the constantly unnerving feel as the bruising lives of 1980s playwright Andrea Dunbar and the family torn by her dysfunction are portrayed.

Barnard is an artist drawn to memory-based constructs. In the opening sequences, one of Dunbar’s daughters recalls the time she set fire to her bedroom with her sister, flames blazing behind the door while she speaks.

Sometimes the style veers to pure documentary, including interviews with Dunbar, who died from a brain haemorrhage in a pub in 1990, at the point when her doomed talent began to emerge.

Perhaps least convincing are the moments of faux-gritty theatre, where re-enactments of fierce inter-family racism take place on sofas staged within a green on the modern estate. The most harrowing reflections depict Dunbar’s daughter, Lorraine, who was imprisoned after her child died from taking the methadone she became addicted to.

Barnard remains a confidante to her, and this grimly regretful film has been cathartic in her progress.

Four stars