“If you get too good at surviving, you might forget what you’re doing it for.” So says Alexander Corless (Robert Pugh), the aging English thespian at the heart of this captivating drama. Goodnight Irene is a story about the brute instinct for survival – and about the reasons for wanting to survive in the first place.

Corless is indeed a tenacious survivor: a lonely widower, past his professional prime, alcoholic, and gruff as a bulldog. His name puns equally on his weak heart, and on the heartlessness of a life imbued with despairing cynicism. The narrative takes shape when Corless’ neighbour Irene, a portrait painter, draws him reluctantly out of his embittered seclusion. He meets another of her subjects, Bruno, and when Irene mysteriously disappears, the two loners awkwardly join forces to find her. From this shared quest they develop an unexpectedly warm friendship, and Corless finds a sense of nobility and purpose in the last weeks of his life – he discovers his metaphorical heart, even as his physical heart splutters to a halt.

Pugh’s Clydesdale performance drives the film from start to finish. He conjures a palpable sense of stubborn rage at impending death. “I’m not leaving!” he roars at a pack of ranging hounds, in a haunting dream sequence – “I’m not leaving!” Pugh modulates the character beautifully as Corless’ friendship with Bruno brings an unfamiliar sense of fulfillment, even peace.

Acting of such power runs the risk of simply crushing everything else. Much to director Paolo Marinou-Blanco’s credit, however, Pugh’s performance thrives within a beautifully considered piece of cinema. Nuno Lopes’ charming turn as the quizzical Bruno provides a wonderful counterpoint to Pugh’s sturm und drang; the exquisite lensing and meticulous art design develop a lushly atmospheric sense of fading grandeur; and the score is achingly hypnotic. Goodnight Irene is a richly textural debut.