There are a number of grating directorial decisions that almost lead Delight down the garden path and into the fathoms of the unwatchable, including an incredibly repetitive score (all wailing vocals and clinking piano) and some unbelievably on-the-nose dialogue. However, there's also a strange topicality to Jones' often muddled drama. At a time when global conflicts are accessible from our own armchairs, the profession of the war photographer is arguably more crucial - and potentially life-endangering - then it's ever been. It's not unthinkable, then, to assume that those returning, just like combat veterans, return home irrevocably altered both mentally and physically. Balibar's theatrics may swerve wildly from the raw to the overwrought, but it's still nice to see a British indie director making films about things other than boozy stags and gangster scrags. It's hardly delightful, but there's just enough here to warrant investigation by the intrigued.