The influence of music videos on contemporary cinema cannot be overstated. From hip-hop montage to music video directors turned auteurs, like Spike Jonze and Jonathan Glazer, the medium unleashed techniques and talent Hollywood was quick to co-opt. Youthful and accessible, the art form asserted that substance was subservient to style and atmosphere, and that editing was everything. 

Perhaps that’s why in the new movie “Scrapper,” the British video director helming her first feature film, Charlotte Regan, doesn’t bother to fill in the many blanks in her screenplay about a young girl who lives alone after her single mother dies and whose father shows up suddenly. Accustomed to music videos that only hint at serious subjects, the director employs a hodgepodge of visual styles to do most of the work for her tender and nimble story.

The “scrappy” youngster in question is 12-year-old Georgie, living by her wits in a working class neighborhood of east London. When not at school, she fills her days cleaning the small flat she shared with her mother and stealing bikes with her friend Ali in order to make money. She also enlists a local grocery shop keeper to recite canned statements that she records for when social service calls home to check up on how she and her made-up uncle are doing. 

When we see Georgie use this trick, we know its plausibility is low, yet the scene amuses and the movie charms, with its unexpectedly whimsical tone softening what is essentially a glimpse of a child dealing with immense grief and loss.

A healthy indulgence of whimsy is crucial in order for viewers to ignore glaring issues with the basic setup, such as how no neighbor starts to notice that Georgie never leaves her home in the company of said uncle. Some fanciful moments fare better than others; when Georgie and Ali hang out and imagine what the few spiders crawling around the house may be saying, the movie effectively replicates the nature of kids’ imagination. 

Yet Ms. Regan unnecessarily stylizes their make-believe by shooting the spiders in question with digital thought bubbles, instead of just focusing on the kids. Additionally, vignettes featuring locals discussing Georgie while looking straight into the camera seemingly attempt to evoke Wes Anderson, but without that director’s gift for the absurd and the deadpan.

One aspect from Mr. Anderson’s movies that the director successfully interweaves throughout is the use of color. The pastels with which Ms. Regan and her crew painted the setting’s row houses add to the story’s childlike sensibility. Working in tandem, cinematographer Molly Manning Walker’s lighting and framing further heighten the movie’s colors and impart a dreamy quality to the kitchen-sink proceedings.

When Georgie’s father shows up, “Scrapper” begins to explore a tentative father-daughter relationship. Jason is essentially a man-child, all swagger and bravado hiding a guilt-ridden, empathetic soul. He is played by Harris Dickinson, who is definitely giving Paul Mescal a run for his money for the title of best 20-something indie movie actor around today. 

Mr. Dickinson is helped immensely by his novice scene partner Lola Campbell. Similar to how the directors of the recent French film “The Worst Ones” found their young non-professional actors, Ms. Regan searched schools, youth clubs, and sports clubs. 

As Georgie, Ms. Campbell cuts through the tweeness, grounding the movie’s flights of fancy with hesitant emotion, defiant insolence, and submerged grief. One particularly lovely touch is how Georgie’s hearing aid is never commented on, with Ms. Campbell’s reliance on the device subtly enhancing the movie’s realism.

When Georgie’s sadness over her mother’s death and disappointment with her father overwhelm her, she escapes to her mother’s room, where she is building a tower made of spare bike parts and scrap metal. This contraption serves as both a plot device — for Georgie hopes to see her mother again by literally climbing to the heavens — and a metaphor for how the young girl is not advancing through her grief. 

It feels straight out of a music video, with its clunky obviousness and creaky symbolic portent, and yet somehow it works, much like the movie overall.