Sitting down to watch a film about the effect of suicidal depression on a man and his family, starring the racist, misogynist, drunk Mel Gibson, we made sure we were near an exit. Ever since pictures emerged last year of Mel, elbow deep in a furry beaver, our expectation was that the Jodie Foster-directed The Beaver would either be the worst or best film of the year. Somewhat surprisingly it’s neither, and we stayed till the end.

The Beaver is an ambitious subject for a first time scriptwriter (Kyle Killen) to tackle. And ultimately it’s bound to fail. Depression is an ugly, awkward and relentlessly unfun state of mind, and one that a family drama such as The Beaver can only trivialise in its need for arc, progression and resolution. This flippancy isn’t helped by being dropped too far into the story, via a clumsy voice over prologue. We don’t know enough about this family’s life before the illness took hold to care or connect.

Gibson is, of course, a problem. What we know of the man means we’re willing his initial suicide bid to succeed. He’s not a sympathetic character and neither is the miserable man he plays - Walter Black, a name uncomfortably close to Breaking Bad’s Walter White (Bryan Cranston would’ve taken this role to Oscar level, btw), who finds he can live depression free providing he only communicates via a tatty puppet he found in a bin.

This isn’t, as you might imagine, a comedy. Although there are touches of humour, they’re of the bitter sweet variety as The Beaver remains stuck to Walter’s hand in inappropriate situations: eating at a posh restaurant, meeting his son’s girlfriend, having reconciliatory sex with his wife (oh yes). The temptation to play the absurdity as slapstick is largely avoided. Walter has lost his mind and it’s no laughing matter.

Yet, with all that said, The Beaver is still worth a trip to the cinema. Foster's modest direction holds attention throughout. Gibson’s gauche and un-nuanced performance (the faux English accent of his bucktoothed pal may grate) is more than made-up for by a believable supporting cast, particularly the young Riley Thomas Stewart as Black’s youngest son. And a far stronger story of not repeating the mistakes of our fathers wins over an unnecessary Dawson’s Creek-esque subplot involving Walter’s brainbox son wooing the school cheerleader (who is, of course, far deeper than appearances suggest).

As films about male depression go, this is more Falling Down than Groundhog Day (we tormented ourselves with thoughts of what Bill Murray could’ve done with this role, too). The Beaver was a promising idea which became a patchily good film, but one whose ideas will stay with you longer than the sight of Mel Gibson punching himself in the face with a fluffy muppet.

The Beaver is released on June 17.