Monthly Archives: November 2016

  • I, Daniel Blake

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Ken Loach (2016)

    Louise Osmond’s recent documentary Versus prejudiced me against I, Daniel Blake but it’s a strong and effective film – even as it also exposes Ken Loach’s ingrained limitations.  Loach and his regular screenwriter Paul Laverty make their political points largely through focusing on two individuals, both of whose stories are emotionally involving and dramatically compelling.  Daniel Blake (Dave Johns) is a fifty-nine-year-old Geordie.  A joiner by trade, he recently suffered a major heart attack and his doctors don’t consider him fit to return to work yet.  The ‘health professional’ who assesses his eligibility to receive Employment and Support Allowance (ESA) takes a different view, on the basis of Dan’s answers to a standard set of questions.  Pending an appeal against the ESA ruling, his only option for an income is Jobseeker’s Allowance (JSA).  The conditions attached to JSA require Dan to spend a minimum number of hours each week seeking employment:  Catch-22 is that, if he’s offered a job, he’ll have to turn it down – on the advice of a consultant cardiologist, a physiotherapist and his GP.  Katie Morgan (Hayley Squires) is a young single mother of two small children.  They’ve recently moved from London to Newcastle because of a lack of social housing in the capital.  Katie doesn’t yet know her way round her new environment:  she gets on the wrong bus and arrives late for an appointment at the job centre.  As a result, she receives a ‘sanction’ – which means she won’t receive her benefits for the week ahead.  It’s at the job centre that Dan’s and Katie’s paths first cross, and they strike up a friendship.

    A mixture of kindliness and loneliness draws the widowed, childless Dan to Katie and her family.  He can get about and is able to do bits of DIY:  he helps Katie fix up the flat she’s just moved into.  He enjoys her company and that of her children, Daisy (Briana Shann) and Dylan (Dylan McKiernan).  Dan keenly misses his wife, whom he nursed through a long illness.  One way he remembers her is by playing ‘Sailing By’, which he tells Daisy was one of his wife’s favourite tunes.  (This is the music that introduces and concludes the BBC shipping forecast, just before Radio 4 closes down and as soon as it resumes in the early morning.  You naturally assume that Dan and his wife came to know ‘Sailing By’ through sleepless nights during her illness but Ken Loach and Paul Laverty don’t labour the point.)  The marine connection with his wife is reinforced by the small wooden fish that Dan fashions at home and makes into a mobile for Katie’s flat.  The fish delight Daisy in particular.  The relationship between Dan and Katie is persuasive, and the domestic scenes involving them and Katie’s kids are beautifully observed.

    Loach and Laverty use the unfairness and procedural absurdity of the current benefits system as their central means of exposing the dehumanising effects of austerity politics in today’s Britain.  The ESA assessor is literally a faceless bureaucrat:  we hear the interview before her and Dan  but don’t see it.  (The opposition of the disembodied voices intensifies the confrontation between them.  Dan’s increasing, witty exasperation is useless against the assessor’s petty imperturbability:  she grinds on with her checklist of questions, pausing only to tick Dan off for questioning the questions.)  Dan receives a letter confirming the outcome of the ESA assessment but isn’t allowed to initiate an appeal until he gets a telephone call telling him what the letter says – a call that takes weeks to arrive.  His patience exhausted, Dan resorts to action that is the film’s comic high point.  He spray-paints the wall of the job centre with the words, ‘I Daniel Blake demand my appeol [sic] date before I starve – and change the shite music on the phones!’  The police are called but no charges are brought against Dan and an appeal date materialises soon (at least in terms of screen time) afterwards.

    The last few words of the graffiti pick up another maddening and inhuman fact of modern life – the sense of not being listened to that’s reflected in the automated, your-call-is-important-to-us culture of companies and government agencies alike.  This sub-theme of I, Daniel Blake has a strongly generational flavour (as it also does at the start of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel – not a Ken Loach-like movie in other ways), although it’s inflected too by Dan’s social class and line of work.  This yields a few good jokes.  Struggling with a computer for the first time, Dan remarks that the cursor has a ‘fucking apt name’.   Informed at the job centre that the Department for Work and Pensions is ‘digital by default’, Dan replies that he’s ‘pencil by default’.  There’s also a heavier side to this element:  Dan’s protest that ‘I’m a carpenter – I’ve never used a computer in my life!’ has a Luddite ring to it.  Perhaps the octogenarian Ken Loach is, through his protagonist, expressing a personal frustration with IT but you feel it’s the larger political connotations of Luddism that count for more.  Katie’s daughter Daisy’s mixture of bafflement and curiosity when Dan produces a cassette player (to play ‘Sailing By’) is just right but Adam Mars-Jones, reviewing the film in the TLS, may have a point in claiming that Loach and Paul Laverty:

    ‘… underestimate the centrality of life online to children of school age … a modern schoolchild without social media suffers something like ostracism by default.  Someone like Daisy, uprooted from the digital soil, wouldn’t even be able to stay in touch with her London friends.’

    Loach and Laverty’s answer to this would probably be that Katie doesn’t have the money to allow Daisy access to social media.  Whether or not this is true, it suits the film-makers’ purposes.  (There’s a kind of playroom Luddism in Daisy’s preference for the simple beauty of Dan’s homemade wooden fish.)

    A sequence in a food bank in I, Daniel Blake sees Ken Loach at his best, fusing documentary-style social commentary with piercing individual experience.   I took this to be an actual food bank and most of the people there – both the helpful women who run the place and the users of its supplies – to be non-actors.   The scene is absorbing – sobering but also encouraging, thanks to the woman who shows Dan and Katie round, and who is particularly likeable.  The scene becomes something else when Katie – who, as Dan knows, has been eating too little in order to keep her children properly fed – suddenly opens a ring-pull tin of baked beans, shoves her hand in and starts wolfing down the contents.  Hayley Squires plays the moment wonderfully, showing how Katie’s acute awareness of shaming herself in public is still not enough to subdue her hunger.  Loach’s camera maintains a discreet distance, as if to respect Katie’s shocked embarrassment.  Squires is admirably nuanced throughout, in spite of what her character has to do in later scenes (see below), and Dave Johns, best known as a stand-up comedian, is increasingly strong.  There are times early on when he seems to be overdoing Dan’s reactions to the mad bureaucratic tyranny he’s up against; but the hectic quality of the stress he’s feeling comes to make complete sense in the film’s climax.  Johns’s performance isn’t in the class of Vincent Lindon’s in The Measure of a Man, which covers some of the same ground as I, Daniel Blake, but he’s highly convincing.

    Pamela Hutchinson in Sight & Sound (November 2015) praises the ‘austerity palette of beiges, greys and blues’ which ‘evokes a life stripped to the essentials’.  I’m not sure how remarkable this is – you wouldn’t expect a day-glo colour scheme for the centre of Newcastle.  What was remarkable was to see this film and the visually extraordinary American Honey on consecutive days and to admire the versatility of Robbie Ryan, who photographed them both.  Adam Mars-Jones commends the colouring in similar terms, while noting too that ‘Strong colours make an appearance only when their absence would be glaring, in the lurid yellow-green of high-visibility workwear, the red highlighting on a final demand’.

    I, Daniel Blake proceeds sometimes clumsily along its predetermined route.  In view of Dan’s friendly relations with his neighbour China (Kema Sikazwe), it’s hard to believe he’d take as long as he does to avail himself of the younger man’s IT savvy and equipment.  Dan must delay, of course, in order for the film to get full mileage out of his own unfamiliarity with computers.   A bigger problem is the plot strand that illustrates how lawbreaking and the black economy may be the only means of escape from the knotty rules of the benefits system, and of making ends meet.  This part of the story sees Katie resort desperately first to shoplifting then to sex work.   Ivan (Micky McGregor), the minimart security man who catches her out, sends her to the store manager, who lets her off with a warning.  As Katie comes out of the manager’s office, Ivan gives her a bit of paper with his name and number on it.  He invites her to get in touch if she needs to earn extra money.  Ivan is a dual-purpose bad lot:  thoroughly unsympathetic when he apprehends Katie, he then turns instantly into her exploiter.

    When Dan discovers what Katie’s up to, he doesn’t try to reason with her in private (as he surely would do).  He goes round to the brothel, passing himself off to the madam as a customer, in order to confront Katie.  Ken Loach and Paul Laverty may well want to show Dickensian poverty in twenty-first century England but this garish, melodramatic scene is Victorian in the wrong way.   Beyond a sweet intervention by Daisy, the script is sketchy on how the breach between Dan and Katie is healed – it just has to be, in order for them to be together in the climactic appeal hearing.  Believing in Dan and that he’s deeply shocked by Katie’s ‘escort’ work makes it harder to believe he could easily forgive and forget it.  This is a good example of the inextricable tension between Loach and Laverty creating credible characters on the one hand and, on the other, pressing ahead with their underlying political agenda – they do this as implacably as the health professional with her ESA checklist.

    It’s no less a requirement of the schema that Dan dies from a heart attack, in order to expose the lethal heartlessness of the system that’s ensnared him.  He collapses and dies in the gents’, shortly before he’s due to go into the appeal hearing that his representative has just assured him he’s sure to win.  In this instance, though, the political anger and the human truth of I, Daniel Blake reinforce each other:  Dan’s death is as enraging as it’s upsetting.  At his funeral service, Katie reads the piece that Dan had prepared to speak at the appeal hearing and the words are a polemical highlight of the film.   Unlike the graffiti, they’re too polished to convince as words that Daniel Blake would have written but this isn’t the problem it might have been if he’d read them himself.  The very fact that it’s a voice other than his own speaking the words somehow helps to validate them as the film’s political testament (and it’s rather appropriate that they’re spoken in a church).  Hayley Squires’s skilful, sensitive delivery helps a lot too.

    In an interview with Radio Times in the week of the UK release of I, Daniel Blake, Ken Loach deplored the ‘fake nostalgia’ of television period dramas, epitomised by Downton Abbey:

    ‘This rosy vision of the past, it’s a choice broadcasters make … Don’t bother your heads with what’s going on now, just wallow in fake nostalgia.  It’s bad history, bad drama.  It puts your brain to sleep.’

    While it’s hard to disagree with the thrust of Loach’s criticism, it’s no less difficult to ignore his own capacity for ‘rosy visions’ of the past and the present.  The Spirit of ’45, even though much of it comprises news film of the period, expresses an idealised view of Britain at the end of World War II.  In I, Daniel Blake, you can’t help noticing the absence of racial tensions in Ken Loach’s Tyneside:  there’s no suggestion that the area’s economically dispossessed believe they’re suffering the consequences of increased immigration.  It was the combination of the results in Newcastle and Sunderland that gave the first, strong indications of which way the vote was going to go in this June’s EU referendum.  By then, of course, Loach’s film was in the can and had won the Palme d’Or at Cannes but I suspect that, even if he’d made it a year later, he’d have turned a blind eye to the reasons so many working-class voters supported Brexit.

    Although I, Daniel Blake, like much of Loach’s work, is angrily clear-sighted in some ways, it also reflects his sentimental and tendentious tunnel vision.   With one exception, the staff at the job centre are presented as unkindly inflexible and benighted (and the exception gets into trouble with her line manager for deviating from the rulebook).  There’s no sympathy shown for these people’s being stuck in tough, unrewarding jobs.  It’s hard too to see as accidental the fact that all the obstructive people that Dan and Katie encounter are white.   If this is Ken Loach’s way of illustrating his belief that a multi-racial society is an absolutely good thing, it’s counterproductive.  By refusing to let non-white characters have negative qualities, he denies them the human possibilities extended to their white counterparts:  he’s guilty, in effect, of racial discrimination.   And there is, as usual, the nagging question of who Loach thinks his audience is.  It’s not simply a matter of preaching to the converted.  This is a film-maker who wants his work to drive political change yet he must know that few of those who buy tickets for I, Daniel Blake will be Tory policy-makers or members of social classes C2, D or E.  When Dan sprays his message on the job centre wall, a drunken Scotsman embraces him euphorically.  On the opposite side of the street, passers-by, including a giggling hen party, gather to watch and applaud.  Perhaps it’s the fault of the TV schedulers who put ‘brains to sleep’ but this is as close as these people will get nowadays to a Ken Loach film.

     

    22 October 2016

  • Under the Shadow

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Zir-e Sayeh

    Babak Anvari (2016)

    The writer-director Babak Anvari makes clever use of the place and the time – Tehran, during the 1980s Iran-Iraq War – to give an original twist to familiar horror elements.   Shideh (Narges Rashidi) is refused permission to resume the medical studies she suspended a few years ago, when she married and had a child:  the reason given by the authorities is her former involvement in left-wing student politics.  Her husband Iraj (Bobby Naderi) is a doctor working for the Iranian military.  When he receives a new assignment, to an area where frontline fighting is taking place, Iraj wants Shideh and the couple’s young daughter Dorsa (Avin Manshadi) to leave Tehran and go to stay with his family.  The capital is under increasing attack, as part of Saddam Hussein’s ‘War of the Cities’ – a series of air raids, missile attacks and artillery shellings of Iran’s major urban areas.  Shideh insists on staying put.  From the very start of the film, she’s thwarted, impatient, full of suppressed energy.  She’s angry at being prevented from completing her studies and thereby from increasing her sense of independence – her husband’s unsympathetic reaction makes things worse.  She reminds Dorsa, as the little girl plays with her doll, that toys aren’t allowed at the breakfast table.  Once breakfast is over, Shideh lets off steam by exercising to one of her cache of banned Jane Fonda workout videos.

    Like many a no-nonsense rationalist before her, Shideh is forced to learn that there are more things in heaven and earth, etc – but she does so within a framework that combines supernatural horror story and political parable.  The events in Under the Shadow repeatedly evoke horror tropes that reverberate in a new way, thanks to the particular, actual context of the narrative.  It’s conventional for the house at the centre of a horror story to be threatened by something nasty trying to penetrate it.  In this case, a war is going on outside: one of the somethings that penetrates the apartment building is a missile, which comes through the roof but doesn’t explode.  When the lights suddenly go out in the building, it’s usually because of a power cut.  While there may be no rational explanation for other goings-on, there’s a popular irrational explanation for them.  The belief that a djinn has got into their world is shared by Dorsa, Mrs Ebrahimi (Aram Ghasemy), whose husband (Ray Haratian) owns the building, and other residents.  The grown-ups believe the djinn has possessed the child.  Dorsa’s doll becomes an important presence – and absence – in the film.  It goes missing and Dorsa accuses her mother of having stolen it.  The doll later turns up in a drawer, alongside the medical dictionary that the teenage Shideh received as a gift from her mother.  It was the latter, as her inscription on the dictionary’s title page makes clear, who wanted her daughter to become a doctor:  Iraj suggests that it was her mother’s recent death that made Shideh want to return to her studies.

    As often happens in the horror genre, the central location gradually empties of people until only the protagonists are left to fight on.  The apartment building becomes a less secure environment the moment that Iraj leaves it.  Babak Anvari achieves that effect by the ominous sight and sound of the gates to the building locking behind Iraj; this is repeated after one or two subsequent departures from the place.  Shideh finds herself on the receiving end of a collection of oppressive forces.  Although apparently disparate, these combine not only to frustrate her ambitions to be a modern woman but also to make her feel she’s a bad mother to Dorsa – at first intolerant of her daughter, then unable to comfort and protect her.  In time, Shideh thinks she sees the djinn – and the audience of Under the Shadow sees what she sees.  It’s a violently sinuous sheet of patterned fabric:  what else it may be – a nightmarish vision, a symbol of what Shideh is up against in 1980s Iran – Anvari leaves ambiguous.

    One night, Shideh, with Dorsa in her arms, rushes from the building and into the dark street in terror.  To her huge relief, she sees the lights of a police vehicle ahead.  When she reaches it, the police officers aren’t at all comforting:  they take Shideh into custody for failing to wear a chador in public (she is released with a ticking off).  Anvari’s intelligent approach comes at some cost to spine-chilling.  There are some frights and jolts – the djinn-in-sheet’s-clothing, Shideh’s desperate use of gaffer tape to keep out what’s trying to get in through cracks in the windows and ceiling, even the shock of toast springing from a toaster in sudden close-up – but continuing awareness of the political and cultural dimensions of the story, and how artfully these are worked into it, distance one from the scary effects.  The viewer, unlike Shideh, is never helplessly submerged in the horror of Under the Shadow yet this is still an accomplished and effective piece of cinema.

    20 October 2016

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