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Posts Tagged ‘Debbie Honeywood’

Modern marketing being what it is, it’s a safe bet that you can tell a lot about the target audience for a movie from the trailers that run in front of it: to put it another way, horror movies are preceded by horror movie trailers. I think most people, given a list of the trailers showing before an unidentified movie, would be able to have a decent stab at the genre of what was to follow, unless it was some kind of weird genre-mashing oddity.

So let’s have a go: the four trailers are as follows. A ‘quality’ drama about an idealistic lawyer confronting racial inequality in America. A ‘quality’ drama about an idealistic lawyer confronting corrupt big business in America. A low-key, character-based film about ordinary people dealing with potentially terminal illness. And something about racing drivers. (By ‘quality’ drama, by the way, I mean something intended to win kudos and potentially awards as well as simply making money for the studio.)

What would you think these were running in front of? Clearly something aimed at bien-pensant grown-ups (all that social comment and political idealism), along with people who appreciate authentic drama (the focus is on character rather than genre). The thing about racing drivers is obviously an outlier and a bit of a red herring, but you do tend to find this kind of blanket advertising appearing when a studio has spent a lot of money on a film and is slightly worried about getting it back (the film in question is the forthcoming Le Mans ’66, aka Ford v Ferrari).

I think my thesis does hold together, as all these trailers preceded Ken Loach’s Sorry We Missed You, a film using a low-key character-based drama to make very serious social and political points. (It also features people driving quite quickly, but I doubt there’ll be a significant cross-over audience between this and Le Mans ’66.) Loach has been doing this sort of thing for well over fifty years now and shows no signs of losing his fire or commitment: this doesn’t feel like the work of a director in his eighties.

Kris Hitchen plays Ricky, husband and father of a family who fall into the ‘just barely managing’ category. (It is mentioned in passing that they lost their chance to own their own home as a result of the financial crash, and that things have been difficult ever since.) Formerly in the building trade, Ricky has decided to make a career change and is signing on as a ‘franchisee’, driving for a big delivery company. Ricky is keen, clearly desperate for the work, and perhaps not all that bright – he either disregards or doesn’t understand the ominous barrage of management-speak his supervisor, Maloney (Ross Brewster) hits him with as part of the recruitment process. He is not being hired, but onboarded; he doesn’t work for them, he works with them. None of this seems to matter to begin with, but already you fear for him.

His initial problem is raising the money to buy a van, which entails selling the car of his wife Abbie (Debbie Honeywood). She is a home carer, visiting the sick and elderly in their houses, and the lack of her own transport is a major issue, but she reluctantly agrees in the hope it will lead to something better. She is on a zero-hours contract too, of course. Things are all right to begin with, although the relentless grind of working thirteen and fourteen hours a day, six days a week, soon begins to take its toll. However, their teenage son Seb (Rhys Stone) is talented but has no prospects, and his restlessness and frustration soon begins to get him into trouble with the authorities. The fact that Ricky and Abbie never see him properly only compounds this problem, and this is before Ricky is obliged to confront the realities of his new position: he has no entitlement to time off, is liable for hefty fines if he misses his delivery deadlines, and is personally liable for what happens to the contents of his van. The job that was supposed to give the family security is tearing it apart.

Well, it’s a Ken Loach movie, so you know what to expect before turning up: Loach isn’t going to entertain you, he’s almost certainly going to get political, you’re going to be made to think, you’re probably not going to emerge skipping and whistling when all is said and done. You know this is not going to be a heart-warming slice of life, but something which will most likely become extremely bleak well before the end. And so it proves, broadly speaking. You might expect the fact that Loach’s M.O. is so predictable to start working against the movie and make it less effective – I went in with my shields already raised, so to speak – but the remarkable thing about Sorry We Missed You is that it managed to get to me anyway. Loach’s thesis is very clear from the start – zero-hours contracts and the ‘gig economy’ are just devices to strip the most vulnerable members of the workforce of their rights, allowing their de facto managers to retain authority while disclaiming any responsibility for the people who work for them. (I have spent most of the last ten years on zero-hours contracts, but I’ve been lucky enough to (mostly) work for managers who treat people as people; this film has made me all the more grateful for that.)

However, the punch of the film doesn’t come from this (although some may still find the film a bit too didactic and self-righteously on-the-nose), but the simple, domestic scenes of the family together, snatching moments of happiness, but slowly beginning to turn on each other out of sheer exhaustion, frustration and stress. It is heartbreaking to watch: I have seen films about homeless children in Syria which felt less emotionally wrenching than this one. This is raw, no-frills film-making – it is all about content, rather than style – and in places Loach’s decision to cast non-professionals in some of the roles looks a little questionable. But he has discovered, amongst others, Debbie Honeywood, who gives one of the most affecting debut performances I can remember seeing.

The decision to focus on the domestic effects of the family’s situation does give the film its power, and keeps it from being too obviously a piece of agitprop – but on the other hand, it also prevents it from discussing the root causes of the situation and possible ways of ameliorating it, as this would involve being much more overtly political. Strip away the family drama – and, to be honest, some slightly contrived plotting does threaten to tip it over into melodrama here and there – and you are left with a film about workers’ rights. The main ongoing threat to these is surely the ongoing act of national self-harm this country is currently embarked upon, but Sorry We Missed You never addresses this, or even refers to the issue. As a result it feels like a film cursing the darkness with great passion and intensity, not one which even suggests there might be candles we could light. Still, an extremely powerful and moving drama.

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