“It’s hard to believe
that one man could have caused so much suffering and all these years later I
make a film about him, it’s extraordinary…”
When I first saw this back in 1988 I was struck by the unmistakable
sense of “face”; these were people I knew, relatives that I’d see at weddings
and funerals at family gatherings in Liverpool; right down to “Mickey” being
the spit of my Aunty Doreen and Freda Dowie’s resemblance to my Nain. This is one of the most resonant films ever made in Britain.
Terence Davies grew up in Liverpool’s Kensington and the
houses there are the same as my Mum’s in Anfield and my father’s in Wavertree,
all areas of Liverpool that were built on close communities and extended
families. The anger and brutality of Davies’ childhood is encapsulated in the
primal rage of Pete Postlethwaite… I never saw my grandads go off like him but
nor would I have messed with them or my Dad.
Davies was the youngest of ten and this film is almost
told from the physical standpoint of the child as he stands slightly outside of
the main action, catching snatches of mysterious adult actions and viewing the
house, the stairs, the happy and the sad from the detachment of his age and stature.
I found this claustrophobic on first viewing but this is perfectly the
perception of a boy trying to remember and to make sense of those real and
imagined moments that revealed the adult world to him.
I remember similar people and occasions, being four and a
page boy at our Doreen’s wedding, the adults buzzing around my Nan’s house in
Wavertree, my Aunty Barbara looking so pretty (we still flirt now) and taking
care of the precocious little lad with the blue blazer. I didn’t really
understand everything that was happening but I knew enough to say thank you to
the vicar after the ceremony; it seemed like the right thing to do. There may
not have been that much singing in our houses but there was plenty of music –
both sides of the family could play, some exceptionally well – and, at funerals
especially, there was drinking.
Davies’ film is almost a silent one but filled with music
either as soundtrack or sung by the characters: everyone had their own songs
whilst others like, If You Knew Suzy,
was always a group sing-along. The narrative is an expertly-edited series of narrative
gobbets, moving tableaux of family life showing the snatches of joy between the
killing graft, the wars and the weight of responsibility placed on the
shoulders of men when they were still boys; no wonder they barely grew beyond that
point.
It starts with a great opening shot the front of one of
many thousands of Victorian terraced houses and as the camera moves into the
hallway and round to the front room where we see the three children and their
mother: all in the moments between definite emotions… weddings, funerals; there’s
sadness either way. The mother sings one of Davies’ mam’s favourites, setting
the tone, and then we have Jessye Norman singing There’s a Man Going Round Taking Names.
On the wall behind them is the only photograph of Davies' father with a horse, one of the few pleasures he ever found in life: “it’s hard to believe that one man could
have caused so much suffering and all these years later I make a film about
him, it’s extraordinary…”
It’s one of the most genuine films ever made full of rounded
characters we know, like and would
want to avoid. Chief amongst these is the Father – one of legions of working-class
men born into misery and rage: a stranger to happiness he wishes. As Davies
says, like all tyrants he’s moved by sentimentality and not by real emotion; he
wishes his children a happy Christmas when they’re asleep because he can’t face
saying it to them awake. The next day he explodes at the dinner table and rips the
Christmas dinner onto the floor.
Postlethwaite does Scouse like a native even if he was from
another great Lancashire town, Warrington, up the road. His portrayal of Tommy
Davies is one of the great horrors in British film: a man who can favour his eldest
daughter Eileen (Angela Walsh) whilst later beating her sister Maisie (Lorraine
Ashbourne) with a broom for even asking if she can go to the dance: an event
that happened to the film-maker’s sister.
He’s similarly aggressive towards eldest son, Tony (Dean
Williams), who he casually kicks out of the house for some misdemeanour… the
lad can’t be more than 12. This is another real event and after sleeping rough
in the park for a few days he went to live with his Gran and never came back.
Davies was present when years later, his brother came home - absent without
leave - smashing the front windows wanting to fight his father.
At the same time, Tommy has a soft spot for Eileen’s mate
Micky (Debi Jones – who is so full of Scouse joy), for whom he’s far more
lenient and humane… the dirty old get! Mickey was based on his sister’s best
mate Monica Kelly and Davies talks lovingly of the women, their humour, style
and ability to keep their heads even when their men, all around them, were
losing theirs.
Meanwhile the next generation of men are heading in the same
direction, some cut from the same cloth: Eileen marries Dave (Michael Starke,
one of many Brooksiders in the cast
and good with it too!) – who gets a bit funny about people coming round… whilst
her mate Jingles (Marie Jelliman) is hitched to Les (a vicious turn from Andrew
Schofield who I once saw playing in the same band as Margi Clarke at Eric’s) with
whom you would not want to mess.
Mickey has it easier with the jokey Red (Chris Darwin)
and Maisie finds the good fella she deserves in George (Vincent Maguire) …
there’s hope that the family will progress and, what we don’t see in this
scaled-down version, is the tenth child growing up to make a quite exceptional
film about it all.
In the Q&A accompanying the screening of this
restored edition, Davies revealed he never watches his films as he always sees
the faults and spent enough time with them during editing. He’s very
self-depreciating – you can take the boy out of Liverpool… The film is not
autobiographical per se but it mixes in real events with fictional
representations such as when Tony and his brother-in-law fall off the
scaffolding: a mix of Davies’ eldest brother’s injury in the forces and his brother-in-law
falling.
His father had black rages and some of the stories were
toned down – one time his mother jumped out of their bedroom window to avoid
her husband’s fury and was caught by a passing soldier; Davies felt this wouldn’t
have been believable and yet, it happened.
This was his first film, made with BFI backing on a
shoe-string but out of necessity came an extraordinary flow of images – the
shot of the umbrellas outside the Futurist and the camera floating over the
sisters as they cry watching a film inside as a lush, orchestral version of Love is a Many Splendoured Thing plays,
followed by the men crashing down through glass in slow motion. A “magical lie”
as Davies says but an incredibly powerful sequence.
Davies’ love for his siblings, friends and family imbues
the film and it’s instantly recognisable by all: even with so much rage in
their lives they continued to love and snatch those precious shards of happiness
whenever they could.
This 4K digital restoration from the original 35mm camera
negative, approved by director Terence Davies, is simply stunning and every
home should have one. It’s available on Blu-ray and DVD from the BFI Shop and
online. Every home should have one!
There’s a welter of extras including a post-screening
Q&A and Davies’ commentary on the film – essential listening – along with interviews
with the director from 2007. A chunky and fully illustrated booklet has new
writing on the film by critic Derek Malcolm and art director Miki van
Zwanenberg, essays by Geoff Andrew and Adrian Danks, and full film credits.
There’s also Images
of Liverpool in Archive Film (1939-42, 62 mins) which features three
archive shorts depicting the city of Liverpool and its community when the city
had a million people and my parents were kids…
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