THE LADY IN THE VAN B-
Great Britain (104
mi) 2016 d Nicholas Hytner
As much a portrait of the artist himself as the real-life subject
he amusingly details, playwright Alan Bennett, author of THE HISTORY BOYS
(2005), has brought another long-time stage success to the screen, this time
focusing upon the irascible behavior of an elderly, destitute woman who takes
residence inside a broken down van parked just outside his door in a
comfortable, middle class neighborhood in Camden, reprising the original 1999
stage production with its original star, the irrepressible Maggie Smith, now in
her early 80’s, literally imposing her will upon the entire cast and crew. Originating with a lengthy essay piece
written by Bennett in The London
Review of Books, published October 26, 1989, this was released a short period
after the actual woman died, where it appears as a kind of tribute to her life. While it also appeared in his
autobiographical compendium Untold
Stories in 2005, released when he thought he was dying of cancer, and a
subsequent 2009 radio play, there are snippets of his diary that recently
appeared as well in The Guardian, Alan
Bennett's Diary: The Lady in the Van - The Guardian on November 14, 2015,
so one has had ample opportunities to familiarize themselves with the
subject. Establishing the appropriate
tone with the opening disclaimer, “This is a mostly true story,” there’s a bit
of tongue-in-cheek going on shortly after Bennett, played by Alex Jennings, has
moved into this new upscale neighborhood in the 1970’s, where the film is shot
in the actual house where he lived, initially observing her outside his window,
literally talking to himself, asking questions about who she is, or more to the
point, who does she think she is? This
tricky little device divides Bennett’s characters into twin versions of
himself, both played by Jennings, one that curiously engages with the old lady,
perhaps bringing her a cup of tea, and one that fastidiously sits in front of
his typewriter tapping out stories while avoiding her completely, where the two
continuously bicker with one another like an old married couple about what
should be done with their new neighbor.
Almost instantly she’s allowed inside access in order to use the
bathroom facilities. While she’s
homeless in every respect, unwashed, wearing the same clothes, peculiarly
disinterested in the affairs of others as she’s otherwise thoroughly consumed
with the daily business of running her own life, she turns her residence into a
garbage heap, with untold numbers of bags lying “outside” the van, where one
suspects a foul odor aggressively announces her presence wherever she
goes.
Accompanying any curiosity surrounding this new mystery
woman is a collective Greek chorus of neighbors, including Bennett regular
Frances de la Tour, and theater royalty Deborah Findlay and Roger Allam, viewed
as little more than gossipers stating the obvious, where honestly they want
nothing to do with this woman, whose mere presence causes them considerable
grief, feeling sorry for poor Alan because she’s parked directly in front of
his home. He learns, however, that the
woman’s name is Miss Mary Shepherd, that she has moved to a different spot
because of an utter aversion to hearing music coming from the nearby houses, and
that she’s not easily approachable, where her imperious nature keeps others at
bay, as she doesn’t welcome company, where the presence of others feels like an
intrusion into her own private lifestyle.
Usually muttering something under her breath that is no doubt
unflattering, she doesn’t accept gifts or helpful handouts, exclaiming, “I’m a
very busy woman,” claiming divine intervention from the Virgin Mary, where she
simply doesn’t have time for ordinary foolishness. While the opening sequence gives us unique
insight that she might be on the lam, running from an unfortunate accident
scene, where keeping a low profile is probably among her concerns, yet she
stands out in a crowd, painting her van such a bright and distinguishingly
yellow color (apparently to cover up the blood detected on the cracked
windshield) that it may as well have been applied by squeezed mustard. Out of kindness and pity, with a heavy dose of
class guilt as well, Alan offers her a spot in his driveway until she can sort
things out, where a few months extends to 15 years. Despite this generous offer, where other
neighbors are aghast at the gesture, Mary expresses little gratitude, and her
regal countenance remains undaunted throughout their lengthy affiliation, where
it’s surprising how little he actually knows of this women, as the British
don’t generally pry into other people’s affairs. Mary, on the other hand, shows the kind of
stubborn, thorny, and heroic character of tight-lipped British perseverance
expressed so nobly during the London bombing campaigns of the war, where they
were able to endure and eventually overcome unimaginable horrors. All of this seems built into who she is, a
mysterious woman with an unknown past, with Bennett painting an intimate portrait
of aging.
As the story develops Bennett learns that Miss Shepherd is
really Margaret Fairchild, a former gifted student of the esteemed French-Swiss
pianist and conductor Alfred Cortot, one of the most celebrated piano
interpreters of Chopin. Though largely
playing over the end credits, there’s a marvelous black and white
reconstruction of a concert she plays at The Proms
before the war, with Clare Hammond as the younger version of herself playing
Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1 with the Brighton Symphony Orchestra, some of
which is played here by Krystian Zimerman, Frederic Chopin - Piano
Concerto No. 1 Op. 11 ... - YouTube (10:45). We also learn that she gave up a classical
career to become a nun, which may explain her aversion to listening to
classical music, though she was viewed with some skepticism by the church,
eventually returning her back into the world where her own brother had her
committed to an asylum from which she eventually escaped, leading to the
initial accident that precipitated all these events. Parallel to her story are visits from Alan’s
own mother (Gwen Taylor), who repels him by continually smothering him with
affection, like he’s still a young boy.
He becomes fascinated by the idea that he’s actually grown closer to
this stranger in his driveway than his mother, who grows more and more
infirmed, where eventually he has to place her in a home, no longer able to
recognize him. Equally unrooted, Mary
hides her anxieties and insecurities behind her gruff exterior, always
maintaining a healthy distance from others by showing a cantankerous side. While neighbors shower her with clothes,
food, and even gifts, perhaps secretly hoping that she will move on, she makes
no attempt to thank them, but instead seems to take advantage of their
collective guilty consciences. Perhaps
due to the poignancy of her particular situation, where homelessness is not
something to laugh at, even in its playfulness, a good deal of this picture is
not exactly funny, becoming more of an examination of ourselves, questioning
what’s happened to societal empathy for those less fortunate than
ourselves. What particularly intrigues
Bennett is her classical training and education, wondering how someone could
fall so far from grace, yet maintain, even in her frail and decrepit situation,
a position of psychological dominance, as if she always has the upper
hand. Perfectly fluent in French, the
woman hides all her educational attributes, where she’s not at all what she
seems, yet despite his curiosity, Bennett is not inclined to pry her with
questions about her past. So she remains
an enigma throughout her lifetime, only learning about her by talking to her
family after she dies peacefully in her sleep inside the van one night. An interesting sideline to the film is how
Bennett showcases, often with brief cameo appearances, every single member of
the cast from THE HISTORY BOYS (2005), with the exception of the late lamented
Richard Griffiths, and even makes an appearance of his own at the end, cleverly
blending reality into a fictionalized but “mostly true story.”
No comments:
Post a Comment