Ali & Ava

Writer/director Clio Barnard

director on the set

ALI & AVA               B+                                                                                                          Great Britain  (95 mi)  2021  ‘Scope  d: Clio Barnard

What would happen if you took melodrama as a genre and applied it to a social-realist version of Bradford that’s based on real people?  It’s an opportunity to think about what it means to be part of a community.  There’s a lot of kindness, generosity and support in Bradford and I wanted to see that writ large on the big screen.                                                                            —Writer/director Clio Barnard

An exquisitely made film that comes at you from unexpected places, becoming a film for our times, an update on the Rainer Werner Fassbinder film ALI:  FEAR EATS THE SOUL (1974), which was itself a reworking of the Douglas Sirk melodrama, All That Heaven Allows (1955), filmed only ten miles from where the writer/director grew up in Bradford, which has been the setting in three of her four feature films to date, like 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #4 The Arbor (2011) and Barnard’s equally great 2014 Top Ten List #6 The Selfish Giant, while all four of her films have been set in Yorkshire County.  In those films, what Barnard does extremely well is showcase marginalization in the town of Bradford, people living on the fringes of society, poetically expressing how ordinary lives can be extraordinary.  This may be her most accessible work, featuring an unconventional working class interracial romance from two character actors who rarely get the chance to perform in lead roles, British-Pakistani-Kenyan actor Adeel Akhtar, who has mostly been seen on television, and Claire Rushbrook, who got her start working with Mike Leigh in Secrets and Lies (1996,) also playing opposite Samantha Morton in Carine Adler’s vastly underseen UNDER THE SKIN (1997), her one and only feature, where it’s important to say these two actors perfectly embody the unique characters they inhabit.  This is a surprisingly offbeat film that dares to explore cultural differences through an unlikely middle-age romance, yet what really stands out is the abstract, impressionistic style of the director, taking pages from the Lynne Ramsay and Andrea Arnold social realist playbook, yet making it unique to her own aesthetic, creating an emotionally deep portrait of life in Bradford, West Yorkshire, inspired by two people that Barnard met while she was making earlier films, Moey Hassan, a Bradford actor (who appears briefly in the film), landlord, and DJ who worked with her on THE ARBOR, while a few years later she met Rio, a teacher’s assistant at a school in Bradford who walked out of an abusive relationship during the making of THE SELFISH GIANT, with additional support from script consultant and Bradford-based writer Kamal Kaan.

Music is the beating heart of the film, like an unseen character, described by the director as a “social realist musical,” as profoundly memorable as the personalities who embrace it, as it’s something that links these two people together, beautifully integrating their distinctly different internalized worlds.  Ali (Adeel Akhtar) is a likeable Pakistani landlord, a former DJ who is into punk and rap, exuberant music you can dance to, like the Buzzcocks, Sylan Esso, and Lunar C, while Ava (Claire Rushbrook) is a caring and exceedingly sensitive teacher’s assistant, a widowed Irish mother and grandmother who, much to his dismay, is more into country music and traditional folk ballads, like American outlaw country singer Sammi Smith and Irish singer Karan Casey.  Both Ireland and Pakistan are two countries that were part of the former British Empire, each carrying a legacy of violence and racism, yet part of the melting pot of post-industrial Bradford, which once drew migrant workers from around the world, playing an important part in the early history of the Labour Party, but now facing serious economic and social challenges.  Bradford is a culturally diverse city that has an uncomfortable history of racism, especially in the 70’s, which were marked by hateful demonstrations and attacks, also known for the Brontë sisters who were born on the outskirts.  Both coming from troubled situations and different worlds, yet living in the same town, Ali lives with his recently separated wife Runa (Ellora Torchia) in a working class immigrant neighborhood of rowhouses, while Ava lives in the predominately white housing estate of Holme Wood, leaving her door open to an extended family that frequently come to visit.  What brings them together is their mutual affection for an extremely shy 6-year old girl, Sofia (Ariana Bodorová), a child from Slovak tenants living in a building that Ali manages, who also has language difficulties at school, so hangs out on her own at the playground for the most part. 

In contrast to the rampant crime in the North of England depicted in THE RED RIDING TRILOGY (2009), or the working class dramas of Ken Loach, Barnard offers a compassionate perspective on Northern life, its people and their daily lives, as Ali is introduced in a dense fog standing on the roof of his car and violently headbanging to a high-energy rap track to let off steam, I Know (MAROT Remix) YouTube (4:28), while Ava is seen on a bus lost in thought to the quieter lyrics of Sammi Smith, Saunders Ferry Lane~Sammi Smith YouTube (3:16), each from their own different worlds.  As fate would have it, Ali and Ava are brought together outside the school in a driving rainstorm, with Ali offering Ava a ride home after dropping off Sofia, sharing a moment with the Buzzcocks on the car radio, Boredom YouTube (2:54), only to be pelted by rocks from belligerent neighborhood kids at Holme Wood, who simply have nothing better to do, Ali & Ava - Car Stoning YouTube (1:57), with Ali winning them over by upping the volume on his radio to music of local neighborhood rapper MC Innes, like the lure of the Pied Piper, turning into an instantaneous little dance party in his car.  The next time they meet, they jump around on a set of sofas in Ava’s living room and create their own little party, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #1 YouTube (1:51), yet they’re each listening to distinctly different musical tracks on headphones, creating a kind of kaleidoscopic mix of jubilation and confusion.  If you sense this is not your standard kitchen sink British miserablism that we’re used to, you’d be correct, as this is more celebratory and life affirming.  While there are certainly downbeat subjects woven into the storyline, with moments of profound sadness, loss, and grief, they are countered by more jubilant moments that simply recognize a joy in living, and what a comfort it is to be sharing it with someone you love. 

Premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes in 2021, not much was known about this overlooked film, which seems to have fallen through the cracks and been forgotten, but this is a world class director who makes emotional powerhouse films, and this is no exception, reportedly exuding a quiet presence on the set, often deferring to the actors, realizing the importance of not knowing everything and having an openness to not knowing.  The two lead performances are remarkably nuanced, very well paired together, though they are nothing alike, other than the fact both are intrinsically linked to their respective communities, knowing their neighbors while actively helping them out, like the familiarity of Ali rolling down the car window in his neighborhood to ask who died at a passing funeral, where everyone knows everyone else, both showing signs of extreme generosity, where it’s not told in a conventional manner, as moments appear out of time, giving experimental touches that simply expand the depth and complexity of the film.  What’s particularly impressive are the Ozu-like transitional cityscape shots, like fireworks against a darkened sky, a glowing moon hovering overhead, a moody atmospheric glimpse of early morning twilight, or slowed down pauses that feel like still shots, as they accentuate moments of reflection.  Undercliffe Cemetery overlooks Bradford and is a special place for Ali and Ava to meet.  Occasionally, Sofia has a tendency to climb up the monkey bars, but gets stuck, unable to climb back down without assistance, with Ava offering her reassurance and support, but reminds her that if you’re brave enough to climb up, you must be brave enough to climb back down, which may as well be a theme for the film, which continually keeps viewers off balance even through the end credits, as there is a constant stream of surprises that greatly enhances the overall viewing experience.   

One of the most distinctive voices in British cinema, Barnard’s interest in film started at the age of 14 when she watched Mick Jagger in Nicolas Roeg’s Performance (1970), an acid trip of a movie.  It was on TV late at night, and she viewed it on a black-and-white portable in her bedroom with the volume turned down.  What amazed her was its ability to mess with her head.  “Here’s this real rock star pretending to be one, whose sort-of girlfriend is also in the film in this crazy threesome.  There was something about the real and the fictional that was really fascinating.  It blew my tiny mind.”  What’s most astonishing is how this film subverts expectations in a modern interracial romance that counters the fearmongering of toxic politicians, where there's a tenderness within, finding beauty in the most volatile moments through a beautifully shot character study about two lonely misfits who find emotional comfort and support in each other despite their past traumas and having to deal with community expectations, as they are a catalyst for change in each other’s lives.  There are shocking turns of darkness that come out of nowhere, taking us through intensely personalized avenues of racial abuse and domestic violence, as each respective family quickly disassociates themselves from this new love interest, finding fault in their character when it’s really about race, growing perilously ugly and even dangerous when Ava’s grown son Callum (Shaun Thomas, one of the local kids in THE SELFISH GIANT) pulls a samurai sword on Ali, believing his recently deceased father would roll over in his grave, as he was a member of the National Front (UK).  Ava’s Irish Republican father, who was fiercely proud of his heritage, deeply despised the British and disowned her for marrying an Englishman, a man Callum still idolizes, despite his history of abuse, causing plenty of friction.  Similarly, Ali’s sister calls Ava a “gori chav,” which basically means white trash, coming from a more traditional-minded family that has been kept in the dark about his imminent separation that he’s too ashamed to acknowledge, still living together with Runa but in different bedrooms, having shared an unspeakable trauma that they simply never recovered from. 

It’s an unlikely culture-clash romance in a blue collar city, where the social realist style is beautifully mixed with a steady stream of lyrical musical passages that express what they’re feeling underneath, with Barnard adding her own experimental stylistic flourishes that elevate what we’re seeing onscreen, yet what’s apparent is that the joy of music is an act of resistance, exquisitely shot on ‘Scope by Ole Bratt Birkeland, who also shot her first film.  It’s all about the power of healing, where there’s no right or wrong way, but you know it when you feel it, where there’s actually a laying-on-the-hands sequence, ALI & AVA Clip | TIFF 2021 YouTube (37 seconds), as a shared love of music allows them to heal and transform one another through ordinary acts of kindness.  Familiar Bradford locations include the massive Waterstones bookstore, Undercliffe Cemetery, Bradford Cathedral grounds, Cow and Calf rocks on the Ilkley Moor, and the Keighley and Worth Railway, yet it’s the inner journey that stands out, expressed through British rap, Skwolla | Lunar C YouTube (4:41), American electro-pop, Sylvan Esso - Radio (Music Video) YouTube (3:34), a raw and earthy bootleg Bob Dylan recording, Mama, You Been On My Mind (Studio Outtake - 1964) YouTube (2:55), which curiously has a crossover effect on both characters, and British pub music by Ewan MacColl expressed through a drunken mother and son duo, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #2 YouTube (53 seconds).  Yet what’s most remarkable, and may be the most impactive part of the film, is the final credits sequence, a gift that keeps giving, moving from the thumping EDM music, Daniel Avery - Drone Logic (Official Video) YouTube (5:15), to a heart-rending traditional Irish ballad from Karan Casey, Grace (From Ali & Ava) YouTube (5:29), a searing version of a social justice love song that has a similar effect as the cathartic final scene from John Huston’s The Dead (1987), finding that emotional core that leaves audiences utterly transfixed, having been thoroughly transformed by the experience. 

Secrets and Lies

 

Director Mike Leigh

 

  

SECRETS AND LIES             A                                                                                             Great Britain  (142 mi)  1996  d: Mike Leigh

We choose the parents in this life that can teach us something, so that when we go into the next life, we get it right. Of course, sometimes it don’t work, does it?                                                 —Hortense Cumberbatch (Marianne Jean-Baptiste)

Easily among the best works of Mike Leigh, known for his ensemble productions with their rich characterization and raw emotional honesty, yet there’s a redemptive quality to this work, achieved using a systematic and controlled form of improvisational rehearsals as a preparatory phase enhancing the final result, where what we see onscreen is the result of a lengthy process of improvisation, yet in the end remains tautly scripted and precise, heavily influenced by strong and powerful performances.  Traditionally exploring the lower rungs of British family life, accentuating the grim, angry elements of the post WWII working class, similar to Ken Loach and Terence Davies who have done the same, each in their own way, yet Leigh’s focus has always been in search of character, an exploration of identity, unearthed only after an extensive repetition of several month’s worth of rigorous rehearsals, where the process itself brings the eventual truth to light.  Often associated with the likes of directors John Cassavetes or Robert Altman, known for incorporating large doses of improvisation and spontaneity into their works, allowing actors plenty of leeway, Leigh in extensive interviews prefers to acknowledge the influence of Yasujirō Ozu, Satyajit Ray, and Jean Renoir, identifying with their social realist expressions of humanity, hopefully sharing the same spirit with his own films, while also greatly influenced by fine art and theater, particularly playwrights Harold Pinter and Samuel Beckett, known for blending naturalism with a “heightened realism.”  In Great Britain, Leigh is often compared to fellow director Ken Loach due to their exploration of social issues and use of improvisation, often setting their films in a working class milieu, yet their politics are at odds and their films fundamentally different, with Loach rigidly and almost religiously socialist while Leigh is more in line with the Jewish tradition, having spent time in Zionist youth camps where they gather collectively in groups and work creatively, reflecting a kibbutz mentality where they tend to talk things out.  The director adds brief moments of spontaneity through the use of a photography studio, showing snippets of random shots being set up, adding an amusing variety to the mix, such as a little kid sticking his finger up his nose, a couple bickering, or trying to get a live-wire dog to sit still.  Inevitably one subject would smile while another would not, revealing the imbalance and unpredictability of the universe.  British audiences, apparently, explode with laughter when watching this film, while also giggling continuously, a social phenomenon that doesn’t travel well to other countries who simply don’t comprehend the visual references, while also relying upon subtitles that may not adequately translate the verbal humor, failing to do justice to the rather idiosyncratic British slang, removing all elements of subversive tone.  Leigh has a remarkable talent for making human failings seem viciously funny and absurd, turning misery into exhilarating family entertainment, yet there’s also a spirit of connection and society reminiscent of Jean Renoir’s RULES OF THE GAME (1939), with a rotund Timothy Spall as Maurice bearing a striking resemblance to Renoir as Octave, where everyone in this film emerges a little wiser for their troubles.  Leigh’s extensive use of rehearsal time allows actors to focus in on the tiny details of their character, accumulating bits and pieces along the way, constantly reinventing themselves, yet remaining laser focused on the continuously developing inner life, with the goal being an eruption of emotional intensity in front of the camera.  Merged within the ordinariness of the setting, this is an exploration of unremarkable lives whose unknown backstories come to the fore in dramatic fashion, where not all characters are created equal, as some only appear onscreen briefly, while others dominate the film.  In this case, that would be Brenda Blethyn, who provides a blistering, tour-de-force screen presence that rivals any in the Mike Leigh repertoire, winning Best Actress at the Cannes Film Festival, while the film itself won the Palme D’Or as Best Film, receiving twice the budget and a wider release in Great Britain than any of his earlier films, making a huge profit at the box office and still his top-grossing movie.  It’s a lengthy, drawn-out affair, with Leigh himself not knowing how it would end until they had shot three-quarters of the film, where characters are slowly established in a series of intricately drawn vignettes, speaking in half-truths and half-finished sentences, holding information back from each other, as well as the audience, just as Leigh held information back from them, all pointing to the underlying tensions that are unleashed only at the end in a Maurice Pialat combustion of dramatic furor, raising the intensity level off the charts, creating a theater of the uncomfortable, forcing viewers to agonize over what they witness, yet unable to take their eyes off the screen, as characters are finally forced to confront the painful emotional depths of the secrets and lies of their overly repressed lives. 

A variation on the GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER (1967) theme, the film centers on the issue of adoption, with Marianne Jean-Baptiste as Hortense, a well-educated, well-mannered, black middle-class optometrist working in London who was adopted as a baby deciding she would like to meet her birth mother, taking advantage of an English law passed in 1975 allowing those who were adopted legal access to records tracing the identity of their natural parents.  Coming on the heels of the death of the adoptive mother who raised her, she is seeking something missing in her life, willing to unlock doors (with the help of overworked social worker Lesley Manville, who only has time to meet on her lunch hour), not really knowing what to expect, where this process can be overwhelmingly difficult, as birth mothers may never want to see these children again (their right under the law), only adding to the devastating frustrations of their own complicated lives, which may still be on the precipice of financial and emotional ruin, having delicately avoided this subject their entire lives just to maintain a certain equilibrium.  Brenda Blethyn as the neurotic Cynthia is a bit of a mess, an unmarried working-class mother filled with a neverending supply of anxiety and self-doubt, living in a rundown tenement flat working ten-hour shifts at a cardboard box factory, while her resentful 20-year old daughter Roxanne (Claire Rushbrook) works for the city as a street sweeper and loathes every minute spent with her, both chain-smokers who hate their jobs, yet understand the inevitable consequences of doing without, so they trudge through what they must, not really finding any happiness or satisfaction in the tedium of their lives, as it’s a constant struggle.  Continually at odds, literally breathing down each other’s necks in their suffocating, claustrophobic environment, they spend their time bickering over just about everything, with Roxanne refusing to tell her anything about her new boyfriend, Paul (Lee Ross), never really sharing or trusting one another, seeing each other as adversaries.  Timothy Spall (performing with leukemia, not known at the time, hospitalized after the filming) is Maurice, living a comfortable life out in the suburbs, the younger brother of Cynthia who for all practical purposes raised her little brother after the early death of her own mother, providing him her family inheritance as the down payment to establish his own photography studio that is doing quite well, where we see his easy rapport with his customers, prodding them into feeling at ease, having mixed success.  His own wife Monica (Phyllis Logan) is as coolly detached as they come, probably frigid (yet we learn at the end she’s tragically barren, unable to have children, a woman’s worst nightmare), avoiding Maurice like he’s the plague, exhibiting no intimacy, spending all of her time decorating their new six-room house, her child substitute, hiding their misery behind expensive furnishings, obsessively grooming their home while turning it into a perfectly sterile environment.  The gloom of her character, however, nearly derails the film, but she holds her own in the end.  Adding to the spontaneous effect of the performances, Leigh only told each actor what they needed to know about their own character, never revealing the overall storyline, so as the film progresses they learn what viewers learn for the very first time.  Blethyn, for instance, knew she was a mother who gave away a baby at an early age, but had no idea that Marianne Jean-Baptiste would be black, thinking it all must have been some mistake, that it wasn’t conceivably possible.  Yet when Hortense comes armed with official documents and signatures, including the address of the mother, which is where she still lives today, she has to reconsider, yet never reveals the circumstances of who the father may be, though the double-take she does apparently recalling a long-suppressed memory is a priceless moment, obviously still too embarrassed by whatever transpired.  Veering from a searing vérité realism to surreal photogenic montages (a cavalcade of stars from previous Leigh films) to utterly contrived melodrama, with occasional moments fueled by disappointment and pure nihilistic despair (more in line with the director’s own darker preoccupations), like Roxanne’s utter disgust with herself and everyone else around her, or misanthrope Ron Cook, the original owner of the photography shop, who comes back to pay a catastrophic visit that feels more like an extortion fleecing or a paranormal haunting, leaving all in his wake feeling utterly terrorized, yet Maurice stands up to him, a side of him we don’t otherwise see.  It’s interesting that the working-class white world is constantly in a state of emotional flux, while the noticeably idealized black middle-class stability of Hortense (perfect in every way) is a striking contrast, stoically able to handle adversity, revealing a remarkable grace under tremendous pressure, while Blethyn is a literal water works of tears and emotional combustion, always one step from the edge, caught up in the confusion of her circumstances, never able to lift herself out of the emotional stranglehold she finds herself in, feeling unloved, unappreciated, and something of an utter failure as a mother, with her daughter following in her footsteps.           

In preparation for their roles, Blethyn actually worked ten-hour days at a box factory, Marianne Jean-Baptiste attended optometry classes for three months, and Timothy Spall learned the photography trade, working side-by-side with a professional photographer.  This is unusual for any film, but feels particularly compelling in this case, as the film exudes a sense of naturalism, sustained throughout the entire length of the film, yet two revelatory scenes in particular stand out.  The initial meet of Hortense and Cynthia in an empty café is a thing of beauty (both nominated for an Oscar), a long uninterrupted take of about eight minutes by cinematographer Dick Pope, who has worked with Leigh since Life Is Sweet (1990), using an Ozu-like static camera, offering a documentary-style observation, finding them sitting side by side, with the camera capturing every grimace and sideways glance, allowing no distractions, with Cynthia thoroughly embarrassed and utterly devastated by the news, never having looked at the baby, moving from pure disbelief to recognizing her role and responsibility in what appears to be a complete shock, yet ultimately sensing the truth of the matter, no matter how hard she continues to disbelieve.  Her colloquial manner of speech, calling everyone “sweetheart,” is a grating habit that also has an endearing quality, identifying her working-class roots, offering a sense of intimacy while also maintaining a healthy distance.  The unembellished power of this sequence is riveting, a moment of rare emotional intensity, jolting the viewer into the seriousness of what we’re witnessing, thoroughly capturing the awkwardness of the moment and all the exasperation that goes with it, creating an explosion of untapped emotions, viewed entirely differently from each person’s perspective.  With only the faintest hint that they’ll ever contact one another again, Cynthia eventually grows fond of Hortense, the family success story she never had, actually embracing her as if she was one of her own, yet keeping it all a secret from the rest of her family.  Emboldened by this budding relationship, Cynthia invites Hortense to a family birthday celebration, once more using a static camera with people moving in and out of the frame as they celebrate Roxanne’s 21st birthday with a backyard barbeque, Secrets and Lies (1996) - The barbecue scene YouTube (5:02), the calm before the storm, with Hortense initially identifying herself as a friend from work so as not to cause discomfort or raise suspicions, yet her anonymity is put to the test, unraveling in a series of carefully invented lies, until eventually Cynthia drops a bombshell, revealing Hortense is actually her daughter and Roxanne’s older sister, just blurting it out in a stunning revelation that reverberates throughout the family, sending Roxanne flying out the door in a rage, just part of a steamroll effect of paralyzing emotional devastation.  Maurice, however, convinces her to return, allowing each one to face up to their own role in this family debacle, facing the truth for perhaps the first time in their lives, making an attempt to repair the irreparable, perhaps with Bergman’s jaw-droppingly original Persona (1966) in mind, where lives must literally be reconstructed onscreen.  Not for the faint of heart, it’s a surprising turn of events, artfully shot in a vérité style, a collaborative process allowing the actors to shine, ignoring the obvious race factor, which is never dwelled upon, instead accentuating the blind spots and class differences, where Hortense actually has more in common with Maurice, both financially secure and highly observant, each curiously using their own eyes, not just professionally, yet as windows to the soul, allowing them to see something in others that Cynthia and Roxanne may be too preoccupied to see, doomed by continuously having to live in such desperate straits, overwhelmed by work and a crushingly oppressive economic circumstance.  Despite the occasionally jarring, overly somber string quartet-style musical score from Andrew Dickson, and the apparent ease for a black stranger to be accepted into a white family, this film packs a punch, asking questions about who we are and where we come from, evolving into who we can become with the help of others, not nearly as grim as it seems, revealing an extraordinary generosity of spirit, offering substantial complexity and insight into the plight of each one of the characters, yet the remarkably stirring and unfiltered performance by Blethyn embodies vulnerability and sympathy, creating an avenue of hope that might take some by surprise, as this is ultimately an optimistic picture, despite taking a sharp detour into the decrepit corners of lifelong rationalization and guilt, a kind of ingrained self-deception that can punish people to no end, literally consuming their lives with unsparing torment, clouding their road to a brighter future.  An anti-Thatcherite in the 80’s, Leigh’s films railed against the conservative politics of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher who said there’s no such thing as society, only individuals rising or falling by their own bootstraps ("There is no such thing as society" (Thatcher) - Brian Deer).  After living with nearly twenty years of bitter social and economic divisiveness in Great Britain, Leigh’s film offers a more conciliatory tone, one that increasingly senses the importance of the collective status quo, a fragile coalition, to be sure, but part of the modern moral imperative.  After many years of resentment and family estrangement, this family mirrors that same sense of connectedness, where valuing one another is the first step in recognizing our collective worth, in effect suggesting “We are all people,” becoming something of a redemption story.