A Sense of History

 

Director Mike Leigh

Jim Broadbent caricature

writer and actor Jim Broadbent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SENSE OF HISTORY – made for TV                  A                                                                   Great Britain  (26 mi)  1992  d: Mike Leigh

If anything should happen to me I DO want this film to be shown.                                           —23^rd Earl of Leete (Jim Broadbent)

Made after Life Is Sweet (1990), still very early in Mike Leigh’s career, shot the same year he made NAKED (1993), yet this rare, hilariously inventive film short feels more like an outlier, like nothing else he has ever done.  Going back to 1970, something traumatic happened when he was directing an amateur production of Brecht’s The Life of Galileo at the Bermuda Arts Festival, which Leigh described as an “atrocious experience,” vowing to never direct anything other than his own material ever again.  This project, however, conceived by longtime friend and collaborator Jim Broadbent, changed his mind, drawn from the arduously strict Leigh style of inventing and developing a character, initially shown as a Channel 4 TV comedy drama, this turns into a one-man show that unfolds as a virtual monologue.  While Broadbent is known primarily for his acting on stage and screen, he also wrote several television projects going back to the early 80’s culminating with this scathing satire on the British aristocracy, conceived at the end of the conservative Thatcher government rule when the rich got richer and the poor got poorer (Margaret Thatcher Ruined Britain), with this film delving into the psychopathic mindset of the aristocracy, where preservation of self, maintaining one’s social position, takes precedence over and above all other things, avoiding legal consequences while abiding by a set of rules that exist only for themselves.  In a completely unexpected aside, Broadbent spent a good part of his career doing hand-carved, wooden sculptural work (Jim Broadbent: Gallery) that reflects his ceaseless interest in creating characters, which are largely extensions of himself, much like the Michelle Williams character in Kelly Reichardt’s Showing Up (2022), where the artwork she creates are little pieces of herself.  Directed by Mike Leigh but written by and starring Broadbent, still in his early 40’s but playing an elderly man looking back on his life (accurately resembling his appearance 30-years later), where he looks like one of his sculptures, ragged and frail, teetering on the edge, with fuzzy, facial hair growing out of his cheek, not noticed at first, but a symbol of the grotesque, offering a window into his wretched soul.  This film was included as a bonus feature on Criterion’s TOPSY TURVY (1999) release, but can also be seen on YouTube.

Shot by longtime Leigh cinematographer Dick Pope on location at Highclere Castle in the middle of a freezing January 1992, this has a witty air of spontaneity to it, with surprising camera angles and a drop dead, brilliant script that takes a turn into the extreme, where this is simply not what anyone expects, much darker and funnier than anything else Leigh ever did, feeling more alive and refreshing, where this vile, dastardly underhanded character has such a pompous air of smug, self-satisfaction, yet the heinous acts he describes feel as ordinary to him as a cool breeze on a summer’s day.  Inventing a completely fictitious scenario, Broadbent introduces himself as the 23^rd Earl of Leete, a distinguished member of the British upper class, seen standing before his family’s immense estate, which he acknowledges he has a duty to maintain, at all costs, and to expand.  In order to tell his story for future generations, he decides to hire a professional film crew to shoot him in the style of classical BBC documentaries, recounting his personal story as he takes the viewer on an outdoor tour of his estate, never venturing inside, and tells of the progress of over 900 years of family history extending back to the 11^th century, speaking directly to the camera while striding around the grounds with a walking stick (which he amusingly uses to sit down at one point), faithfully followed by a black dog, yet it’s his tweed suit and balding head that stand out.  Though the format is easily recognizable, the content is shockingly confessional, acknowledging being beaten repeatedly by his appalling father, a brute of a man who nearly drove the family into financial ruin, yet what’s so savagely comic is the matter-of-fact tone he uses as he very precisely provides the ghoulish details of how he murdered his wife, children, and “homosexual” brother, sparing no details, claiming it was a necessity to preserve his standing in the upper class.  British filmmaker Nicholas Ahlmark has long championed this movie as “the best short film ever made.”  While that is disputable, it is nonetheless a highly original and provocative piece of Shakespearean fiction that traces the growth and enduring appeal of a class of people whose values might seem archaic, but constitute an essential part of the fabric of British society.

For all practical purposes, the Earl is an affable man who speaks in an erudite manner that reflects his position, where the words literally flow out of his mouth in perfect elocution, yet he’s a sneering, bigoted man of privilege who reeks of arrogance.  Horrifying and sad, growing progressively more audacious as it goes along, this takes us back to the Magna Carta, the first written constitution in European history, which was conceived to protect the various property rights of barons and other powerful aristocrats against royal encroachment, suggesting the king and his government were not above the law, having little to do with peasants and the working class.  The protagonist of this film speaks as if that is the only rule of law that matters, as inherited land passed down through the generations is the property right of his family, and anyone who undermines that net worth or hinders the ability to expand is viewed as suspect, where all bets are off, as the only thing that matters is maintaining his position of wealth at any cost, even if that means resorting to extreme methods to protect the family interest, sounding very much like THE GODFATHER (1972).  When we realize the extent of his homicidal behavior, it is both darkly chilling and absurdly hilarious, especially considering the casual manner in which he speaks, offering no regrets or remorse, instead what’s emphasized is that he considers himself first and foremost a member of his class, realizing at the age of seven that he is the only rightful family caretaker, as if chosen by God, and he simply did what he had to do.  While there are macabre elements of a mockumentary, Broadbent’s persona is so well crafted that he actually comes across as sympathetic, even though it’s clear he has no regard for anyone except himself, but it’s a beautifully realized work without an ounce of sentimentality that feels unmistakingly naturalistic.  To quote one of the characters at the end of Leigh’s Secrets and Lies (1996), a significant line about family relationships, “We’re all in pain!  Why can’t we share our pain?”  Firmly rooted in the intelligence and humanism of Jean Renoir, Leigh is a brilliant observer of the human condition, paying close attention to the mundane details, hoping to better understand the world around us through carefully crafted characters, where ordinary and everyday life is examined with an acute eye.  Most especially in Leigh’s films, England is presented in miniature.   

A Sense of History (1992) BluRay by Jim Broadbent & Mike ...  Mike Leigh film with Jim Broadbent on YouTube (26:26)

Life Is Sweet

LIFE IS SWEET                    B                    

Great Britain  (103 mi)  1990  d:  Mike Leigh

Cinema of discomfort by way of comedic farce, striking a wonderful balance between despair and comedy, this is Mike Leigh’s third film, mostly working in theater and television at the time, introducing his own Third Man production company which is the vehicle for all his future film releases.  Relying upon a stalwart cast, anchored by his own wife at the time, Alison Steadman as Wendy, the irrepressible matriarch of a middle-class suburban family, seen in an amusing prologue introduction, featuring that rare thing never shown in Mike Leigh films – young children.  It’s a bubbly, upbeat intro filled with a kind of colorful joie de vivre from the always sunny Wendy, encouraging young primary school kids to shake their bums and raise their arms in joyous motion, letting off a little steam, where they need a little persuasion, not easily letting themselves go.  Made at the end of the Margaret Thatcher era of British conservatism, with Leigh at the time branded as “The Scourge of the Middle Classes,” the film is anything but sunny, with people stuck in dead-end lives, not exactly miserable, just hating the way their lives turned out.  A young Jim Broadbent is Wendy’s husband Andy, a professional cook in an industrial kitchen, who takes a lot of flak at home for not carrying out a few home improvement projects, never really motivated to take the time, preferring to hang out in pubs with his exasperatingly manipulative friend Patsy (Stephen Rea), who plies him with alcohol before surprising him with supposedly cheap deals on retail items for sale, which includes a broken down mobile snack bar that he might convert to a food truck, but it needs a lot of work.  Nonetheless, his dreams of getting out from under the horrible weight of his present job inspires him to dream of something better, hoping a food truck is the way to go, but it simply sits outside his front door like a broken down boat with a hole in it forever anchored on land, never once making it out to sea.  Basically a good-natured guy, he’s too polite to admit he’s been snookered, yet every scene together with Patsy produces the same irrepressible gullibility, as he always falls for the latest swindle.  Their children are twins in their early 20’s, two girls at opposite ends of the spectrum, Natalie (Claire Skinner), bookish and clear-headed, easily mistaken for a boy, yet quite comfortable working as a plumber, saving up for a vacation trip to America, and Nicola (Jane Horrocks), an ill-tempered layabout with an acerbic tongue, contemptuously dismissive of others, quick to call people “Capitalists” or “Fascists,” fancying herself as an ardent feminist, yet her everpresent dour mood is unshakeable, completely isolating herself in self-destructive behavior, smoking excessively to suppress the appetite, but showing signs of bulimia, refusing to eat all day, then stuffing herself with sweets in the late night hours, retching into the night, while her sister in the room next door overhears all. 

A typical working family (Wendy works as a clerk in a maternity clothing store), three of them are off to work in the morning while the disgruntled Nicola shows no signs of ambition, refusing to be an exploited worker, so she does no work at all, remaining aimless and bored for the most part, yet perfectly miserable, anxiously filled with nervous twitches, hair drawn down over her face, hiding behind her glasses, sneaking in a boyfriend during the day to have sex when everyone else is out, who turns out to be David Thewlis in a thankless role, always asked to leave immediately afterwards, never sticking around for anything more.  Making a rather eccentric entrance is Timothy Spall as Aubrey, seemingly an old friend of the family, viewing himself as a Bohemian cool cat from the 50’s, yet he’s always restless and overanxious, flirting inappropriately with Nicola before making his way to the back yard.  Andy and Aubrey share something in common, both food chefs aspiring to work for themselves, but going about it very differently.  Both are hampered by the realities of life, stuck with who they are, limited and constrained, with a narrowing window of opportunity to realize their dreams.  Andy dreams of a life away from the boring routine, stupidly investing in a broken-down food truck, while Aubrey’s plan is to open a nouveau cuisine restaurant, thinking he’s a “genius” chef, that if he builds it they will come in droves.  So he opens the Regret Rien restaurant in the heart of town, asking Wendy to come waitress for him, as his regular waitress skipped off to Prague with her boyfriend, working with the ever dour sous-chef Paula (Moya Brady), who would be out of place in any environment, whose glum hangdog expression suggests a life of woe, the picture of the downtrodden, with no apparent concerns for health violations.  Opening night has a customary anticipation to it, yet the unappetizing menu that Aubrey reads sounds utterly unthinkable, as it’s completely inedible, yet Aubrey is so confident of his culinary expertise.  As Aubrey and Wendy share a glass of wine to help calm the nerves, Aubrey never stops drinking, first making the moves on the sous-chef in the kitchen, whose face never changes expression, before drinking himself into a stupor, making a complete ass of himself, screaming at the top of his lungs on the street in utter contempt for all the customers who never showed up before stripping off his clothes and expressing his lustful desires for Wendy.  While she fends him off, he goes into grotesque mode, thoroughly exaggerated, destroying all the tables, turning them upside down, creating a chaotic mess as the night turns into an unmitigated disaster, with Aubrey left passed out on the restaurant floor (mumbling the name of Nicola) while Wendy makes a hasty exit, attempting to save Paula as well, but she’s clearly fixated on earlier fictitious promises made by Aubrey, both apparent soulmates of delusion and dysfunction.

Working for the first time with cinematographer Dick Pope, who would go on to shoot all of Leigh’s subsequent films, this is the first film to reach an international audience, establishing Leigh’s realist, working class style, where the rhythms of this family’s existence are informed by a dull routine, by a repetition of trained habits, which leads to a certain stagnation, feeling stifled by the banality of it all.  Leigh resorts to comic exaggerations in how characters are depicted, yet this is a theatrical device that hides and often overshadows the humanity contained within.  While the musical score is written by Rachel Portman, it repeats with a monotonous omnipresence, growing deliriously repetitive, which may have your brain seeking an alternative refuge, but it drives in the discomfort associated with this film, which Leigh has described as his least favorite.  In contrast, Wendy always looks at the bright side, possessing an ability to turn any disaster into a positive experience.   Unashamedly cheerful, she and the perpetually disillusioned Andy make a happy couple, proud of both of their girls, even as they are routinely the targets of Nicola’s ire.  She receives her own comeuppance in the form of her boyfriend’s refusal to engage in the same sex routine, standing his ground, insisting on having a decent conversation instead, challenging Nicola to articulate her feelings and utter coherent thoughts in sentences instead of bitter critiques that sound more like slogans.  This catches her offguard, even humiliated, which he takes full advantage of, finding herself at the end of a mercilessly critical tirade, which leaves her flummoxed.  Even after the disastrous restaurant opening, Wendy comforts her daughter that she finds in tears, talking some sense into her, confronting how joyless and unhappy she has become (in stark contrast to that opening dance sequence with the kids), becoming the dramatic center of the film, as it’s done with such tender and loving care, urging her to rejoin the human race and become part of the living, none of whom have it easy, but at least they’re trying.  Somehow countering all her deeply troubled, self-loathing critiques, Wendy’s affectionate concern for others is the star of the show, becoming an emotional revelation that reverberates with heartfelt intimacy.  Embracing flaws and inadequacies as part of the human character, Wendy offers the thoughts of a mature being, someone who has lived through and survived her own share of personal crises, yet maintains a sweet optimism that includes an affirmation for life.  As it turns out, more disasters are lurking, as if part of the life cycle, yet the manner in which you address these inevitable setbacks determines one’s quality of life, where you can become paralyzed and easily give up, griping over every issue and calling it all unfair, or you can roll with the punches and give yourself another shot at experiencing joy and happiness, embracing it when it comes, knowing how fleeting it can be, where what ultimately matters is a willingness to accept the bitter with the sweet.