The History Boys

THE HISTORY BOYS          A-                  

Great Britain  (104 mi)  2005  d:  Nicholas Hytner 

At a time when educational “values” seem lost in a politicized morass, when cultural debates have been reduced to either televised sound bites or talk radio where one side out shouts the other, when it all seems like such an obnoxious way to express oneself, along comes this delightfully insightful film about high school students that is filled with humor, intelligence and wit, that gets to the heart of the characters with their precise choice of words.  School funding has been steadily reduced, forcing cuts in programs such as the arts, which is really altering the cultural landscape of the country.  Everyone knows who sells $200 basketball shoes on TV, but are only vaguely familiar with any except the top-tiered writers.  To ask about painters or composers is simply unthinkable, as if these are age old arts, the kinds of things people studied before the invention of television.  How boring.  Then along comes this eminently appealing play captured on film using the same director and lead parts that scored London and Broadway stage success winning six Tonys, adapted by its author Alan Bennett for the screen, altering to some degree the play’s original emphasis. 

Using the classroom as the stage, we peek into the lives of some of the brightest kids in the working class town of Yorkshire, specifically 8 kids who scored so well on their college entrance exams that they actually have a good chance of getting into Oxford or Cambridge, the icons of British class and intelligence, and are taking an extra term just to prepare them for that possibility.  Not since Michael Winterbottom’s insightful 1996 film JUDE, an adaptation of the late 19th century Thomas Hardy novel Jude the Obscure, have the complexities of British thought, class, and education been explored with such relish and detail.  This film is a huge delight in large part driven by the same elements that made the play such a success—smart, witty, eloquent and precise language as well as the emotional development of character, featuring likeable kids who are undeniably appealing because of their outspoken honesty, especially their ability to express themselves so clearly, and their wonderful support of one another.  No shrinking violets among them, they’re each constantly aware of everything that happens around them, including each other’s business, spending hours of preparation each night, coming to class alertly aware of what’s expected of them, and in class they perform magnificently, offering lucid, well thought-out opinions, reciting literary passages, performing improvised dramatic skits in a foreign language, singing show tunes, including brief excerpts from movies or plays where their teacher has to guess the original source, like playing Stump the Band. 

The teachers are just as outstanding, featuring the jocular yet rotund Richard Griffiths as Mr. Hector, a brilliantly inspirational sixtyish renaissance man who exudes the very soul of knowledge, who plies the curiosity of youth with neverending quotes from poets of all ages, always finding the right turn of phrase to capture any given moment, and in one scene when he’s alone with just one student dissecting a passage from Thomas Hardy, the density of thought in that brief span of time borders on the sublime.  Frances de la Tour is a rock of Gibraltar, her demeanor never changing, offering her expertise on her subject of history, becoming brilliant at one point when suggesting a woman might be present at their college interviews, going on an eloquent description of history as a commentary on the “continuing incapabilities of men.”  The school headmaster (Clive Merrison) on the other hand, is a severely repressed, awards-driven administrator who thinks only of the image of his school, thinking the students themselves are too crass, but need special tutoring from a recent Oxford alum, someone who can shortcut their path to the promised ground.  Stephen Campbell Moore plays young Mr. Irwin, a brilliant student himself who distinguishes his argument by choosing the road not taken, believing no one disputes the truth, which is irrelevant, that all applicants agree on the same facts, so they need to learn how to play the devil’s advocate, take the position no one else would dare make, and in doing so, stand out in a crowd.  In the classroom, the young and the old are pitted against one another, leaving the students somewhat befuddled when it’s clear their methods are starkly at odds with each other. 

There’s a brisk pace to the film, wonderfully expressed with the musical selection of the Cure or The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” as the kids are checking out books from the library, moments that might otherwise be sluggish or forgettable.  A continuing thread throughout the film are gay themes, with Mr. Hector being more open about it than the closeted Mr. Irwin, but also in the portrait of one of the students, Posner (Samuel Barnett), who can’t take his eyes off one of the other students, Dakin (Dominic Cooper), who is something of a hunk, the only student who regularly flaunts his sexual prowess.  One of the best scenes in the entire film is Posner’s heartfelt rendition of the song “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” Bewitched Samuel Barnett -The History BoysOST YouTube (3:12), emphasizing the male attraction in the lyrics, (“l sing to him, each spring to him, and worship the trousers that cling to him”), directing every line towards Dakin.  There’s also a beautiful epilogue segment, cast in a differering hue, portrayed with a kind of afterlife omniscience, as the kids sit around and reveal what careers they chose in their lives.  It’s an especially poignant scene that works only because of the steady build up of shared moments with each student, who are now intimately familiar to us.     

The Lady In the Van

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.”