A reassuring quote, usually incorrectly attributed to St. Augustine, observes that “Hope has two daughters: Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.”
Far too many people, these days, have shunned that second daughter.
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| When an unlikely friendship develops between Syrian newcomer Yara (Ebla Mari) and pub owner TJ (Dave Turner), it's viewed as a betrayal by some of his longtime neighbors and customers. |
This also is the 16th film Loach has made with scripter Paul Laverty: a collaboration that began with 1996’s Carla’s Song. Their oeuvre is dominated by brutally unhappy stories that focus on struggling, working-class individuals driven to — and often beyond — their breaking point. These films are well-crafted statements of rage against real-world systems that seem deliberately designed to crush ordinary folks ... and they’re often quite painful to watch.
The Old Oak, however, is a bit different ... although, at first blush, it doesn’t seem that way.
The year is 2016, the setting a village in Northeast England: once a thriving mining community, now fallen on hard times. Shops are boarded up, and most former residents have left; many of those who remain are frustrated, depressed, bitter and — yes — angry. The town’s sole remaining gathering spot is its only pub: The Old Oak, run by TJ Ballantyne (Dave Turner).
But even TJ is barely hanging on by his fingertips. The pub’s larger “function space” has been locked for years, due to unrepaired plumbing and electrical issues; the regulars are limited to the smaller space in front of the bar. This sense of slow-motion collapse is conveyed cleverly as the film begins, when TJ — prior to opening one morning — attempts, without success, to straighten the final outdoor letter in the pub’s name.
And as far as many of the locals are concerned, things get much worse on this particular day, when a busload of Syrian refugees arrives unexpectedly. Because so many houses have remained empty for so long, they’ve been advertised at fire-sale prices by distant landlords — sometimes based in other countries (!) — who couldn’t care less how this practice destroys the value of the homes owned by the villagers who remain.
One such victim is TJ’s boyhood friend Charlie (Trevor Fox), who with his wife did all the right things: They worked hard, raised a family, bought the terraced house they initially rented, and maintained it throughout the years, believing it a secure investment that would fund a happy retirement. Now, through no fault of their own, that carefully nurtured plan has crumbled into dust.
But the refugees, until now in temporary shelters elsewhere in the UK, regard this relocation as incredible good fortune. Some villagers succumb to racist prejudice and view this situation as an invasion ... and a betrayal by Mother England. Their attitude is typified by Vic (Chris McGlade) and Gary (Jordan Louis), who are beyond enraged.
TJ, quietly trying to maintain a middle ground as peacemaker, simply sees a new batch of neighbors.
The Syrians have one staunch local advocate: Laura (Claire Rodgerson), a feisty social activist who has steadfastly fought for their community. Back in the day, particularly during the 1984 miners’ strike, she and TJ were side-by-side militants, rallying on behalf of the village ... but, during the intervening years, he has lost his way.
Indeed, TJ’s manner — even with his regulars — seems rote and removed, as if he’s merely going through the motions. He has abandoned community activities, his marriage failed, and his only son lives far away. TJ rarely seems happy, and has only one reliable friend: his little dog, Marra.
Turner plays this role impeccably; his posture, bearing and morose expressions are those of a man who has abandoned all hope for some sort of change that might resurrect his once passionate and optimistic nature.
But that may change, thanks to the twentysomething Yara (Ebla Mari), the most outspoken and confident of the new arrivals. She learned English from international volunteers who helped her family during their time in a refugee camp, and she later worked alongside teachers and medical professionals, and learned how to “read” people from all manner of backgrounds and experiences.
Yara has moved into this village with her younger siblings and their mother (Amna Al Ali, who arrived in the UK in 2008, as a Syrian refugee); their father remains in Syria, as a political prisoner.
Mari is a revelation. She makes Yara spunky, but not reckless; forthright, but always cautious. She’s ferociously loyal to her family and their fellow Syrians, and deeply grateful to the father she’s not seen in years, who recognized and nurtured her artistic side. Given her fluency with English, she’s the obvious choice as her clan’s hoped-for half of the bridge that could unite them with the villagers.
But who will be the other half? And what, if anything, might help bond the two sides?
Shortly after meeting Yara, TJ is able to remedy an injustice she endures. This makes him a champion in her eyes, and she insists that he meet her family, and join in their welcoming traditions. Indeed, the various Syrian families are charming, in manner and dress: understandably wary and shy, but nonetheless a vibrant cultural contrast to their often gruff — and sometimes hostile — English neighbors. The question is whether the newcomers’ gentle calmness will be enough to win them over.
In some ways, it’s easy to understand the resentment. The Syrians benefit from all manner of donations; when one girl excitedly beams over receiving a (used) bicycle, a trio of English lads, of similar age, enviously wish aloud that theyhad bicycles. It does seem unfair, since many of the existing villagers are dirt-poor.
Loach has a tradition of casting real people — rather than actors — in supporting roles. This adds authenticity to his work, and he has a remarkably adept eye. The highest possible compliment is that, at times, I forgot I was watching a film; it felt more like somehow eavesdropping on actual people in an actual village.
That said, Loach and Laverty overplay their hand at one point, with a heinous incident that is needlessly cruel and manipulative, and serves no purpose.
Filming took place in various villages in Northeast England’s County Durham — including Murton, Horden and Easington — and production designer Fergus Clegg often had to “mute” the existing homes, so they’d better resemble the story’s often cheerless inhabitants. The Murton establishment that became The Old Oak was a disused pub previously known as The Victoria (hence, again, the authentic look).
Viewers seeking relief from the bombast of many high-profile summer offerings are bound to love this film, along with its message. We really do need to figure out how to get along with all manner of “others.”
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