First, a confession: I don't enjoy watching Mike Leigh films. For me, they're a bit of an ordeal, rather than a pleasant night out. 'Another Year' was no exception; but it certainly made me think...
Imagine you're looking at a picture, one in which there's a wealth of painstakingly drawn detail. For the sake of argument, let's call it 'The gulf between tolerance and understanding': A family is gathered around a table in a large suburban kitchen. They're clearly happy and comfortable, all are laughing and chatting together; a man and woman, nearing retirement, and a younger couple, holding hands lovingly. From the clothes they wear and the surroundings, you'd struggle to place the date; it could be any time in the last forty years.
In their midst are two others. A man, gaunt and unkempt, his grey moustache and fingers tinged yellow with tobacco; and a middle-aged woman, one hand clasped around an empty wine glass, as she fumbles for a nearby bottle with the other. Both stare from the picture, unsmiling and trance-like; clearly apart from the family scene playing out around them.
What thoughts and emotions would the artist of the picture be trying to convey? Well, work that out and you may be on your way to understanding this film, of which this is the closing shot.
The film begins in a similar vein, with a woman that hasn't slept properly for a year, her look also vacant and haunted. She doesn't drink, has seemingly no means of escape from what's troubling her; and can't remember when she was last happy. A doctor asks her questions, trying to find out why she can't sleep and the story begins. It's a scene that needs to be watched very carefully; without it, the point of the film may be lost.
Another Year closer to the grave? Or ' what have we done? Another Year over ' (Lennon) My feelings are that the latter is pretty close: the central characters have grown comfortably numb in their middle class lives, pottering in their vegetable patch and commuting to work. They both seem blissfully in control, self-sufficient, free from stress and unhappiness; or perhaps they've always managed to skilfully avoid it? During the course of the film, though, we also see the sad lives of others: their friends, family and associates, people who could do with their advice and involvement. Is it given? I refer you back to the picture. You guess.
As the closing credits roll, perhaps we should all know what's keeping the woman awake?
Imagine you're looking at a picture, one in which there's a wealth of painstakingly drawn detail. For the sake of argument, let's call it 'The gulf between tolerance and understanding': A family is gathered around a table in a large suburban kitchen. They're clearly happy and comfortable, all are laughing and chatting together; a man and woman, nearing retirement, and a younger couple, holding hands lovingly. From the clothes they wear and the surroundings, you'd struggle to place the date; it could be any time in the last forty years.
In their midst are two others. A man, gaunt and unkempt, his grey moustache and fingers tinged yellow with tobacco; and a middle-aged woman, one hand clasped around an empty wine glass, as she fumbles for a nearby bottle with the other. Both stare from the picture, unsmiling and trance-like; clearly apart from the family scene playing out around them.
What thoughts and emotions would the artist of the picture be trying to convey? Well, work that out and you may be on your way to understanding this film, of which this is the closing shot.
The film begins in a similar vein, with a woman that hasn't slept properly for a year, her look also vacant and haunted. She doesn't drink, has seemingly no means of escape from what's troubling her; and can't remember when she was last happy. A doctor asks her questions, trying to find out why she can't sleep and the story begins. It's a scene that needs to be watched very carefully; without it, the point of the film may be lost.
Another Year closer to the grave? Or ' what have we done? Another Year over ' (Lennon) My feelings are that the latter is pretty close: the central characters have grown comfortably numb in their middle class lives, pottering in their vegetable patch and commuting to work. They both seem blissfully in control, self-sufficient, free from stress and unhappiness; or perhaps they've always managed to skilfully avoid it? During the course of the film, though, we also see the sad lives of others: their friends, family and associates, people who could do with their advice and involvement. Is it given? I refer you back to the picture. You guess.
As the closing credits roll, perhaps we should all know what's keeping the woman awake?