Screenshot from Vera Drake

by Richard Oxman

“They’ll all know you were here when you’re gone.” — prophetic line from Nick’s “Fruit Tree”

“The songs may be sad but they’re never self-indulgent because Drake’s deep, smooth vocal never betrays anger, remorse, irony or anything that stamps his own personality on the recordings. He remains aloof throughout, precisely articulating the words, yet somehow detached from their meaning…. Drake was never showbiz… leaving just the music and the message.” — Steve Taylor words on Nick, nicking notches of Mike Leigh thoughts vis-a-vis his artistry.

“The works of writers of genius… give us, in the guise of fiction, something equivalent to the actual density of the real, that density which life offers us everyday but which we are unable to grasp…. ” — Simone Weil

“Each day a few more lies eat into the seed with which we are born, little institutionalized lies from the print of newspapers, the shock waves of television and the sentimental cheats of the movie screen. Little lies, but they pipe us toward insanity as they starve our sense of the real.” — Norman Mailer (quoted by Garry Watson, in his indispensible The Cinema of Mike Leigh: A Sense of the Real)

One of the stupidest film commentaries I’ve come across in decades has to be in Entertainment Weekly’s February 25th’s Oscar Odds section, wherein the following statement is made about the chances respecting one Original Screenplay nominee: “Writer-director Mike Leigh is famous for improvisation, so how much can he claim credit for writing Vera Drake?”

Kind of reminds me of all that “When does life begin?” angst, which circulates in Right to Life-related circles. Touched upon, of course, in Mike Leigh’s Vera Drake.

But only touched upon. For VD is not an abortion (or anti-abortion) movie, critical categorizing notwithstanding. It was very fashionable, leading up to the 2005 Academy Awards, to set Spain’s so-called euthanasia drama, The Sea Inside, aside… with Million Dollar Baby,as issue films. To simplify matters, I’ll focus only on Leigh’s legacy here: It’s not one.

But it is –for those politically involved and all quietists and nihilists, everyone– one in a million. It is rare as flawless chrysolite. A perfect candidate… to be ignored. Like a poem by Emily Dickinson:

“There’s a certain Slant of light,
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes–

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us–
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are–

None may teach it–Any–
‘Tis the Seal Despair–
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air–

When it comes, the Landscape listens–
Shadows–hold their breath
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death–

But let’s put the praise aside, and start out with that opening abortion of a comment. When does a script begin? End? What is a script? Certainly, only the most myopic of film critics can suggest that when certain dialogue or visuals appear in a given end product… it matters exactly when they were penned or put together. [1] It matters not, of course. And anyone who fusses over such a sophomoric wasteland, tries to suffer us with such anal intercourse… deserves to rot in Hell.

In this case, because the cinematic product is so exquisite, to contribute to turning anyone away from a screening is unforgiveable. And the beginning of an argument on behalf of capital punishment.

No, not an issue picture. But a movie that will move viewers to reconsider their academic outlook/programmed responses regarding the crime-on-the-books. As a by-product of dealing with much larger issues facing humanity, ongoing complexities associated with simply being human.

It’s one of the hardest things in the world to do as a writer, this reviewing of a movie that one doesn’t want to detract from… for those who haven’t had the VD experience yet. It’s a disease among critics, not batting an eyelash as they give away the goods like a tasteless trailer.

To prove that decrepit Amerika is debauched beyond repair, one doesn’t have to go beyond the fact that VD did not even get nominated for Best Picture this year. I say that knowing full-well what Hollywood’s track record is. That Imelda and Mike should have won in their Best Actress and Best Director categories respectively is beyond question.

One of the reasons that the flick fared so poorly with the voting is because it had only pulled in about $5 million buckaroos by late February. Indie films can get their stars into winning slots (like with Charlize Theron, Hollow Berry and Stanky Swanky), but not unless a given film can boast better box office.

The situation is very sad, not the least because Mike Leigh has said: “I have no wish to be seen only by a few people in art houses. I want my work to be popular, mainstream, and enjoyed by the greatest possible audience. I try for that all the time.” [2]

Getting cut off on the road by SUVs on cellphones, jobs being outsourced to hell, violence becoming more routine, abominations abroad, etc. None of these presents a greater argument for leaving Amerika behind than the mindless rejection of quality cinematic fare. And within that realm, VD is rare.

It is a cinematic analogue to Emily’s poem above.

If you noticed the comma which follows “Meanings” in the Dickinson work, you’re a good candidate for being able to appreciate the nuances in Drake. Unlike the Great Unwashed, Unread, Undead Educated of Amerika, you’re awake. For God’s sake, pass the word.

There are silences in Leigh’s film that have a counterpart in the slant of light that the poet speaks of, troubles herself over… over and over again. Silences which other creators would have replaced with clever comments or anguished cries. Silences which possess captions manifested in an eyebrow lifted, or process pain in a part of the face normally not expressive. An absence of dialogue and music… when something seemingly inconsequential… like a judge departing a scene… is drawn out a bit longer than you might expect… helping us to reflect on his decision. With no distractions. Underscored again by a pointed focus on court reporters, quietly doing their jobs.

But never ever any hitting over the head. Going over the top.

He’s the tops, he’s the Mona Lisa, as they say. Mike Leigh gives us people who are so real that we cannot get into his film unless we do care about people. Not unless they are the fountain from the which our current runs… or else dries up. He is to, say, Clint Eastwood what 2001 was to Close Encounters. You might as well say… he’s from another planet.

Yet cares more about what happens here than all of the very direct socially conscious filmmakers exhuausting themselves and us with political correctness. Or with pointed well-made documentaries, for that matter. [3a]

In the latter case, a case can certainly be made for the need for such work. Respecting both the former and the latter, however, I can tell you with certainty that zero will be advanced without citizens being able to embrace the fare feted by Leigh. To appreciate it, to talk about it… to let it change you.

Howie Movshovitz, in an interview with Mike, elicited the following: “A great deal can be conveyed to an audience about the way the world might be, by showing the way the world is.” You and I can benefit directly from the fact that Leigh discloses the grounded experiences we all share, forces the careful viewer to pay attention to the fundamentals that make up our existence. And although, as Garry Watson puts it, “the larger film-going public has always tended to prefer spectacle to the reflection of ordinary life..,” we can relate the revelations placed in our laps to those weaned on melodrama and such. It’s all there to share. [3b]

Before seeing VD, it’s advisable to slow down. To –very consciously– eviscerate your life’s pace, which cannot be separated easily from all that’s around… without very special grounding. For the tempo is not just different… as per what is often typical with foreign films. It’s like the molasses of time with which Beckett conceived Waiting for Godot. Mired in the musical beat that comes from heartbeats dancing with trauma.
Not staged trauma. But internal trauma… where the scars are.

“Life is but a memory
Happened long ago.
Theatre full of sadness
For a long forgotten show.
Seems so easy
Just to let it go on by
Till you stop and wonder
Why you never wondered why.”

So says Nick in “Fruit Tree.” For me, the wondering why was in high gear throughout VD.

With John Cale on viola and harsichord and Dave Pegg on bass, Nick mouths:

“Please give me a second grace
Please give me a second face
I’ve fallen far down
The first time around
Now I just sit on the ground in your way”

at the beginning of his “Fly.”

Nick Drake, I can tell you, did not mean to overdose when his life ended at Tanworth-in-Arden in the mid-seventies. He was happy and honored to be writing for other people whilst continuing his own personal appearances, gifts… if there ever were any given to anyone. That, in spite of being in the midst of creating some of the bleakest bits ever penned. [4]

But he needed that “second chance”… like we all do. Like Vera Drake. Like what we have an opportunity to extend to others… daily.

I’m reminded of some of Simone Weil’s reflections on affliction:

“There is not real affliction unless the event that has gripped and uprooted a life attacks it, directly or indirectly in all of its parts, social, psychological and physical. The social factor is essential. There is not really affliction where there is not social degradation or the fear of it in some form or another.” [5]

There’s much affliction in Vera Drake. And it will help to make us be there for other people, I think, when such occurs… if we have had the experience of Mike Leigh’s masterpiece. [6]

Don’t listen to the signs in the park. Feed the good ducks. There are too many quacks out there in music, film… and way beyond the Pond of Mediocrity.

Please note, the sweet ones are very hungry.

Footnotes:

[1] Creative Screenwriting (November/December 2004 - Vol. 11, No. 6) provides a very interesting take by Leigh on his technique: “Leigh’s story-birthing process grows out of his intensive, improvised six-month rehearsal period. Asked if he has a raw story together at this point in the process, ‘yes, yes there is,’ he says. ‘There are all the elements from which to make a story, but the film doesn’t exist in its coherent form until we cut it. But there’s never been any dialogue or formal script in the conventional sense. The whole thing comes out of improvisation. The reason I’m very reluctant to talk about these things is they immediately get misunderstood because of the prevailing conventions elsewhere. The minute you start talking about actors improvising, it sounds like actors randomly and arbitrarily saying whatever comes into their heads, or it sounds like a committee of writers. But the truth is I do very, very extensive and intensive individual character work with every single actor in the film, including the ones playing very small parts, so by the time they come to improvise they’re not ad-libbing interesting dialogue or just being themselves and letting it all hang out like you see in other kinds of so-called improvised films. They’re actually, in a disciplined way, being in character and responding to situations as the character would respond. But that only gives us raw material, and really what I do as a writer/director is to take that raw material and convert it through rehearsal into dramatic and meaningful material.’” See pp. 30-31. It’s fascinating… that actors who sign on to work with Leigh don’t know what’s going to happen in the story. And, so, much of what becomes the script comes out of spontaneous character surprise generated by unexpected encounters and twists of plot. Without giving anything significant away, I can say that you’d be hard put to point out other examples in all of film history, whereby the intensity of responses, the depth –both heavy and light– equal to that of what one witnesses in the climactic “Busted!” sequence of VD… and in sequences which follow it. You’ll know some of what I’m talking about (at least) on your own, for sure… and, as always, I’ll be here to go back and forth with you on particulars, if you like, once you’ve seen the film.

[2] Michael Coveney, The World According to Mike Leigh (London: Harper Collins, 1997), p. 110.

[3a] Regarding Leigh’s ongoing angle of vision, please note the spot-on-target words of Watson: “… there are certainly important continuities in Leigh’s oeuvre that need to be brought out…. The first is an interest in psychoanalysis, which seems appropriate as the kind of ‘real’ Leigh pursues… explores… frequently traumatic; the second is… the orbit of leftist critical theory… Leigh… himself… a socialist.” See Garry Watson, The Cinema of Mike Leigh: A Sense of the Real (New York: Wallflower Press, 2004) p. x.

[3b] The italics given for the Movshovitz interview are Prof. Garry Watson’s, and I took Leigh’s comment and all else from p. 23 of the University of Alberta professor’s book on the director.

[4] From Leigh’s (’71) Bleak Moments to Naked to Secrets and Lies to Topsy Turvy to All or Nothing (and so much more) readers have an incredible range of accomplishments to choose from, including heightened comedy, classy tour de forces and disturbing conditions/violence. Familial angles are present more often than not, couched in highly relevant orchestration. The comment on Nick’s bleakness made me think of all this.

[5] Simone Weil, “Human Personality,” in George A. Panichas (ed.), The Simone Weil Reader (New York: David McKay, 1977), p. 332. All the Weil references were inspired by Watson, by the way.

[6] The last thing I’d ever want to do is to suggest that one needs a utilitarian reason to see a film; the pure aesthetics of Leigh’s work is reason enough to spring for a ticket. Garry Watson, however, has a section in his book titled, “Eric Santner on Too-Muchness: The Psychotheology of Everyday Life,” in which he gleans great lessons from Santner’s On the Psychotheology of Everyday Life: Reflections on Freud and Rosenzweig. Dwell on the following, if you will:

“Everyday life includes possibilities of withdrawing from, defending against, its own aliveness to the world, possibilities of, as it were, not really being there, of dying to the Other’s presence.”

As Watson concludes (at the very end of Chapter Two, with promises –which he fulfills later– of much more), “Leigh’s films are… concerned to make us aware of our defensive tendency to remove and defend ourselves from the midst of life…. ” He does pressure us to self-transform toward goodness.

AND…

The author is having additional thoughts* dueleft@yahoo.com. Always, it seems.

*Additional thoughts: I couldn’t help but wonder what brought about The Offences Against The Person Act of 1861 in England. Much is made about the law in VD, and it piqued my curiosity… what might have transpired on the streets of London to inspire the establishment of such legislation, with its distinctions from its predecessor, TOATPAct of 1837.

In Vera Drake, it is most fascinating to observe what is NOT observable throughout. Anyone care to let the author know what you didn’t see… which one would expect to be obligatory?