Carey Mulligan

London Film Festival

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I do enjoy a good gala. The red carpet, the frocks, the people who dress up to the nines in the hopes that someone will take their picture…it’s all delightful. And the films aren’t bad either. I’ve seen five films at the LFF this year, and it has been a particularly woman-friendly year.

Suffragette This unabashedly feminist film stars Carey Mulligan as a working class woman who gradually gains political consciousness and seeks suffrage. She does excellent work, as do Ben Whishaw as her husband and Anne-Marie Duff as a fellow washerwoman and activist. Meryl Streep has a cameo role (seriously, it’s shorter than Judi Dench’s screen time in Shakespeare in Love) as Emmeline Pankhurst, and Romola Garai is a middle class woman who helps to fund the movement. It’s an important film, and a well-made and well acted one. There’s nothing particularly surprising if you know anything about the history of the suffragette movement and the film is more competent than extraordinary, but I hope that it is a success and that young women (who are among the least likely to vote) will exercise the right that their great-great-grandmothers suffered and died to gain.

He Named Me Malala I have long been an admirer of Malala Yousafzai, the young activist who was shot by the Taliban for being an advocate for girls’ education and who has recovered and made her life in Birmingham (because she hadn’t suffered enough before) (wee joke). This documentary is effective and uses beautiful illustrations to tell stories of life in the Swat Valley, where the Yousafzai family lived before being forced to leave. But the most effective scenes are those where the Yousafzai family reveal themselves as a charming family, and Malala a normal teenage girl with crushes on Shane Watson, Shahid Afridi and Roger Federer. Albeit a normal teenage girl who (spoiler alert) wins the Nobel Peace Prize.

Room I read Emma Donoghue’s 2010 book on which this film was based, and could never have imagined how they would make a half-decent film about it. This is the story of 5-year old Jack and his Ma, who live together in Room. They are kept there by Old Nick, who kidnapped Ma seven years before and has kept them confined (as with Josef Fritzl and Ariel Castro) ever since. The book was told entirely from Jack’s perspective, a difficult feat that Donoghue somehow managed to pull off. The film achieves similar miracles, which is partly down to the filmmaking and mostly down to astonishing performances from Jacob Tremblay as Jack and, especially, Brie Larson as Ma. Larson is absolutely extraordinary, making her love for Jack, her despair at the situation and her frantic desire to escape crystal clear. I have no idea how a 26-year old pulled off that performance. This is a film that really does not benefit from spoilers, so I will not say too much about what happens next. But there is wonderful work from Joan Allen as Ma’s mother and William H. Macy from her father as well. One scene where Ma says to her own mother, words to the effect of, “If you hadn’t taught me to be so nice, this wouldn’t have happened to me,” hit me like a punch in the gut. We do teach our daughters to be too nice. We need to encourage them to fight back. An extraordinary film, one of the best I have seen in this or any other year. I hope it, and Larson’s performance, get the recognition they deserve.

Brooklyn After Room, just about anything would have seemed trite. But Brooklyn was a charming palate cleanser. I read and enjoyed the book, but I maintain that had it been written by a woman instead of Colm Toibin, it would have been relegated to the “chick lit” section of the bookstore, instead of being feted as literature. (See also Jonathan Franzen). Saoirse Ronan is Eilis Lacey, a young Irish woman who is given a chance to emigrate to New York in the 1950s. Homesick at first, she grows to love the city and a young Italian-American man named Tony (Emory Cohen). But when she is forced to return to Ireland, she must decide whether to stay and move forward with local boy Jim (Domnhall Gleason) or return to Brooklyn. I very much enjoyed the exploration of how one’s notion of “home” can grow, and change, and perhaps be expanded rather than limited. It was beautifully shot and had excellent performances throughout. But it felt lightweight. A diversion.

Carol Well, I suppose I should have known what I was getting into with a Todd Haynes film. However, I enjoyed Far From Heaven enormously and the cast list for Carol was very intriguing. Cate Blanchett is Carol, a wealthy woman in 1950s New York with a husband (an excellent Kyle Chandler) and a young daughter. She’s also bored to tears, at least until she meets Therese (Rooney Mara) in the doll department of a department store (groan). From there, it’s all wide eyes and close-ups of exquisite cheekbones until they (finally, after many too many longing looks) get it on. But I could have done with rather less longing and rather more passion (and I don’t mean more sex scenes). It was a very idealised view of a lesbian relationship, and it seemed to me to come from the perspective of someone who really wasn’t interested in showing them wanting to be with each other in a sexual way. It also must be said that Mara, while beautiful, and thin, and possessed of lovely cheekbones, has rather a blank face. Blanchett, of the thousand facial expressions, did her best, but even she couldn’t create chemistry out of thin air. Frankly, I would have been much more interested in watching a film about the relationship between Carol and her (presumably) ex-lover and present friend Abby, gloriously played by Sarah Paulson. Watchable, but missable.

Catch-up Post: Plays Part 2

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A View From the Bridge (Young Vic): A tour de force from Mark Strong. His film career means that he is sometimes overlooked as a stage actor, which is an enormous shame. His presence radiated through the audience like an electric shock and the set design was innovative and extremely effective.

The Audience (WE): Kristin Scott Thomas this time. Someone described this play as “critic-proof,” and that is accurate, as it is not a play so much as a celebration of longevity. KST was suitably imperious, but lacked the humanity that Helen Mirren brought to the role.

Bad Jews (St James): A side-splittingly funny exploration of family, faith and sheer pettiness. I hated and loved all the characters in just about equal measure. I laughed like a drain for an hour and a half and saw it again at the Arts. A tonic.

The Twits (Royal Court): Roald Dahl wrote the original story. All of the actors involved were very talented and, I’m sure, did their best. And yet it was unremittingly awful. Incredibly dull. The best bit was watching children react to David Walliams’s presence among them (he was in the audience).

The Hard Problem (NT): The celebrated return of Sir Tom Stoppard. A rising star in Olivia Vinall. I wondered how it could have been written by the same person who wrote Arcadia, as the subtlety with which he explored science and the human condition in that play was all gone. This exploration of a woman scientist’s faith and career was about as subtle as a brick and very simplistic (and, if one were being uncharitable, sexist). A big disappointment.

Golem (Young Vic): As a frequent theatre-goer, it is rare that a production surprises and delights. This exploration of urban life, capitalism and romance addressed these important subjects in a fascinating manner with a light touch. Beautiful projections made this very unusual production a treat for the eye and the mind.

Antigone (Barbican): I need Greek tragedy to be made palatable for me, as the NT’s Medea and the Almeida’s Greeks season have recently done. This was, I’m afraid, static and one-note (shrieking) throughout, despite the luminous presence of Juliette Binoche and direction by the celebrated Ivo Van Hove.

The Play that Goes Wrong (WE): A very silly play within a play, which was hilariously funny and delightfully performed. If you need a pick me up, go to this. I enjoyed its low budget charms enormously.

Blithe Spirit (WE): There’s not much to be said about this that hasn’t already been said. It’s important to note that Angela Landsbury was fantastic not for an 88-year old, but for a performer of any age. A sparkling, charming production.

The Ruling Class (WE): A very odd play indeed, and dated in many respects. Whilst the aristocracy remains with us and have a great deal of power, we can thank our lucky stars (and the Russians, Chinese and Arabs who are our present ruling class) that they do not have the same power they did in the 1960s. James McAvoy was wonderful as always and the star of the show, as one would expect when spending a significant amount of stage time believing oneself (or pretending) to be Jesus Christ. A curate’s egg.

Happy Days (Young Vic): I often struggle with Beckett, although Waiting for Godot can be a great pleasure with the right pair of actors. Juliet Stevenson shone in this exploration of a woman’s very English captivity, although I cannot in all honesty say I enjoyed it. Appreciated is more the right word.

Taken at Midnight (WE): The mother of a captured German dissident during WWII was a great part for Penelope Wilton and I absolutely understand why she took it. That said, and whilst it was very moving, I’m afraid we’ve seen it all before. Its power on stage was remarkable, however.

The Fever (Almeida, in a WE hotel): Tobias Menzies has rather flown under the radar as a stage actor, although his appearance in U.S. TV blockbusters Game of Thrones and Outlander means that his star appears to be rising. This monologue about a wealthy Westerner musing on the developing world was exquisitely performed in the intimacy of a hotel suite. Unfortunately, its internal inconsistencies and lack of intellectual rigour (wealth is not a zero sum game) meant that I spent the evening admiring the acting rather than being moved by the play.

The Three Lions (St James): A play that was very much meant for television, with three actors impersonating David Cameron, Prince William and David Beckham in their (ultimately doomed) efforts to secure the 2018 World Cup. It was quite funny, with the best jokes being aimed by “Cameron” at Boris Johnson. Enjoyable, but missable.

Ballyturk (NT): Sometimes you go to the theatre and watch a play (in this case an Enda Murphy play set in Ireland amongst possibly brilliant and possibly insane people throwing things at each other) and you are left with the conclusion that either you are an idiot in the presence of genius or what happened on stage was nonsensical. With this one, I lean toward the second conclusion, despite energetic acting by Cillian Murphy, Mikel Murfi and Stephen Rea.

Electra (Old Vic): Another one note Greek tragedy. Impeccable shrieking from Kristin Scott Thomas, but there were few nuances to the performance. I have enjoyed her acting in the past, but I feel that perhaps I have seen all of the notes on offer.

Skylight (WE): A very good play, superbly acted by Bill Nighy and Carey Mulligan as former lovers rehashing the past. I found it infuriating, however, as David Hare’s play makes many assumptions about women, the business world and marital fidelity, few of which in my experience are true.

Richard III (WE): I enjoyed Martin Freeman’s Richard III when I saw it, but it is with several months’ distance that I am able to fully appreciate its greatness. He exemplified the banality of evil and the despot lurking in many ordinary men. An unshowy and brilliant performance.

Great Britain (NT): How we waited for the outcome of the Rebekah Brooks trial, so that we would be able to see this play. It was done as befitting a tabloid, cheaply and cheerfully, and with brittle, paper-thin jokes designed for a quick laugh and tomorrow’s fish and chips. Billie Piper was perfect for the role, though, and performed it very well.