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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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032089
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03208900.003
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1990-09-17
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CINEMA, Page 72A Fable for PostmodernsBy Richard Sscickel
HIGH HOPES
Directed and Written by Mike Leigh
There was an old woman who lived in a semidetached shoe box.
She had two too many children, who didn't know what to do in
Margaret Thatcher's England. And neither did their spouses, their
lovers, their friends, their neighbors or, for that matter, the
little old lady.
Maybe Mike Leigh's High Hopes is too realistic and too
intricate to be called a nursery rhyme for moderns. But he and his
actors and designers do push out beyond the purely naturalistic.
All the figures in his dismal urban landscape carry a carefully
calculated moral weight, and their story is clearly intended as a
microcosmic portrait of contemporary English life. So call it,
perhaps, a fable on the sneak. And call it something else too: yet
another carefully handmade ornament of the new British cinema,
which includes such small recent marvels as My Beautiful
Laundrette; Rita, Sue and Bob Too; Withnail and I and Wish You Were
Here.
Leigh, whose rigorous improvisational techniques have made him
a guru of British theater (Goose-Pimples) and TV (Abigail's Party)
for two decades, brings to his work the same anti-Thatcher animus
that energizes much of today's British cinema. But unlike
Laundrette and the rest, High Hopes derives much of its energy and
some of its best comic strokes from a conscious, open
acknowledgment that to be postmodern is also to be post-Marxist.
In a time when people rise and fall freely, unhindered by
traditional class structures, they become, according to Leigh,
quite unhinged by their inability to locate themselves morally or
emotionally on a sturdy social ladder.
To be sure, the film's central symbolic figure, the widowed
Mrs. Bender (Edna Dore, whose senile silences speak volumes) has
a safe place in that house, superficially unchanged since she
raised her children. But she is, in fact, the last holdout on a
gentrifying block, and the world beyond it has become utterly
incomprehensible to her. Indeed, the movie's most crucial and comic
scene occurs when she locks herself out and must apply to her
silly-deadly, yup-scale neighbors for help.
But Mrs. Bender's offspring are in their ways almost as
unhelpful as these strangers. Her daughter Valerie (Heather Tobias,
in the movie's only overwrought, misjudged performance) can buy
everything but common sense and fills life's emptiness with a riot
of ugly possessions. Her son Cyril (Philip Davis) has gone the
opposite route. He is a leftover leftist who cannot abandon the
habit of Marxist analysis but is unable to believe any longer in
its power to effect change.
The light of all these lives is Cyril's live-in girlfriend
Shirley (Ruth Sheen), buck-toothed and, in her self-effacing way,
greathearted. Quietly, she has turned their dark, cramped flat into
a haven for waifs and strays (including, finally, Mrs. Bender).
Quietly too she tends her struggling rooftop garden and keeps
trying to talk Cyril into having a child. What can you do these
days but make a warm place to nurture people -- and some small
hopes for a less harum-scarum future? Perhaps pause to admire a
brave and subtle film that knowingly explores ideas, even
ideologies, but never dries up emotionally -- a film that never
puts its characters' duties to metaphor ahead of their prime
obligation, which is to live and breathe and squawk their wayward
humanity.