Review of 'The Old Oak': the great compassion of director Ken Loach

When it comes to fiercely political British director Ken Loach's latest film, “The Old Oak,” a bit of classic Hollywood promotional language comes to mind: Ken Loach is “The old oak tree.” Because seemingly forever, the most robust and tall figure in the cinema of the working class struggle has been Loach, the man behind such raw and frank classics as “Kes”, “Riff-Raff”, “The Wind That Shakes the barley”, “I, Daniel Blake” and “Sorry, we missed you”.

If this is the last round for the 87-year-old filmmaker, he will emerge with a protest sign in one hand and a pint in the other. That's because “The Old Oak,” written by his long-time collaborator Paul Laverty and named after the last remaining pub in a downtrodden town in northeast England, shows Loach no less committed to the cause but also more full of faith than ever.

It's 2016 when we enter the story through black and white photographs of a bus full of displaced Syrians, mostly mothers, children and the elderly, being dropped off in the mining town of Durham, the film's audio dominated by locals who loudly and intolerantly condemn their arrival. As the film begins (and cinematographer Robbie Ryan's clean naturalism takes over), we learn that the refugee documenting everything is a young woman named Yara (Ebla Mari), whose first interaction is with a brutal man who violently grabs her. his camera and breaks it. .

One of the humanitarians, horrified by the behavior of the people in his village, is middle-aged, divorced pub owner TJ (a touching Dave Turner), a lonely man with a good heart and a lot of pain. He offers to help repair Yara's camera, and the unlikely pair strike up a friendship born of mutual empathy for each other's pain: his homeland and his family brutalized by war; Their once-prosperous community is plagued by economic neglect and fear of poisoning. The latter usually manifests itself in Old Oak's rude regulars for whom nostalgia-fueled resentment is no longer a condition to be changed but a disturbingly comfortable set of clothing; they see TJ's kindness toward Yara (or anyone's charity toward the Syrians) as a betrayal.

But on the walls of the pub's long-closed back room is photographic evidence – a reminder for TJ, an inspiring story for Yara – of the country's 1984 miners' strike, when a beleaguered town looked out for each other. . Soon, TJ is spearheading a revitalization of the room so that two warring worlds can meet: community dinners to feed both refugees and the isolated youth of a disadvantaged city. However, as things unfold, Loach and Laverty are realistic enough in their story of invigorating compassion to understand that, as difficult as it is to find and nurture hope, it is equally essential to recognize the danger lurking in the future. festering grievance.

As angry as Loach's films can be about the themes they address, the secret glue of his unadorned, topical style has always been what camaraderie and caring look like within any maelstrom of injustice and oppression. The authenticity of his casting, including her unwavering faith in the newcomers, is impeccable here, with Mari's portrait of resilience sharing the frame wonderfully with Turner's bearish, wounded air. And in a key role as a pub regular, Trevor Fox makes palpable the pain and mistrust that can distort an honest reaction to a stranger's problems.

Loach is the rare cinematic agitator who can point to results. In 1966, her television film “Cathy Come Home” galvanized the UK to act on homelessness. We may be too accustomed these days to the relentless drumbeat of immigration realities and misinformation to expect “The Old Oak,” however deeply emotional, to have a similar impact. But we can still be grateful for this beautifully outraged director's unwavering, caring, career-long theme of seeing other people's problems as ours too, worthy of attacking and fighting against. It is a fair work with wonderfully strong roots.