Leonard Quart is Professor Emeritus of Cinema — CUNY and COSI; Contributing Editor, Cineaste; Columnist for Berkshire Eagle; and co-author of American Film and Society Since 1945 —4th Edition (Praeger).
Just a casual skimming of the daily Times or Guardian makes it rarely possible to simply embrace the light and avoid the barrage of dark and painful stories that abound.
Loach has always believed (too sanguinely) in the power of the working class, but his recent work has been much less optimistic about the workers capacity to transform a recalcitrant social and political world.
Neither the past nor present is treated with great psychological or political complexity in the film. The performances are uniformly first rate, but they demand little nuance.
There are times I get the chance to observe neighborhoods outside the blocks I inhabit and walk about daily. On these walks and rides, I look for signs that the city is recovering.
The film centers on Adam (Andrew Scott), a gay, depressed screenwriter who revisits his childhood and his relationship with his parents, who died 30 years ago in an accident.
The neighborhood lacks energy and drama on this silent day after Thanksgiving, and I quickly retreat to my computer and apartment. Somehow, however, I miss seeing and hearing an angry pro-Palestinian rally in nearby Washington Square Park, where 2,000 protesters gathered with a laundry list of demands.
The future only looks desolate, unless both sides of the struggle in the Middle East decide that survival of the region is more significant than body counts.
For whatever qualms and caveats I feel about Israeli’s repressive occupation, I have profound historical and tribal feelings for its continued existence.
I like the older New York feeling of the street and find myself moved to walk at a faster pace than usual, as if being there has suddenly revitalized me and made me feel years younger.
