Cinema without borders: Final call for solidarity

Express News Service

It doesn’t take long for Ken Loach to underline the fact that the two warring factions we witness at the very start of his new film The Old Oak are two sides of the same coin. On one end, we have the residents of a down-and-out, unnamed village in the northeastern UK and on the other end, we have the Syrian refugees given shelter in the unoccupied homes in the village.

The mining village had seen more prosperous times till the colliery accidents, strikes, and administrative apathy towards the workers gradually reduced it to a ghost town. Ignored and unaccounted for, its people are angry and frustrated at their present condition while being hopeless and cynical of their future. The tired and frightened Syrians, fleeing the war and violence at home, are trying to build a new home from scratch in a country and culture that’s alien to them. However, even while the villagers and the Syrian refugees express their inner struggles through persistent conflicts with each other, both are united in having faced enormous losses.

It’s the local pub The Old Oak, the only community space left, that becomes a site for their traumas—personal as well as collective—to find a release. Its present-day shabby glory and the precariously dangling letter K on the signboard are symbolic of the perilous state of the town and the many insecurities in the lives of its people. It represents a way of life that is gone forever, a place lost to over 30 years of steady neglect. The disintegration of the outer world and the sense of inner desperation and despair of its people, go hand in hand. Loach is sympathetic as he goes about explaining the socio-economic-political realities with a documentarian’s attention to detail and an activist’s zeal for change. He doesn’t turn the xenophobic locals into outright villains even when they complain about their village becoming a “dumping ground” for “parasites”. He sees a possibility of reform.

The filmmaker understands that it’s hatred borne out of fear for one’s own well-being than any real anger against the other. Instead, Loach’s reproach and indictment are targeted at the government. He is optimistic when it comes to people themselves. The pub owner’s (Dave Turner) friendship with young Yara (Ebla Mari), a passionate photographer, holds the promise of healing and restoration. Like them, the two communities might come together someday and forge strong ties. The backroom of the pub, locked for twenty years, becomes a place to cook and share free community meals. As someone from the group chimes, “Sometimes in life, there is no need for words, only food”. Loach sees individuals as the ones with the power and confidence to turn things around with unity, compassion and community spirit. Too idealistic? Misplaced? Perhaps.

The Old Oak does get lumbering, didactic and a bit too on the nose with its messaging. The simplistic, naive finale tugs at the heartstrings and plays with the audience’s emotions in a cringingly obvious manner. However, strangely it leaves you utterly affected even when you are fully aware of your feelings being manipulated.  

86-year-old Loach’s 14th film to feature In Competition at Cannes Film Festival might be one of his lesser works but that less is still a lot more than what we usually see most at the cinemas. Supposedly his last film, The Old Oak is a fitting final call for solidarity from a filmmaker who has stood steadily with the poor, downtrodden and deprived all through with his remarkable body of work. 

Film: The Old Oak

<br> It doesn’t take long for Ken Loach to underline the fact that the two warring factions we witness at the very start of his new film The Old Oak are two sides of the same coin. On one end, we have the residents of a down-and-out, unnamed village in the northeastern UK and on the other end, we have the Syrian refugees given shelter in the unoccupied homes in the village.

The mining village had seen more prosperous times till the colliery accidents, strikes, and administrative apathy towards the workers gradually reduced it to a ghost town. Ignored and unaccounted for, its people are angry and frustrated at their present condition while being hopeless and cynical of their future. The tired and frightened Syrians, fleeing the war and violence at home, are trying to build a new home from scratch in a country and culture that’s alien to them. However, even while the villagers and the Syrian refugees express their inner struggles through persistent conflicts with each other, both are united in having faced enormous losses.

It’s the local pub The Old Oak, the only community space left, that becomes a site for their traumas—personal as well as collective—to find a release. Its present-day shabby glory and the precariously dangling letter K on the signboard are symbolic of the perilous state of the town and the many insecurities in the lives of its people. It represents a way of life that is gone forever, a place lost to over 30 years of steady neglect. The disintegration of the outer world and the sense of inner desperation and despair of its people, go hand in hand. Loach is sympathetic as he goes about explaining the socio-economic-political realities with a documentarian’s attention to detail and an activist’s zeal for change. He doesn’t turn the xenophobic locals into outright villains even when they complain about their village becoming a “dumping ground” for “parasites”. He sees a possibility of reform.googletag.cmd.push(function() {googletag.display(‘div-gpt-ad-8052921-2’); });

The filmmaker understands that it’s hatred borne out of fear for one’s own well-being than any real anger against the other. Instead, Loach’s reproach and indictment are targeted at the government. He is optimistic when it comes to people themselves. The pub owner’s (Dave Turner) friendship with young Yara (Ebla Mari), a passionate photographer, holds the promise of healing and restoration. Like them, the two communities might come together someday and forge strong ties. The backroom of the pub, locked for twenty years, becomes a place to cook and share free community meals. As someone from the group chimes, “Sometimes in life, there is no need for words, only food”. Loach sees individuals as the ones with the power and confidence to turn things around with unity, compassion and community spirit. Too idealistic? Misplaced? Perhaps.

The Old Oak does get lumbering, didactic and a bit too on the nose with its messaging. The simplistic, naive finale tugs at the heartstrings and plays with the audience’s emotions in a cringingly obvious manner. However, strangely it leaves you utterly affected even when you are fully aware of your feelings being manipulated.  

86-year-old Loach’s 14th film to feature In Competition at Cannes Film Festival might be one of his lesser works but that less is still a lot more than what we usually see most at the cinemas. Supposedly his last film, The Old Oak is a fitting final call for solidarity from a filmmaker who has stood steadily with the poor, downtrodden and deprived all through with his remarkable body of work. 

Film: The Old Oak