Heaven, Traverse

 Mairead (Janet Moran) and Mal (Andrew Bennett) have been married for a couple of decades now. They're best pals, they say, but are they still husband and wife? Were they ever really?

They're back in Mairead's home town for her sister's wedding. From the city to an insular place where life has stood still and she finds many familiar faces. Not least her old lover, the one who she never forgot. While Mal is left to his own devices, falls off the wagon and lets himself indulge his long repressed fantasies. Both takes paths they had not expected, but are they really going to diverge?

The play takes the form of alternating monologues, her then him then her then him, as each talks about the self they've kept inside, and the person they have lived with. The technique emphasises their separateness, but their words also show their affection and understanding for one another, each explaining things that the other can't even admit to themselves. It's a perfect illustration of how lives can be so interconnected and so far apart, and of how long term relationships will often keep afloat long after the thrill of the launch has departed. That affection and dependence can take many forms.

It's a smart script, with plenty of Irish humour, and a few surprises. Two strong performances, but I sometimes felt I was losing my hearing during Moran's sections. But could hear every word Bennett uttered. It's a shame, as I'm sure I missed some good lines from the lack of projection.

Overall a very satisfying performance, and one that ends before you were expecting it, which is always a good sign. Well worth seeing.  

Hard Truths

 Pansy (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) is angry.  And anxious.  She’s angry with her plumber husband Curtley (David Webber).  With 22 year old layabout son Moses (Tuwaine Barrett).  With her younger sister Chantelle (Michelle Austin).  With pretty much everyone she meets - in car parks, supermarkets, her doctor and dentist, the list of targets for her anger never ends.  And her anxiety makes her fearful of the world, where there is no safety.

Chantelle is a hairdresser, charming and confidence inspiring with her clients, fun and happy with her two daughters.  She wants Pansy to come with her to their mother’s grave, for the anniversary of her death.  Pansy even gets angry with that.

But she will eventually go, and the two families get together.  But even there the contrast between the two trios is stark.  While the shadow of Pansy’s anger hangs over everyone.  

So what will she do with faced with a situation that requires her to act with love?

Jean-Baptiste is superb, a tightly strung band always on the verge of unwinding dramatically.  Her rants are epic, her disdain apocalyptic.  But the vulnerability is never far away.  The reasons behind her behaviour leak out gradually.

.If this all sounds a bit grim you’d be wrong.  Pansy’s ire is hilarious viewing (although you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end) because it has no rationale.  We’ve all known someone like her, someone whose grumpiness and resentment is unending.  

The filming is up close and personal, filled with delightfully awkward silences and mumbled excuses, while the Chantelle aspect gives off vibes of real joy.  This is ordinary life in spades, the inconsequential gossip, the families that barely co-exist, the people who tolerate and those who don’t.

Another Mike Leigh masterclass in the everyday.

September 5

Anyone my age or older will probably remember the event, and how horrific it was at the time.  One of those world events you never completely forget.  It's all well documented now, so it's easy to read up on what happened to the terrorists and their victims.

But this film takes a new slant on what happened.  This was the first time that a terrorist event was able to be covered live on satellite TV, meaning the events in Munich found their way around the world immediately.  A team of sports broadcasters, from the American ABC network, suddenly found themselves in groundbreaking broadcast territory, and a sudden deluge of unfamiliar moral decisions to make.  If a hostage was murdered live on camera, should that be broadcast or not?

While the politics of the situation are touched on, it's largely in the context of how it determines the team's decisions.  This is about the human beings behind the cameras, and the strains it put on them.  The filming is claustrophobic, largely confined to the control studio, and using contemporary (grainy!) footage to show the unfolding drama being covered.  The tech is very much from the pre-digital era, and there's a lot of improvisation required.  Younger viewers will be shocked at how primitive it will all seem, but this was the cutting edge of TV sports broadcasting in 1972.

The focus is on the moral and emotional issues.  The mistakes made in a situation where the world is watcvhing through their lens.  The instincts of journalists wanting to pursue the story (and having to fight off the views of their own management who wanted a news team to take over - but the sports guys were the only ones actually there, on the scene).  Versus the moral responsibilities of playing their part in trying to achieve a safe ensding for all involved.  They even find themselves being invaded by German police at one pojnt, for hampering the efforts fo the authorities.  Are they reporters or voyeurs or accomplices.  The lines are sometimes blurred.

The style is often cinema verite, following characters rushing from one moment to another.  The messiness and confusion and need to make decisions comes across well.  There are some excellent performances, notably from John Magara as Geoff, the studio dierctor trying to hold it all together, and Leonie Benesch as Marianne, a (fictional) young German assistant, reflecting the mortification of her generation at the sins of their elders.

It's a strong drama, worth watching for the tension alone.  But the film also provides useful insights into the moral demands on journalists in life or death situations, and a the sesne of global trauma that came with those terrible events.