December 16: Of Time and the City

The annual run-up to the Academy Awards is in full swing with various critics groups announcing their prizes and while there seems to be something of a consensus on the major awards (The Hurt Locker, Jeff Bridges or George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Christoph Waltz and Mo'Nique keep appearing with regularity), I took note of one selection by the New York Film Critics Circle which bestowed its prize for non-fiction film on Of Time and the City, Terence Davies' meditative look at his hometown of Liverpool.

Years ago, I was priviliged to work at a company that had many erudite individuals who all loved movies and TV. It was always fun to chat with them, because I honestly learned something. One of my co-workers, the late Kent Greene, was the person who really introduced me to the films of Terence Davies. Kent had been an admirer of the filmmaker's early efforts and after seeing his infectious reactions to them, I sought them out and was not disappointed. I will grant you, though, that I can see how films like The Long Day Closes and Distant Voices, Still Lives might not hold popular appeal. I, however, find both of them to be wonderful, evocative of a recent past. Both films have strong autobiographical elements and both play almost like documentaries, although they are clearly fictional.

Unfortunately, Terence Davies is not a prolific director -- and I'm unsure exactly why. He has spoken of the difficulties he has faced in securing financing for his movies and that is just sad. Such an incredible talent -- with an unique voice and perspective. His last feature film was 2000's The House of Mirth -- in my estimation the best film of that year with an underappreciated and underrated performance by Gillian Anderson.

After nearly a decade, Davies has returned with a film
that in my estimation falls just short of being a masterpiece. There is much to admire in it but even at only 74 minutes, there are a few spots where it drags a tiny bit. As much as it pains me to say it, I did find myself becoming slightly bored.

Nevertheless, this film -- which is subtitled "a love song and a eulogy" -- posseses some vibrant and memorable images, from children playing to older women washing laundry to the sights and sounds of this port city. Davies was born and raised in Liverpool and while today most people know of the city as the birthplace of the Beatles, it is and was so much more. For many years, it was a way station for Irish immigrants fleeing the famine and hardships of rural life who were en route to something better in London or the United States. Indeed, a large number of Irish settled in Liverpool and the city had a notable Roman Catholic population, including Davies. In his voiceover narration that veers from seriousness to dollops of sarcasm, mostly directed at Mother Church or the queen, whom he calls "Betty Windsor" in a typically irreverant fashion.

As in his other films, Davies adopts a very impressionistic style. The film is born of memories and as such there is no particular linear storyline. Instead, we get glimpses of buildings and places or people and faces that cause the filmmaker to launch into a reverie, sometimes poignant, sometimes bitter, sometimes rueful. We see a life in Liverpool, whether it be a typical one or not is debatable. But themes of religion, sex and homosexuality, the arts as healer (particularly the cinema), violence, loss, death, decay, rebirth, all permeate this movie and mesh together. Davies has crafted a tone poem that is rifled with autobiography. It's devestating and uplifting, if occasionally marred by too much repetition. Davies is nothing if not a passionate filmmaker and I just hope it won't be another eight or ten years before he gets to make another film.

Rating:     A-