Another Year (2010)

(L-R) Jim Broadbent, Ruth Sheen, and Oliver Maltman

Watch the Another Year trailer

Writer: Mike Leigh
Director: Mike Leigh
Notable Actors: Lesley Manville, Philip Davis

Until this year I had never heard of Mike Leigh. About a month ago my drama teacher referenced him heartily in class, enthusing about his unique improv-to-film style which is bloody rare in modern cinema. I’ll happily admit to my faults and say I completely forgot about it until someone else I’d never heard of was interviewed on Kermode and Mayo’s Radio 5 film show. She was an actress in the film, and she tried to explain exactly how they do it. By this point I was intrigued enough to make a special trip out (also I was avoiding the task of cleaning my room) to see it.

What first struck me, as it often does on those rare occasions I’m lucky enough to attend the theatre, was that I was the youngest person in the room by many decades. For once, however, my die-hard teenage habit of a blazer didn’t mark me out as the best dressed. This was a Mike Leigh audience, and I, re-reading my Harry Potter book during the trailers, couldn’t have been more out of sorts.

The film opens with a false lead that takes you seriously by surprise. Incredibly, it wasn’t until long after the credits had rolled that I stopped wondering what had happened to the woman from the start. Another Year was the first film I have ever seen of its ilk, the first time I haven’t simply had the plot thrust toward me, and the entire thing was rather unsettling.

Sitting there, unsure whether to feel grown-up or merely pretentiously childish, the fact the adults around me found things to laugh at while I didn’t added nothing to my perplexed state. I grew frustrated with the style of storytelling, if you could call it storytelling, and found myself unsettled with – to be incredibly rude – the sheer ugliness of a majority of the cast. Even one of the younger generation, thirty-year-old Tom, seemed to me to have the appearance of a ridiculously effeminate cherub.

That woman, I thought, is disgusting; as the story progressed. She’s a fucking nuthouse, and there’s no way that relationship between those other two is real. I sensed something strained there, I know it. No way it’s all roses, this is all just a bloody front...

I sat there, hating it, but refusing to leave because half an hour before the end a trio in their early fifties had given up and left. I was determined to stick it out, even though the only remotely interesting thing to happen thus far was a chill down my back when, before we saw a clear image of him, I recognised Philip Davis' sinister voice from his turn as the baddie in the first of the BBC's 2010 Sherlock films, A Study In Pink. At the time I was too freaked to note this for the fantastic acting it was.

Then the final shot came, hitting me with the greatest cinematic force I have ever known. I was bowled over; I am still in a state of shock. There’s no way to hint at it without giving away the game, but the entire mess is worth sitting through just for that.

Or so I thought. After the credits had rolled, I confess my only thought was as to the intriguing but pointless nature of the final shot. The entire film was, I realised, pointless. The acting wasn’t even that great in places and the entire thing was an instantly forgettable mess. I tell you, I couldn’t wait to forget.

It was strange, though. Something about that film refused to exit my mind. The days developed; after two I realised how incredible the acting was, after four the astounding brilliance of the way Mike Leigh told his story. It took me six to realise the film was a modern masterpiece, and by the seventh I was determined to see it again, knowing now I knew what was coming I would be in far better position to observe everything. There wasn’t a single moment I wanted to miss. I even dug out the trailer, a rarity for me, even before seeing the film, and watching it I felt a peculiar kind of magic sweep over me.

Ordinary, I realised with a start. I didn’t even notice the acting because it was so natural, I wasn’t distracted by the cast’s beauty like I have been with others, I was so enraptured in my anger and confusion at the story line that it wasn’t until reflection bore its heavy weight upon me that I realised the storyline was completely of my own imagining. Or was it?

Another Year shouldn’t be sullied with the cheap kick of ‘Oscar Bait’. Another Year is just incredible.