THE MAGDALENE SISTERS
Tuesday 25th February 2003
Curzon Soho, London W1 VISIT

It has often seemed that the Catholic Church has a greater preference for the fire and brimstone and divine retribution of the Old Testament. The fear of everlasting damnation, particularly in countries where the church and state were until very recently inseparable, was a powerful means of exercising absolute control over people’s lives. Peter Mullan’s powerful film ‘The Magdalene Sisters’ portrays a Catholic Ireland in the mid 1960s where New Testament notions of forgiveness, mercy and love have no place. Nowhere was this clearer than for the 30,000 allegedly ‘fallen’ women forcibly detained in the Church’s notorious Magdalene asylums, where they were made, often for years and without pay, to launder clothes in penance for their ‘sins’. None had committed any crime but were seen as ‘sluts and whores’, held for having children outside of marriage or for ‘promiscuous’ behaviour.

The film concentrates on four women sent to the Dublin Magdalene Laundry. One arrives after she is raped by her cousin at a wedding; one after her ‘bastard’ baby is taken from her; another is a emotionally damaged ‘backward’ girl who is abused by the laundry’s priest; and one is an orphan seen as overly flirtatious with boys. Stripped of their humanity in rough uniforms and subjected to endless work, beatings and humiliation, they find themselves trapped in what was effectively a concentration camp – one that not only punished but also sought in an Orwellian way to make the inmates love and embrace their punishment. There is one moment where one of the four has the opportunity to escape through a unguarded entrance but cannot leave, her individuality already robbed from her by the conditioning she has endured. Another ‘sister’ who has been held for over forty years, believes the nuns who run the laundry are her friends, even when she lies alone, dying.

I don’t think I have seen a film that made me quite so angry as this. It’s not just that the unfolding story is so harrowing and the sense of injustice so brilliantly illustrated. It’s also because the story is relentless, it just keeps rolling over you like a bank of thick fog. There are moments of humour but the director never lets you forget the horror facing his main characters. So it is amusing to see the head of the laundry, Sister Bridget (a fantastic performance by Geraldine McEwan), in throes of joy watching Ingrid Bergman play a pious nun in a special Christmas screening of the sentimental film The Belles of St Mary’s. But then you are jarred back and realise that this terrible individual sees her acts of degradation and violence as equally pious. Funnier still is the act of revenge against Father Fitzroy, whose laundry is mixed with poisonous weeds to cause an agonising rash during an outdoor service and his subsequent naked dash across the fields. But this is followed by a overwhelming scene where Crispina, who has that morning been abused by the priest and therefore also suffers because of the sabotage of his clothes, begins to shout over and over again, ‘you are not a man of God’ as the embarrassed townspeople look on. It’s almost too painful to watch when later, her punishment is forcible removal to a mental hospital.

It is hard to believe that the last of the Magdalene asylums did not close until 1996 and harder still to comprehend how ordinary people and the Irish state condoned their existence. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of this story is that parents were so indoctrinated by the Church that they could willingly abandon their own children to slavery. ‘The Magdalene Sisters’ is therefore as much a warning against religious fundamentalism (and a reminder that the ‘Taliban’ are far from unique) as the story of a terrible crime.

I am sure that there will be protests about this film but I would strongly recommend it as an important reminder of the danger of seeing religion as just fluffy old vicars, coffee mornings and Songs of Praise. Terrible cruelty can be committed by the 'pious' in the name of salvation. Never were the words of the prayer that say ‘deliver us from evil’ more hypocritical or more bitter. For thousands of Irish women, no deliverance ever came.

THE HOURS
Tuesday 18th February 2003
Stratford Picture House, London E15 VISIT

One of the real benefits of trying to stick to ‘One Film a Week’ is seeing an unexpectedly enjoyable film that I would otherwise have avoided. ‘The Hours’ certainly fits into this category. I fully expected the title to be a warning about how long this film would seem to drag on for, the more so after failing to understand the critical acclaim About Schmidt has received. But fortunately, this turned out to be a wonderfully written, intelligent film.

It tells the interwoven stories of three women whose lives are linked by Virgina Woolf’s book, ‘Mrs Dalloway’, moving between the novelist herself in the 1920s, a reader of her book in the 1950s and a modern woman whose life seems to echo that of the book’s heroine, Clarissa Dalloway. Nicole Kidman, complete with the now notorious prosthetic nose, gives a powerful performance as the suicidal Virginia, convalescing in Richmond after a breakdown. Suffocated by suburbia and impatient to return to the vitality of London, Virginia is still inspired to write her novel, the story of a day in the life of a woman hosting a party but feeling increasingly out of control. Meanwhile in 1951, pregnant housewife Laura Brown is reading Woolf’s novel and planning a party for her son and loving husband, whilst also contemplating suicide. Julianne Moore captures wonderfully the sense of utter bewilderment at the way her life has turned out. The final strand and the best part of the film is Meryl Streep’s Clarissa Vaughan, nicknamed ‘Mrs Dalloway’ by poet and manipulative former lover Richard (a scarily skeletal Ed Harris), who is dying of AIDS. Clarissa is not only arranging a party in Richard’s honour to celebrate his latest prestigious poetry prize, but also caring for him and trying to maintain her own relationship (with CJ from The West Wing, would you believe?) Like Virginia and Laura, Clarissa finds herself forced to "face the hours" of her life, the ghosts of her past and the sense that she has missed out on happiness.

The film’s themes are explored as the parallels between the three women’s lives are made clearer, including a link between Laura and Clarissa that I won’t reveal. If it all sounds rather slight, then it’s because I haven’t really done justice to David Hare’s clever screenplay. The soundtrack too, composed by Philip Glass, is the best I have heard since Amelié. All in all, this is a film whose Oscar nominations are more than justified, so don’t be put off by the critics’ endorsement. Now and again, they are right. This really is worth seeing.

DIRTY PRETTY THINGS
Saturday 8th February 2003
UGC Trocadero, London W1 VISIT

On the day that Tony Blair announced his intention to halve by September the number of asylum seekers coming to Britain, ‘Dirty Pretty Things’ seemed like an appropriate film to go and see. But what I really want to know is this: does the actor Ross Kemp (who once played Phil Mitchell in EastEnders) ever argue with his wife about the treatment of refugees and asylum seekers? I know this might seem a weird question, but stick with me for a moment. You see, Kemp apparently really wants to be a Labour MP but unfortunately he is married to Rebekah Wade, who in her capacity as editor of Britain’s most charmless newspaper is currently running the Sun’s sickening, racist ‘Asylum Madness’ campaign. Now maybe Kemp does get into blazing rows over dinner and maybe he just doesn’t want to rock the boat. Whatever. But if the man has an ounce of decency in him, he might want make a point of taking the wife out this Valentine’s Day to see ‘Dirty Pretty Things’, just so she can be reminded that refugees and asylum seekers are first and foremost people like you and me.

Except not quite like you and me, as this excellent film reveals. ‘Dirty Pretty Things’ is set in a twilight world where people live just to survive and are disposable, invisable, exploitable labour for London’s service industries. It tells the story of Okwe, an Nigerian doctor and illegal immigrant, who drives a mini-cab by day and by night works as a porter in the Baltic Hotel, where he is friend to a Turkish woman, Senay, who works as a maid (played by Audrey Tautou, the star of the brilliant Amélie). Thanks to the khat leaves he chews to stay awake and so keep working, Okwe also manages to find time to play chess with another friend, a funny and philosophical Chinese mortuary assistant. Then one day, Okwe discovers a human heart blocking the toilet in one of the hotel rooms but, as an illegal, can do nothing – just as he can do nothing about the discovery that the sinister hotel manager is at the centre of illicit trade in human organs. Or just as those desperate people who sell their kidneys for the prospect of a passport cannot go to hospital, even when faced with death, for fear of being deported – placing Okwe, with his medical training, in an terrible ethical dilemma.

However, this film succeeds primarily because it is a gripping thriller with a twisting and intelligent plot, rather than some sort of worthy documentary on asylum and immigration. From the moment that Okwe discovers the secret of the Baltic Hotel, through the great moment of revenge on the hotel manager to the extremely sad ending, ‘Dirty Pretty Things’ is utterly engrossing. Chiwetel Ejiofor, who plays Okwe, is a revelation and surely destined for stardom, whilst Audrey Tautou is wonderful too in what I think is her first English-speaking role. Perhaps the only negative I can think of amongst so many well-developed characters was the portrayal of the two immigration officers chasing Senay. Although on screen only briefly, both were little more than pretty ropey pantomime villains. My dad was an immigration officer before he retired and although we had the most tremendous rows about his job, I can’t remember him going to work looking like an extra from the Sweeney!

I was very moved by this film. I think that Ross Kemp would be too, although I am less sure about Rebekah Wade. For anyone without the hardened heart of a Sun editor, this is one of the best films you will see all year.

Highly recommended.