The Mother (2003)

Genre: Drama Studio: Sony Pictures Classics/BBC Films Director: Roger Michell Screenwriter: Hanif Kureishi Cast: Anne Reid, Daniel Craig, Cathryn Bradshaw, Steven Mackintosh, Anna WilsonJones, Peter Vaughn Running Time: 112 Minutes Language: English (DVD French Subtitles) Rating: R
Dear God, let us be alive before we die," Anne Reid's character quietly pronounces in one of the early scenes of Roger Michell's The Mother. The wording surely encapsulates fundamental human motives, human impulses, each time we consider that ride on the rollercoaster, put on our dancing shoes for a night on the town, or indulge in a favored dessert. We are wired to seek out and share the experience of "alive" beyond the mere pulse of blood through heart and veins, to experiment with senses and connections, and these in turn inform and nourish consciousness. But what if the rich potential for living we're born with simply devolves into existing, simply does not progress past that repetitive pulse of blood? And if indeed we have been shoved into a rut, how do we go about dismantling the chains of convention, of forced

social role imposition--of invisibility--in order to fully perform the active business of being alive before we die? Such questions are at the core of the film, a quiet yet intense British drama that depicts what can happen when those burdened by scripted expectations aim to strike againstand break outof them when the chance arises. Screenwriter Hanif Kureishi early on wowed audiences with his steamrolling over taboo with 1987s My Beautiful Laundrette, a frank depiction of homoeroticism, racism, and class as they beat beneath working-class London. The film forced its characters and audiences to grapple with this mlange of issues brought about simultaneously by Thatcherism, post-60s no-future realities, and the enduring legacy of empire in a film that is at times humorous, tender, and heartbreaking. With The Mother, he has scaled the wall yet again, this time landing in the taboo of the May-December romance in the midst of leafy suburban London. However, this is not an exercise in Technicolor fashion, pomp, and perfume as with Vivien Leigh and Warren Beattys turn in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1961). Kureishis script, while rather extraordinary in its execution, is possibly so primarily because it is so deliberately, superficially stocked with ordinary characters. Ultimately, the gorgeousness--and tragedy--of this film stems from the means by which the central character, in particular, in her apparent ordinariness, turns our expectations inside out in what may very well be her final stand for passionate life. Reid stars as May, an elderly housewife and mother to two grown children, who has essentially given her life in service to providing for their wants and needs, as well as that of their father. In fact, May has almost been put in the role of surrogate mother to her husband, who, as depicted, takes her for granted. At the behest of her son Bobby (Mackintosh), May and her husband Toots (Vaughn) come to London for a family visit, but it is soon apparent that the old folks are more in the way of Bobbys go-go yuppie lifestyle than anything else, while he and his wife (Anna Wilson-Jones) argue about their presence in earshot, and their children have little to no idea who their grandparents are. Entering the mix is Paula (Cathryn Bradshaw), May's daughter, who is having an affair with Darren (Craig), Bobbys landscaper and old school friend, a Peter Pan-like figure with a joie de vivre and, unfortunately, the tie of responsibility to a wife and autistic son, two realities in conflict with the chiseled Lotharios coke-sniffing, devil-maycare style. A heart attack not long after their arrival claims Toots' life, and May must now find a way to go on without him. Kureishi's script, in this manner, soon becomes something of a subtleyet-scathing commentary on the New Millenniums generation gap and its frightening consequences, as yuppie Bobby lends mere perfunctory consolation to May at the death of his father, the business he runs taking up the time he might otherwise be spending tending to family trauma. While the film may devote a bit too much time belaboring this theme, it is not one without merit, as money and status become both more important for young professionals in this time period to attain--and often more difficult to maintain (a free reign, then, is given to a kind of "stylization" of young adult society's tendency to disavow the complex desires the elderly have, since younger people are so caught up--and deliriously so--in the fast paces of their own lives). Meanwhile, Paula, possibly manic-depressive, uses May as her psychological punching bag, blaming her for every failing, every bout of procrastination, even for her affair with Darren. With each tense encounter between her and the children, the invisibility and isolation May is subjected to is visceral; Michell's spacy big-fish-in-a-small-pond shots and mirrored reflections make this abundantly clear, and they, in concert with the script, offer us an older female protagonist so rarely seen in cinema that such scenes alone would suffice in making The Mother

a compelling and undeniable film in their own right. The scenes are remarkably quiet and furtive, allowing us a glimpse into the world of the lonely and pensive woman who has been all but forgotten by her family and the world she inhabits. But the film goes a step even further when May embarks on her own affair with Darren. Their sexual relationship--unlikely, initially unnoticed--is depicted with an eroticism and beauty that simply stuns. Daniel Craig's Darren is the perfect mix of pin-up beefcake and pseudointellectual sensualist, an archetypal train wreck of muscle, shaggy hair, and dreamboat blue eyes who reads selections from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland as he saws wood. Their relationship takes on a cerebral air initially, a stark departure from the volatility his and Paula's engenders. He and Reid exhibit a layered chemistry which carries them through the refreshing bouts of lovemaking and the titillating mother-daughter rivalry called for in the script. Bradshaw and Mackintosh in their supporting roles are superbly effective as the spoiled, entitled adult children a parent would love to hate. Indeed, May's conflicting feelings about her longstanding position may inform some of their behavior towards her, particularly Bobby's. Again, the rivalry between Bradshaw's Paula and May is titillating stuff, and the juxtaposition of their relationships with Darren makes for irresistible viewing. But it is Reid's sublime performance as dowdy May that lets fly the art of acting to its highest glories. Her quiet, sensitive portrayal of the woman who discovers passion and abandon, while fighting to remain relevant to herself, is multifaceted, intimate, and in many ways (more than likely) honest in the face of advancing age, familial and social ambivalence, and stereotype. The dysfunction May displays could be the parallel to Paula's, but Kureishi, Michell, and Reid together have managed to create a character that cannot only be pardoned for her choices, but perhaps even cheered for them. Thankfully, all does not come to a "typical" happy resolution in this film; May's newfound bliss is not all its cracked up to be, which puts her on yet another self-discovering journey as the credits roll. However, her willingness to take the chance, to reach for and revel in bliss, can be nothing less than admired in theory, if nowhere else. Equally, kudos must be offered to the film's creators, who themselves decided to challenge our ideas of intimacy, imagery, and sensuality in film as they are typically provided us. A fine piece of work.