Missy Lorelei reviews 'an intelligent, stringently left-wing film that is also a fun crowd-pleaser'.
Britain in the 1980s was a joyless, grey affair, presided over by a sour, bitter old prude called Margaret Hilda Thatcher, whose myopic individualism crushed communities.The only chinks of light came from our satire, art and amazing pop music- and the new Channel 4 had late night horror, arthouse films and equal nudity-cool. At least, that is how so many of us remember it.
Queer and alternative culture also made it good to be alive-- it challenged the status quo (both band and true term) and created a shift in how so many people regarded gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender artists. Suddenly, Boy George and Jimi Somerville were sashaying on our living room televisions at teatime.
But of course, there were always others willing to crush freedom. To a cracking soundtrack of The Smiths, Frankie, Billy Bragg and Culture Club, Matthew Warchus' film examines the homophobic police, Conservatives and queer bashers populating the UK. Part chronicle of the miners' strike, part Gay Pride celebration, the true story of people power spearheaded by Mark Ashton and spread over the course of one year, is rare: an intelligent, stringently left-wing film that is also a fun crowd-pleaser.
When Irishman Ashton and his London-based mates, closeted Joe (George MacKay), outspoken Steph (Faye Marsay) and many others take up the cause of the striking miners in solidarity, they go to a small insular Welsh town, where Country and Western is the music of choice, men communicate in grunts and women... well, women barely feature—except when making the tea, that is.
Cue a culture clash, with disco dancing, panic over the new AIDS virus and a gradual winning over of the local townspeople, right? Yep. But it works. It's funny, moving and more ballsy than anticipated. The script never sinks to soap or sitcom levels, and the cast are excellent—for example, Bill Nighy finally plays his age as Cliff, an ex-miner, not his usual louche caricature. Indeed, caricatures are in short supply here, even if a few of the Welsh men are portrayed here as beige-wearing simpletons. Small towns are like this: full of prejudice and limitations.
Ben Schnetzer as the fearless gay spokesman Mark Ashton (who sadly died from AIDS in his late twenties) is a star in the making—with James Dean cheekbones straight out of a Pierre et Giles wet dream, but possessing the swagger and smarts too. He outclasses everyone else with the sheer defiance in his eyes, standing firm in his beliefs while watching his friends dying of AIDS.
So of course, Pride is formulaic, less than perfect, and as emotionally manipulative as any British film of the last fifteen years, but fuck it- at least it stands for something. There aren't many mainstream movies you can say that about nowadays.
If you don't tear up at the end, you are officially dead inside.
Pride (15)
Directed by: Matthew Warchus
Starring: Dominic West, Imelda Staunton, George MacKay, Faye Marsay, Joe Gilgun, Bill Nighy, Ben Schnetzer.
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