Every morning, pub landlord Tommy Joe Ballantyne (Dave Turner), the hero of the new film from Ken Loach, tries to fix the comically wonky sign outside his premises and opens the doors of The Old Oak.
TJ, as the regulars call him, is divorced, estranged from his adult son, and in two minds about hanging around the former mining town where he tends bar.
The year is 2016 and the locals of this unnamed northeastern town are taken aback when a bus full of Syrian refugees arrives.
TJ, however, responds with kindness when Yara (newcomer Ebla Mari), a young Syrian photographer, loses her camera in a scuffle with an unwelcoming thug. She, in turn, takes an interest in the photographs depicting the 1984 miners’ strike that decorate the titular establishment’s defunct back room.
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Matt Cooper: I’m an only child. I’ve always been conscious of not having brothers or sisters
A Dublin scam: After more than 10 years in New York, nothing like this had ever happened to me
Patrick Freyne: I am becoming a demotivational speaker – let’s all have an averagely productive December
The third part in a loose, geographically defined trilogy, as sensitively penned by Loach collaborator Paul Laverty, The Old Oak is a gentler film than the stark austerity painted by I, Daniel Blake or the chilling dissection of the gig economy in Sorry We Missed You.
The film is, however, astute in its depiction of a disenfranchised community, ravaged by vulture property speculators and post-industrialisation. TJ is appalled when his oldest friend, Charlie, begins to sound like a Ukip voter; Laverty’s script, however, understands how a lack of agency translates into the scapegoating of refugees.
In common with the quietly heroic food bank volunteers of I, Daniel Blake, the town is ultimately held together by donations and decency. A little solidarity goes a long way. Cinematographer Robbie Ryan’s naturally lit and unfussy compositions offset the film’s heartfelt moments to perfection.
Small details – Yara and TJ visiting Durham Cathedral on a food handout run, a gathering at a photography exhibition, and every second of screen time featuring TJ and his beloved dog, Marra – make for huge scenes
At 87, Ken Loach says this is his last film. We can only hope he can be tempted out of retirement.
