Fate of an older worker is at stake
Now 80, British filmmaker Ken Loach has become an Old Master of classic social realism, while the plight of the working class he’s been dramatizing for decades has hardly improved.
That combination of traditional movie naturalism and still-seething anger is at the rabble-rousing heart of “I, Daniel Blake,” Loach’s latest bulletin from the world of the dispossessed. In this case, it’s a lens trained on a proud Newcastle woodworker (Dave Johns) as he tries vainly to secure financial assistance from the government after a job-stopping heart attack. Zeroing in on the other end of the spectrum from the 1966 teleplay “Cathy Come Home” — the unemployed aged rather than the destitute young — it is familiar and newly fiery about those teetering on the economic abyss and the ways institutions fail wellmeaning souls.
But the ripple effect of these types of movies remains uncertain, especially as cynicism overwhelms outrage. Maybe that’s why this time around, Loach and longtime collaborator Paul Laverty adopt a tinny fatalism in the home stretch, treating their flesh-andblood characters as melodramatic pawns. When “I, Daniel Blake” regrettably piles it on at the end, it’s Loach growing weary of humanizing details and desperate to shake you up with consequences, didacticism and speechifying. It’s the finger-pointer in him, but he’s still a practiced veteran at open-arms affection for the dignity of the downtrodden.
“I, Daniel Blake.” Not rated. Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes. Playing: Laemmle Music Hall, Beverly Hills. Reviewed Dec. 23, 2016.