Slice of ‘social realism’ that’s just not realistic
Herself 15 cert, 98 min
Dir Phyllida Lloyd
Starring Clare Dunne, Harriet Walter, Conleth Hill, Ian Lloyd Anderson, Molly Mccann, Ruby Rose O’hara
In theory, Herself marks an intriguing downscaling for Phyllida Lloyd, after a ker-ching debut powered by the songs of Abba (Mamma Mia!) and an iffy biopic propped up by Meryl Streep’s Oscar-winning bravura ( The Iron Lady). Here the director goes Streep-less in a tale of domestic abuse and a fleeing family unit at the mercy of Dublin’s housing crisis.
The Irish actress Clare Dunne, who played Hal in Lloyd’s all-female Henry IV at the Donmar, wrote the story, co-wrote the script with Malcolm Campbell ( What Richard Did), and stars as Sandra, a battered mother of two girls (Ruby Rose O’hara and Molly Mccann) who’s desperate to start a new life. In the opening scene, the girls’ father Gary (Ian Lloyd Anderson) barges angrily into their temporary home. We see flashes of a physical assault, which leaves Sandra with a crushed hand and chronic nerve damage for the rest of the film. Meanwhile, after a quickly whispered code word, her elder daughter races to a shop and gets the police involved. Nothing changes.
The film has a job on its hands converting this dour Loachian set-up into the crowd-pleaser it wants to be. But salvation comes from googling self-built homes, which Sandra calculates she could erect for €35,000, if she could only find the spot, the labour to build it, and so on. She pleads her case to the housing authority, but it falls – of course – on deaf ears. She’s going to have to go this one alone.
Or not. The story of an indomitable mum overcoming all these hurdles might be a guaranteed rabble-rouser, but Lloyd’s film isn’t that. It takes so many shortcuts, dispensing a close-to-magical solution to Sandra’s real-world problems. She cleans house for one Peggy O’toole, an ailing medic played with hard-knocks pragmatism and typical cutting charm by Harriet Walter. This character lends her the money unbidden – all of it – and also donates a chunk of her overgrown back garden as the building site. She’s Glinda the Good Witch in dungarees, more or less. (As project foreman, Conleth Hill has a similar assignment – cantankerous when we first clap eyes on him, but with the heart of gold that makes him sacrifice weekends to bring Sandra’s dream to fruition.)
Beneath the mounting contrivances, Dunne’s sturdy performance supplies an earnest core, which Lloyd should have trusted more completely. She has fashioned this as budget-range social realism while asking us to accept an almost depressing amount on faith. There’s not much visual lift-off, either. Lloyd settles for a look that’s sulky and literal, as if scared of coming out as pure fantasy. The film may get by on a great deal of presumed audience goodwill. But I felt my arm being twisted – and resisted.
Herself premiered at the London Film Festival and opens in cinemas on Oct 16