I touch upon this because coming out of a screening of Loach's Ladybird, Ladybird (with Crissy Rock, right) last week were a rather tweedy man and a rather earnest woman. She was saying that Loach had done it all before: Cathy Come Home on TV, right, they took the children away from the working class mother in that, right. And what about Poor Cow and Up the Junction - those were about women trapped by their circumstances too. The man nodded agreement and moaned about how stylistically rigid Loach was. Why, his technique was no different for this than it was for Raining Stones and Riff Raff. Social realism, social realism, social realism. . .
I was tempted to tap them on the shoulder pads and ask why they bothered to attend Ken Loach movies, and if there had been some pro-prole revolution during the last 20 years that I had missed. Too late. The couple glided away to the kerb and he, like a gentleman, opened the door of the Masarati so his lady love could enter the vehicle with a certain elegance.
I laughed when she tripped.
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