This is, behind all the directorial flourishes, a view of working class Britain from above and beyond, and escaped. Davies' plummy voice tells us he has long departed from viewing his childhood home with any degree of warmth and instead drones on in sepulchurion disdain about the Church, his homosexual guilt, his artistic hauteur, as he hammers home, again and again from his dismal vantage point, an opinion complete in it's self absorption, self hate, projection, and most sadly heartlessness. C'mon Terry you must have had some mates, some fun, or at least some mentors who left you with some sense of the pulse of the place you grew up in!
Next up Blackpool and all it's masses awaiting intellectual dissecting by a dried up soul.
Next up Blackpool and all it's masses awaiting intellectual dissecting by a dried up soul.