Another opportunity from the early 60s to enjoy the splendors of the ruins of the Industrial Revolution in Manchester. One hundred and twenty years earlier these smoky mills were busy processing cotton from Alabama. Now they are just smoky mills set among the dishwater canals.
Plot: Rita Tushingham, thrown out of the house by her impulsive mother, finds a job in a shoe store, rents a sizable shabby apartment, has an overnighter with a black merchant seaman, finds herself preggers, invites a gay man to share her flat, allows her room mate to take care of her and add to the decor, is intruded upon by her mother who has herself been thrown out by her latest lover and who throws out the gay guy and takes over. Desolated, Tushingham wanders down to the water front, is spotted by the exiled gay guy, and rapturously gazes at a children's sparkler she has in her hand.
It's in black and white. Everything seems grimy and everyone seems to be living on the edge of desperation. There was a time in the early 60s when all this was new. Looking back on it from our current perspective, we can see that shabby sets, melodrama, and occasional moments of warmth don't really add up to much unless there's some noticeable progression in the plot. It all seems a little meandering. None of the character is very different at the end from what they were at the beginning. I suppose the final shot of Tushingham smiling at the tiny fireworks she's holding in her fingers is a sign of hope, but it's a small one.
Tushingham is an appealing actress with her wide mouth, large dark eyes, and spirit-level eyebrows above them. She's believable too. The gay guy, Murray Melvin, certainly looks and sounds the part. Mom is played by Dora Bryan and is written as am ambiguous, not unsympathetic mother, not a harridan.
But, overall, this is depressing stuff. The spate of ash can films had their shock value at the time and we've learned the lesson. The genre has historic value but is no longer as gripping or informative as it once was.
Plot: Rita Tushingham, thrown out of the house by her impulsive mother, finds a job in a shoe store, rents a sizable shabby apartment, has an overnighter with a black merchant seaman, finds herself preggers, invites a gay man to share her flat, allows her room mate to take care of her and add to the decor, is intruded upon by her mother who has herself been thrown out by her latest lover and who throws out the gay guy and takes over. Desolated, Tushingham wanders down to the water front, is spotted by the exiled gay guy, and rapturously gazes at a children's sparkler she has in her hand.
It's in black and white. Everything seems grimy and everyone seems to be living on the edge of desperation. There was a time in the early 60s when all this was new. Looking back on it from our current perspective, we can see that shabby sets, melodrama, and occasional moments of warmth don't really add up to much unless there's some noticeable progression in the plot. It all seems a little meandering. None of the character is very different at the end from what they were at the beginning. I suppose the final shot of Tushingham smiling at the tiny fireworks she's holding in her fingers is a sign of hope, but it's a small one.
Tushingham is an appealing actress with her wide mouth, large dark eyes, and spirit-level eyebrows above them. She's believable too. The gay guy, Murray Melvin, certainly looks and sounds the part. Mom is played by Dora Bryan and is written as am ambiguous, not unsympathetic mother, not a harridan.
But, overall, this is depressing stuff. The spate of ash can films had their shock value at the time and we've learned the lesson. The genre has historic value but is no longer as gripping or informative as it once was.