It’s widely considered that The Old Oak is Ken Loach’s final film. After a remarkable career that spans over 20 feature films and two Palme d’Or wins, that might be okay. Ken Loach remains the hallmark for British social realism. His films, including Kes and Palme d’Or winner The Wind that Shakes the Barley, are among the best to come out of the U.K. because they boldly tackle issues relating to class and inequity. Few auteurs are as unabashedly socialist as Loach is, which makes the fact that he holds the record for the most films in competition at Cannes (a whopping 15!) even more impressive. At the same time, especially at the end of the road, one must recognize that Loach found his lane and stuck with it.
The Old Oak, the director’s latest and reportedly last film, is a Ken Loach film through and through—but it’s a film he’s made many times before. Once again reuniting with screenwriter and long-time collaborator Paul Laverty, Loach offers a respectable portrait of British working class families. Their portrait of life in Durham is one they’ve mastered in kitchen sink films like I, Daniel Blake (2016), The Angels’ Share (2012), and Sweet Sixteen (2002), to name a few. It tackles timely themes that should resonate with socially conscious audiences. But The Old Oak doesn’t offer any new tricks. That said, it’s a respectable farewell that leaves a signature call inspiring audiences to do better.
This time, Loach and Laverty get on their soapboxes via TJ Ballantyne (Dave Turner), who runs the local pub, The Old Oak. The titular bar is one of few remaining social hubs in the working class town that reels from the closure of a coal mine that left many men unemployed and countless families devastated. TJ therefore enjoys a rare position of authority: he almost single-handedly lets residents stimulate the local economy. He’s also the unofficial mayor of sorts. Everyone winds up at The Old Oak and inevitably airs their grievances over pints.
The latest point of consternation among the locals is the arrival of Syrian refugees. The Brits simply can’t believe that the government dishes out aid to foreigners when people struggle at home. The resentment is palpable from The Old Oak’s opening frames in which local Brits harass and intimidate the arriving Syrians, including Yara (Ebla Mari), a young woman whose father is missing.
Yara trots into TJ’s life just like his stray dog Marra did years ago. She quickly befriends TJ when she turns to the Old Oak for aid following her family’s bumpy arrival. Almost immediately, TJ sees in Yara a metaphor for the ways in which his neighbours should help their fellow man.
The Old Oak has its heart in the right place as TJ wearily pours pints and observes the vehement racism around him. His long-time friends harbour bitter antipathy towards these newcomers in need. They grumble about the government finding foreigners places to stay while foreign investors devastate the local real estate economy. Consequently, the film affords ample time to hand-wringing over foreign parties and their presence on local soil.
The film admittedly leaves audiences with some local one-note ruffians, a cute dog—Marra, the film’s MVP—along with some noble newcomers, and one daft racist lady who has a quick change of heart. The Old Oak is Crash without the car accidents as it presents a feel-good narrative that invites audiences to feel united by the differences that ostensibly divide us. Laverty’s script, admittedly, doesn’t save the best for Loach’s last.
But despite his age and the material he’s working with, Loach’s “eyesight” isn’t failing. He still displays a fine eye for the realities in which the characters live. The especially benefits from Turner’s soulful and lived-in performance as the bartender who holds his community to a higher standard. His TJ embodies the soul of a community. Through his earnest and unabashedly sentimental turn, the film asks when and why people lost their ability to see commonalities with their neighbours. That the film centres its drama in the most democratic of Western public spaces—the pub, short for “public house,” isn’t lost on the discerning viewer. This is town hall cinema on its sleeve. Laverty seemingly wants the bar to play Speaker’s Corner. If the dialogue offers the message on the nose, that seems to be the point. The film speaks directly to the heart.
Yet in its earnestness and directness, The Old Oak offers an authentic portrait of working class life. It provides a sense of poverty’s impact on a person and the role that family plays in helping this person grow. As far as trees grow, The Old Oak may not plant any new roots—but the ones that are in the ground really know how to hold on.
