Kitchen sink realism has been a staple of British drama for decades now. Filmmakers such as Ken Loach, Andrea Arnold, and Jimmy McGovern. Even across the pond, some of Sean Baker’s earlier work relies on this grounded approach to shining a light on social, economic and/or political issues. However, whilst Mike Leigh’s latest film Hard Truths could be classed as a kitchen sink drama, the rut of the matter is a hole of the central character’s own making.
The figure, Pansy, is so unique and defined, but also real and recognisable. Pansy is a clean freak who won’t let her husband walk through his house with his shoes on to get to the garden. You can tell she has got cupboards full of cleaning products. But it is an empty vessel of a house. It is barren, naked, cold, uninviting. Pansy is a hermit, trapped in her home, too scared to venture out to the garden in fear that birds may swarm in to invade her personal space. She bolts awake in fear she is going to get attacked. Sleeping in the middle of the day, with her curtains drawn, and constantly complaining she is tired or in excruciating pain. It is quite impressive how much information one can recall of a character we only spend 90 minutes with.
Pansy is a compulsive complainer. Saying she constantly has health issues, whilst those around her are vacant in her life. Part of the fun of the film is watching Pansy conduct her day-to-day life. Complaining about people spreading their germs on sofas in furniture stores, having rows in supermarket checkout queues, or being dissatisfied as she is attended to by the wrong doctor. She also takes jabs at baby clothes with pockets, dogs wearing coats and charity workers who force you to donate to their cause. These moments create a humorous yet painful canvas to understand Pansy. It feels like we are living her life for an hour and a half.
The other figures are Pansy’s son, Moses, a bulky figure donning a faded purple hoodie, unemployed and unmotivated. Stuck in his room until he goes out on one of his daily walks, which his mum warns him about, saying he’ll be accused of loitering with intent. Her husband, Curtley, is also a deflated figure, a plumber, who rarely pipes up in the household, almost in fear of his wife. Each adds a heavy weight of empty lifelessness onto one another.
In contrast, Pansy’s sister, Chantel is full of life. A hairdresser, who enjoys chinwags with her customers. Her daughters are tenacious and career-driven in their careers in skincare products and law. Despite setbacks, they remain driven, upbeat and full of life. Surmounting the depressed nature of the other family household.
It is a compelling premise; however, I couldn’t help but sense that the film felt a little directionless at times, without knowing what Leigh was trying to say by showing this contrast. Hence, in the moment, it feels a little floaty and disorganised.
These are minor marks against a great film, elevated by a powerhouse performance by Marianne Jean-Baptiste, who steals every scene, with comic rhythm with an aching pain. Shown most powerfully in a scene in her sister’s apartment, the film’s centrepiece moment.
Leigh withholds catharsis in the film’s final moments. Instead, we are left contemplating if this woman is still burdened, trapped in her own house,
all the more accentuated in a post-covid world. It’s perhaps a little underbaked. But, Leigh crafts a terrific peek into the wonderfully painful, funny and tired life of Pansy.
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