FOUR DOCUMENTARIES THIS week tell us this much about life: you start out full of hope and confidence but fail to fulfil most of your ambitions; you subsequently resort merely to carrying on as best you can before ending up in a nursing home with hal
f your marbles missing. Still, if things get too much you can always call on weird holy men willing to help you kill yourself.
At least Sue Bourne's Mum and Me shows that laughter can endure even during the most testing times. For the past three years this acclaimed filmmaker (responsible for, among others, the excellent Cutting Edge documentary My Street) has been documenting her mother's struggle with Alzheimer's. You'd be forgiven for expecting something along the devastatingly sad lines of Paul Watson's similarly themed Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell, but this is actually a surprisingly positive film highlighting the healing effects of a strong familial bond and shared sense of humour.
Bourne wanted to make a film about Alzheimer's that was "jolly and uplifting" and for the most part she's succeeded. There is a lot of laughter in Mum and Me. Although Ethel Bourne's memory has been severely afflicted by her condition, her cheeky, self-deprecating sense of humour remains intact. She, her daughter and granddaughter, Holly, who directed the film together in a charmingly haphazard fashion, are constantly needling each other with good-natured put-downs. The love they have for each other is never in doubt.
My only concern with this otherwise honest, moving, and unaffected film is whether Bourne is undermining her mother's dignity by including scenes of her in the loo or changing her incontinence pads. It's something that clearly troubles her too, hence the scene towards the end in which she allows Ethel to assess the completed film. Ethel says she liked it but didn't think it was as amusing as her daughter had hoped. It's one of the few moments in the film in which she fails to see the funny side.
The ageing process is examined further in award-winning filmmaker Marilyn Gaunt's Class of '62: From 16 to 60 the final instalment in a trilogy she began in 1983. Gaunt recently announced that, due to her disillusionment with TV's current commissioning standards, it will also be her final film. Sadly, this rather drab documentary doesn't grant her a particularly notable epitaph.
Since 1983 Gaunt has been catching up with her old schoolmates at 12-year intervals. With extensive use of material from her previous two films, this final hurrah sheds light on the various disappointments which have befallen them. The problem is that it's quite boring listening to these women drone on about their lives. That's not their fault, of course, as interesting things don't tend to happen to most ordinary people. I shared a lift once with Jim Diamond – that's about it. While films like Mum and Me deliver snapshots of everyday life that are interesting by dint of the characters involved, Gaunt's women fail to engage on virtually any level. The message – that we have to muddle on despite our setbacks – is about as profound as a road sign. The final line "what will be will be" pretty much sums it up. They might as well have called it Mustn't Grumble.
Much more engaging is My New Best Friend, a three-part series in which children from various walks of life come to terms with that life-changing transition from primary to secondary school. Episode one features four young girls beginning their first term at the prestigious Cheltenham Ladies' College. The film is told entirely from their perspective, as they ponder thoughtfully on the importance of friendship and their future.
They're an impressively articulate bunch. At one point 11-year-old Daisy likens friendship to a slippery game of snakes and ladders. I wasn't capable of making meaningful analogies until I was at least 27. This charming film is about fitting in and adjusting, and the transitory nature of bonds you think will last for ever. Later episodes look at first-year pupils in an inner-city London comprehensive and at a school in the remote Highlands.
Miss Jon Ronson's latest film Reverend Death at your peril. It tells the story of George Exoo, an openly gay Unitarian minister from Arkansas who happily assists suicides. You don't even have to be terminally ill: if you want to be zapped (his word) then George is your man. It's Ronson's best in ages: thought-provoking, disturbing and absurd.
The full article contains 786 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
